CHAPTER 7: DROPS OF JUPITER

"I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back. The less I give, the more I get back. Oh, your hands can heal, your hands can bruise. I don't have a choice, but I'd still choose you." -The Civil Wars

Zoey Willow Hunter

ALZHEIMER'S disease was, without a doubt, one of the biggest assholes in the world.

It is an irreversible, progressive brain disorder that has as goal to destroy and feed onto a human's, commonly codgers, memory and thoughts. It causes severe trouble in thinking, remembering, reasoning and all of the adoptive mannerisms and behavior we learn to apply to our everyday lives unthinkably.

Alzheimer's is a seven staged monster, going from dormant to awake and mercilessly ruining a person's life, including anyone who loves that person's lives. At first, a man would forget his keys. Then, forget what he does as a job. Eventually, he looks at his wife, one he has loved without end for almost thirty years, and ask her who she is. A woman with five kids could be speaking on the phone with her son, with the firm belief that she is not married or with children.

That was why when Harold Walters got diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease a year ago, a dread dropped and exploded into his family and friend's stomachs with the same impact that an unfiltered bomb would.

That was why when my mother told me, I cried without stop for four hours. I refused to get out of my room. To me, he was dead. He was my grandfather, the only father figure I'd ever had. He taught me how to stand tall in the face of anything, how to laugh at the world when all it wanted was to soak itself in your blood, heck-he and I even had uncomfortable conversations about boys.

That was why when his face appeared on my laptop screen, I sucked in a breath. Not of relief that he was still there, but of fear, that this time, he wouldn't recognize me. Mom and his wife, Bea, sat by his side. Bea gave me a wide smile and waved.

"Hi, darling. How've you been?" she asked, and I couldn't help but notice the bags under her eyes. The wrinkles of laughter that she and her husband once shared were fading away.

I assumed mom helped her set up Skype on TV, because I could see most of their living room from here.

"I've been great! How've you been?" I smiled.

Other than the fact that my relationship with James was practically doomed, and that I wanted more than anything to be having that conversation in their home, and take in the smell of freshly baked cookies, that imprinted on their walls since I was a kid.

"Good. It's already snowing," chuckled Bea. "It melts when it touches the ground, though."

Walters didn't look up, eyes staying on his hands.

My mother and I shared a look, she nodded. I had spoken to her this morning, when she'd happily chattered about wedding plans. Due on New Year's eve, the day she got a second chance at growing old with someone approached with big steps. She sat far away from Walters.

"Walters?" I spoke out.

He blinked his eyes boring through the screen. He lost too much weight, the beer belly he once proudly wore shrunk into him. His eyes seemed too big, too unrecognized. He didn't hold his wife's hand back. (She was afraid that if she sent him to a nursing home, he'd fall in love all over again with a woman from there. She spent all of her time taking care of him. Her only child, Martin, sent her money from Australia.)

Bea noticed the panic in my eyes and put a hand on his arm, "Harry?"

He always remembered me. When, a month ago, he forgot Bea and my mom, he remembered me. He would look at me and smile, say my name and talk to me as if nothing had changed. He'd turn to Bea, point at me and say: "that's my daughter. That's my baby girl. Have you met her yet?"

His left hand began to tap on his leg. And he gave me a smile, regained light in his eyes, said to Bea: "Is she a friend of yours, my love?"

Please, don't do this to me, I begged. Please. Please. Please, don't.

"That's Zoey," she said. "She's one of your favorite people. You delivered mail with her every summer since she was this big," she made a height motion that reached her knee. "You told me that if she was your daughter, she'd be the best daughter in the world."

"Zoey," he whispered, as if throwing my name in the air would help him remember me. "Zoey. I don't-I don't know a Zoey."

Bea mumbled: "It's okay."

She warned me that he had gotten worse. She told me that if it didn't work the first time, I should give up and try the next time I talked to him. She told me that I was unfamiliar to him, that his moments of lucidity were few. But the idea that he was looking at me as if I was a stranger, a delusional stranger talking to him through a screen, it killed me.

"Walters," I added. "Look at me. I'm Zoey. I've known you since I was a baby."

He glanced to me, and back at his wife. "Bea? Is she lost? Is she one of your sister's friends? Honest to God, they're the weirdest people in the world. Bea's sister isn't here, I'm sorry," he said to me, as if I was mentally challenged.

I clenched the pillow in front of me, vowing to stay eye-dry. I knew this would happen at one point. I tried to mentally prepare myself for this.

