The Summer of 2016

Summer was over, and so were we.

I awkwardly stumbled through high school two years ago, and had yet to ever so much as hold a girl's hand. And Zoe Belasco was a beauty queen engaged to be married. This combination should never have yielded anything scandalous...and yet in that Summer of 2016, it did.

Slouched on the steps of my San Diego apartment, strands of hair clung to my forehead as a storm came down for the first time in three months.

As Zoe walked away, part of me laughed at the cliché of heartbreak in the rain. And in my hometown, of all places.

It never rained here.

* * *

9 Months Earlier

My twenty year-old self was thunderstruck by her beauty from the moment I first laid eyes on Zoe Belasco. She was unlike my other coworkers, with sparkling eyes and tinkling voice.

Her effect on me reminded me of pyrography.

Based on the latin word ‘pyro’ meaning ‘fire’, it’s the art of using a soldering pen to stencil designs into wood. Patiently, I’d slowly burn beautiful designs into a plank of pinewood. It was a slow and permanent process. When I met Zoe, her every detail began to burn onto my mind. Tightening my gloves, I shook her out of my head and focused on work.

Stars began to blink awake in the purple sky as eucalyptus and palm trees swayed in the wind. It was December and San Diego’s worst heatwaves were safely in the rearview mirror.

Later that evening, I dropped my weight onto one of the fold-out chairs in the break room. Soda in one hand, I leaned on the table and scrolled Facebook mindlessly. Zoe and Paulo shuffled in and I pretended not to care.

Minutes ago, I was hauling a row of behemoth shopping carts with a weathered rope gripped in each fist, an earbud buzzing with nonstop podcasts. Navigating the clueless zombie shoppers at Trek Mart Warehouse, I finally brought my metaphorical sheep back to their stall just outside the roll-up gate entrance. I would do this on repeat every hour, for eight hours a day outside the Trek Mart Warehouse store. The life of a cart-pusher.

Zoe and her coworker friend still had hairnets on their scalps, dignified slightly by our company’s classic red caps. Even from my end of the room I could sniff out the pizza dough and hot dogs on their clothing. My mouth watered as I reconsidered getting more of our junk food.

Zoe and Paulo made themselves welcome at my table; I shifted awkwardly in my seat. As usual, Paulo was loud today--usually quipping some joke that was trending online. Though most people would've described him as a big teddy bear.

I offered a polite smile their way and Zoe returned it with a grin before they began picking at their pizzas that they definitely didn’t pay for.

Gnawing on my straw as I scrolled the 2016 primary election news, butterflies in my gut competed for my attention each time Zoe giggled. I hated the magnetic effect she had on me. My straw became so mangled it was practically a victim of a crime, now.

I only knew her casually and was already smitten by her. The problem was Zoe was engaged.

* * *

Matthew had told me this. Of course Matthew had noticed. Him and I were buddies working the same job as seasonal cart-pushers and we were both raging hormones, even if polite.

In appearances, Matthew was everything I wasn’t. Tall, funny, and masculine-looking. He was handsome enough for other girls, I supposed. But a dork like me. I pictured him competing in debate tournaments or participating proudly in chess club. But regardless of his quirks, he had those other qualities going for him. And that usually won the attention of girls. He’d already befriended Zoe, despite how weird he was. Matthew wasn’t a player, but he wasn’t a wallflower, either.

When Matthew shared Zoe’s relationship status, I saw it as a token of trust. He shared it as a buddy who knew we were both attracted to her.

Zoe was in a committed relationship, and that was that. Although it came as a surprise to me. I never noticed a ring, and I supposed that made sense considering she was a food worker—food safety regulations and all that. Matthew didn’t find out until a casual, break room conversation where she mentioned a “fiancé”.

Great. The gorgeous girl I fell in love with was engaged. Mentally, I rolled my eyes at myself.

She wasn’t gorgeous in the usual, Hollywood sense. She was short, wore large glasses, and her voice was a bit high pitched. My straw continued to crumple in my bite as I reflected on the backhanded compliments I’d receive on my own appearance: a “short Superman”, or a “short Clark Kent”. There were obvious reasons for that, but my height was always a sore spot. But the few times I walked alongside her, it felt like we were equals. I couldn't remember any negative things about my physical appearance.

And her glasses were cute. Large, black frames accentuated her brown eyes and long lashes. And her voice was musical as she laughed at Paulo’s internet references.

* * *

5 Months Earlier

Summer was returning and so was I. Matthew and I were rehired at the warehouse as a full-time employees.