"I'm Zoey. Look at me properly, please. Please. Remember me? You always tell me to smile too big so that people see how big my heart is?"

"I don't know who-" he scratched the back of his head, "I-I don't know you. Bumble-bee, I don't-" Bea pursed her lips and looked at me with eyes that read I'm so sorry.

"You know me, Walters! C'mon," I wiped my cheek and laughed, "Walters. I broke my leg when I first tried the segway, remember? And you taught me how to drive? And you have a plastic shotgun in the mail house, for whenever anyone hurts me? You bought me a postcard from everywhere you traveled, because you wanted to bring a piece of all of these places back to me?"

He frowned, "I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong person. I-Zoey."

Please, remember me. Please.

"Little Zoey Hunter," he grinned widely. "My little Zoey Hunter. My legacy to, uh, grocery wrapping."

"Mail delivering," I nodded eagerly. "That's me."

He slapped the previously nervous hand on his knee, "you look great today, don'tcha? Your momma made you braids today, your hair looks so long."

"Right. Yeah, they are, aren't they?" I grazed my hand over the contour formed by my short hair around my face. "You having a good day?"

"Of course I am," his eyes shone, "Giving away milk bottles with my favorite eight year old in the world always makes me happy. Besides, Bea woke me up with pancakes and maple syrup."

"Mail letters," I murmured, then spoke louder. "Pancakes and maple syrup are the most delicious thing in the world."

He agreed, added: "what the hell are you doing through this damn screen, huh? Is this a video, Bea?"

"No, Harry. Zoey's just playing with her mom's phone, she pressed on Sky-face call."

He stared at her blankly for a few moments, confused of what she was saying. Then, he turned back to me. "Come on over, Zoey. Bea made chocolate cake. I want you to watch that show, the one we watch. Bo-boy clashes with life."

"Boy Meets World, Walters," I hoped that he couldn't see me cry. "That's it. I'll come over later, okay? I've got homework to do."

"Miss What's-her-face giving you too much to work on, again?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, kiddo!" he waved.

I returned the gesture, smiled back at him. "I'll see you. I miss you. Take care of yourself."

"Take care of yourself, she says," he laughed to Bea, "I'm not dying, Zoey!"

"Of course not, I'm sorry for saying that."

-

It was a little past six when I got a text and a missed call from different people. One of them made me smile for the first time through out the day, the other gave me the urge to throw my phone in an ocean and let it drown. I answered the second first, with every notification a bubbling anger rising in a volcano that had been asleep for a while.

James: Zoey?

Zoeythecoolest: I'm glad you know my name isn't abby, that's a good start.

James: How are you?

Zoeythecoolest: I'm wonderful. As always. Perfect as a peach.

James: I'm gonna ignore the sarcasm dripping from you.

Zoeythecoolest:Great. What do you want?

James: I wanted to know how you were. is that a crime now, z?

Zoeythecoolest: k.

James: I also wanted to say that I miss you. And I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you.

Zoeythecoolest: Message received.

James: on a scale from 1 to 10 how mad are you?

Zoeythecoolest: a solid 110. i even considered the idea of hating you, james. bc you fkn suck. i felt bad for wanting to hate you, but I felt even worse bc when I saw that picture I felt like crap. and honestly? I kind of want to make you feel like crap. so, fuck you.

James: I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I'm so sorry.

Zoeythecoolest: I'd like to see you try, james. have a shit day.

James: I love you.

Seen 6:05 p.m.

I shut the conversation, ignored the heartburn and dialed the other number.

"Hullo?"

"ZOEY! OH MY GOD, FINALLY! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, THE DAMNED NORTH POLE, WOMAN?" shrieked Diana on the phone, her voice piercing through my ears. I held it further away from my earshot, and brought it closer when the scream died down.

"No screaming. Speak in coherent, slow words."

Her breathing went from hectic to barely stable. "I've been locked in a bathroom for the past fifteen minutes."

"Wait-what? What happened?" I watched Jessie sell a set of bracelets a pair of girls our age.

"Joel kind of proposed. He asked me to marry him. God, we were having an outdoorsy lunch for our anniversary since he has exams later on and I didn't want him to waste a night not studying, since, you know, it's the final year. And oh my God, suddenly there were fireworks and you know how I get around fireworks! And I turned around to tell him that it's weird to have fireworks at 12:30 in the afternoon but he was on one knee, staring at me as if I was a firework."