When we both got placed in the food court department, I smiled. We were friends at this point, and better yet, I’d get to work with Zoe. Work would be pleasant, even if my upcoming Fall classes dragged.

Matthew quickly became friends with everyone else in that sweaty department that churned out pizzas and hot dogs. Including the teddy bear, Paulo, and Zoe.

Zoe obviously liked me as a coworker, but I initially kept her at some distance with well-rehearsed, stoic manners that my religiously abusive father taught me so well. Eventually I let my guard down, desperate for more of her company. Soon after returning to work there, Paulo invited all his coworkers to a rooftop party at his family’s house while the parents were gone for the weekend. I took the plunge and decided to go.

For the first time in my sheltered life, I was at a party with underage drinking and flirting. It was also my first time talking with Zoe to any real extent. As our sugary cocktails warmed us on that breezy rooftop, we really hit it off.

A light danced in her eyes as I shared more of myself. And I was equally enraptured by her stories as she spoke of family and how she was half-Mexican and half-Filipino, and what it was like to experience those cultures at home. She also mentioned her beauty pageants, and how she'd won local contests. Showing me her Instagram, I was thoroughly impressed with her photo shoots. Zoe was breathtaking.

From that night on, we began to text each other regularly, sharing memes to that made fun of our company or managers. Zoe and I were becoming friends.

* * *

Many nights were spent scrubbing dishes and floors in the department kitchen, while everyone shared turns with the speaker as we blared music. Alternating between Kanye West, G Eazy, Drake and my alternative rock, the music eased the banality of work and we actually sang as we cleaned. By the end, we were drenched in old pizza stench, laughing and joking despite ourselves.

Reluctant to go home and end it all for the night, we’d gather around our cars to trade unbelievable but hilarious work stories. Then one night, Zoe and I were the last ones in the empty parking lot.

She suggested going back to my apartment to hang out and watch a movie.

“I’d love to!” I replied a little too quickly. “I live just a few minutes away.”

Zoe showed up later on my doorstep with a bottle of Tito’s Vodka, cradled in her arm like a baby. Wearing a fresh change of clothes that made me blush, she declared, “Movie night!”

* * *

The next morning I awoke with a flurry of emotions. A little bit of panic ran its course through my system, then calm. I stood straight and opened the curtains. Looking out on the world, I’d never felt so tall. Like remembering an impossible dream, I recalled the night before.

We poured out drinks and watched the new Star Wars film that Disney had just released a year prior. We were getting drunk, and cozier.

Then Zoe looked me deeply in the eyes, her lips mere inches away. And then kissed me!

Those seconds created fireworks in my brain. I felt desired.

Snapping back to reality, I victoriously seized an energy drink from my fridge. As the drink fizzed through my system, I stopped short. A wave of guilt crashed over me. I never felt so good in my life as I did just last night. And as for her? It was impossible to forget her moans. But she was engaged. Since when did I become this type of guy?

I'd fallen in love before. But this was different. Zoe seemed to have also fallen in love with me. When we tried to say goodbye outside my apartment, she couldn’t stop kissing me as she pressed me against her, her back leaning on her old Toyota sedan.

But the guilt lingered.

* * *

At first I was worried about work, but I quickly realized how little there was to fear, and how much there was to enjoy. Over the course of that summer, we remained professional at work, and intimate at my apartment. “Movie nights”, she called it. I quickly learned how to neatly fold up the guilt and place it into a box. I deserve this, I'd said to myself.

Then it got strange. You see up to this point, I learned to ignore the fact that she was engaged. I justified our situation by assuming he was a terrible person. And then I met him.

* * *

Inviting as many coworkers as possible, I hosted a party at my place for the first time. Matthew and Paulo showed up too, of course.

Beer-pong and bad karaoke was well underway by the time Zoe knocked on my door. When I opened the door, the last person I expected to see was Adam. Her fiancé.

With a beard that couldn’t hide his boyish features, he was a big guy in glasses with handsomely wild hair. He could've been right at home as an Apple employee at the Genius Bar.

Adam shook my hand. “Hey man! Thanks for inviting us!” Concealing my shock beneath a plastic smile, I returned the handshake.

If anything about this night was bizarre, Zoe didn’t seem to notice. She squealed with delight and gave me a hug.

“Thanks for hosting,” she said. “I’m so excited. You guys are gonna love each other. Adam is also a huge fan of those movies you like!”

Making himself at home and accepting the beer that I robotically offered up, he beamed with pride as he showed off his Millennium Falcon bottle-opener on his key chain.

Before now, I conjured an image of Adam as being Satan's favorite demon. A horrible person who's trapped his girlfriend in this relationship she clearly didn't want to be. All Zoe had ever mentioned about him was that they had no wedding date, yet. And that seemed to have made her sad. I saw in my mind someone horrible that she couldn’t stand to be around. That was why she was loving on me and continuing to suggest “movie nights”, wasn’t it? It wasn't because I was being played. That would be disingenious of her. That would...hurt.

As the night dragged on, I did my best to get wasted. I felt as though I’d been lying to myself this whole time. Sitting on my couch having a good time, Adam represented how delusional I’d become. I tossed another shot of bourbon as I realized he sat on the same couch where Zoe and I had been naked, just the night before.

As we gathered around the coffee table for a game of King’s Cup, I played to win—which for me, meant losing so that I’d have to keep drinking. Maybe the more I drank, the more likely I’d forget this whole disaster of a night.

Seeing Zoe lean into Adam and peck him with kisses made me sick. Or maybe that was the blend of beer, whiskey, rum and vodka I’d been consuming.

* * *

Years later, I would still remember with crystal clarity just how disgusting I felt the morning after.

Vomit hurled onto the carpet as I propped myself onto my side. Bleary-eyed, I dragged myself to the kitchen for an electrolyte drink as though that would cure my hangover.

The following few days at work were normal, yet I felt that much more uneasy because of it. I never considered myself callous to the feelings of others, let alone a player. I was undoubtedly falling in love with Zoe, and justifying my actions as that of someone safe she could run to, as opposed to whatever I imagined Adam to be.

One night, I pulled out my phone.

"Hey Zoe", I texted. "I don’t think this is right. I think we should stop having our movie nights."

"What?" She replied. "Why?"

"You’re engaged. Adam is a great guy. Enjoy your time with him. Let’s stick to being just friends."

"But I like our time together." She inserted a smiley face emoji.

I sighed aloud to no one in the room, and left the conversation there.

The next night, she invited herself over to my apartment again. I couldn’t help myself and I obliged. For many more weeks.

* * *

Work remained the same—and so too did our movie nights. I knew by this point that I was heading for disaster. But I didn’t know how to stop.

A few days later, Paulo organized a carpool trip to Anaheim that Summer, for a day with us department kids at Six Flags. The best part of the trip was the midnight drive back home to San Diego: Zoe fell asleep with her head resting on my shoulder as we cuddled under a blanket in the backseat. Under the cover of the blanket, she slipped her hand into mine. I clasped it tight and we never let go until our drive was over.

If Paulo thought anything of it, he never said a word.

* * *

A few nights later when I was home alone, I heard my phone buzz with a text notification.

"Hey," Zoe texted. "You still haven't taken me out on a date." Another smiley-face emoji.

"This feels weird," I texted. "You have Adam."

But she persisted. And I relented.

* * *

The following night was my first time out on a date. But I didn’t feel comfortable calling it that.

We went to the Embarcadero. It was one of my favorite nighttime spots in Downtown San Diego. The night breeze was warm and we held hands as we walked through the park. It was only the second time I ever held hands with a girl.

We talked about our childhoods, hopes and dreams. But there was so much I wanted to say, and so much more I couldn't.

Finally I said, “Tell me about you and Adam.” She sighed. They loved each other, she said. But also he knew she had a…pattern. He was understanding of her. Adam sounded amazing, to me. Or...did he not care? That possibility struck me as awful, for her. It made me love her more.

And what did that make her, now? What did it make me? She invited herself into my apartment again that night. We shed our clothes and kissed each other with desperation.

As Zoe and I lay there, I couldn’t help myself. It was now or never. I knew she could tell I was summoning the courage to say something.

“I love you,” I said.

The words hung there. Followed by horrible silence. The response I hungered for was nowhere.

Carefully and deliberately she gathered up her bra and shirt. “I’ve got to go,” she said, sparkling eyes now dark, face flushed.

Zoe rushed to tug her clothes on, and I mirrored her, begging her to tell me what I did wrong.

Snatching her keys in a tight fist, she fought back tears and shook her head. “This was a mistake.”

* * *

Now

A mistake.

The words echoed in my head as I sat on the steps, watching Zoe walk away into the rain...leaving me more alone than ever before.

I returned to my empty apartment and threw on the new album by Weezer.

The White Album had a final track called Endless Bummer. Staring at the ceiling on my back, I listened for the first time as my heart bled out.

"I just want this Summer to end", the lyrics echoed in my mind. But after sleeping with a guy's fiancée, I think I deserve this feeling.