I was almost completely certain she blurted all of that out in one breath. I grinned and felt momentary happiness settle; they were in love. They were happy. My best friend was getting married. But then, I realized, she left out the part where-

"You told him you had to pee?!" I shouted. "The boy told you that he loves you, and that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you and you told him that you had to pee!"

She shrieked, "I didn't know what to do? I mean, we're twenty-one. I don't know what to do. Help me."

"Diana. Where do you want to be in ten years?"

"I don't know?" I could picture her curls going wild due to the stress. "I want to have a successful career. And be happy. And maybe have a kid running around. He'd have curly, blonde hair and blue eyes."

"Do you have blonde hair?"

"I-no! What kind of question is that? Are you dumb or dumb? Of course the kid will get the blonde hair from-" there was a sigh on the other side, "Joel. Okay. Right. I love him, don't I?"

"You wouldn't have gotten scared if you didn't. Look at him in the eye, if your mind goes blank when you do, because nothing matters more than that moment, then say yes."

"Okay," she said, in a shaky voice. "He's the only one I can picture my life with. Is that normal?"

It's better than having no one to picture a life with, anyway.

"Of course. Go get engaged, Diana," I smiled.

"Okay. I love you, I'll call you later. I almost broke James's arm last week, Z. You're still coming in a month for your mom's wedding, right?"

"Of course. I'm not missing it, I love you too." The connection went away.

Jessie looked at me, "you alright?"

"I'm fine," I nodded. "I'm fine. I'm just fine."

Because maybe, repeating it would make it real. Walters was dying, I couldn't trust James anymore, and the person I wanted to see most was getting married.

Maybe, holding my head up high would stop me from seeing all the nostalgia and visceral sadness that swam beneath me.

"Are you sure? I could cancel with Adrian if you want me to. If you need me, I'm all yours," she offered, fiddling with a curl. "Sisters before misters, right?"

"No," I took in the landscape of Elisa and compared it with the loss of recognition in Walter's eyes, "It's your first date. I can handle myself. I'll go out or something."

"Alone?"

"We'll see."

-

8:05 p.m.

Zoeythecoolest: how's the studying, forrest? without studying, u have nothing. no beauty, the brains gotta count :-)

nbf: I'm stu(dying). btw that was rude. ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude. how's your day so far?

Zoeythecoolest: I feel like crap. I feel like I am a bullshit's shit.

nbf: I don't see u for a week& a half and that's what happens?

Zoeythecoolest: I need to tell you something

nbf: ???

Zoeythecoolest: no. I can't tell you over text, it's important.

nbf: just tell me

Zoeythecoolest: it's about walters.

nbf:okay. come over for a little bit at the coffee shop. Wednesday nights are slow.

Zoeythecoolest: arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

nbf: I completely understand you. now come on over, dearestcrap's crap. I'll make u grilled cheese and attempt my best at tim horton's hot chocolate.

Zoeythecoolest: why girlled cheese?

Zoeythecoolest: grilled***

nbf: isn't it your favorite?

Zoeythecoolest: yeah. I'm surprised you remembered, tis all

nbf: I'll see u later :-)

-

9:01 p.m.

The coffee shop reminded me of a homey Tim Horton's. The coffee could never reach the quality of Tim's, but the couches beside the fireplace and cups with calligraphic words were enough to make my heart settle down, a little bit.

Once I stepped inside, Nico waved to me from the cashier counter. He finished the latest customer's order and whispered something to a short girl with a blonde bob. Her eyes met mine, she smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

I sat in a chair by the tall glass that separated the streets from the shop. Soon, Nico, in an apron and jeans, sat in front of me, with two drinks and a grilled cheese sandwich. He greeted me with a faded smile and tired eyes.

"Hi," he said.

I grabbed the sandwich and took a bite, which was enough to fill my mouth and make me look like a kid who stuffed her cheeks with grapes on each side. "Mm."

I stopped myself from saying anything and causing embarrassment, but simply chewed and swallowed the entire thing in two minutes, with Nico patiently sipping on his hot chocolate. Once I was done, he handed me a napkin and laid back into the chair, shoulders relaxed.

"Thank you," I said. "For this."

"Of course, Hunter. You look like you haven't eaten in weeks."

"Excuse me? I'm perfectly healthy, if that's what you're implying. I've lost a little bit of weight, and that's perfectly normal."

"I just meant," he cleared his throat, "that you look tired."

"Oh. Sorry."

He put down his cup, "you said you needed to talk about Walters? Is he okay?"

"Not really," I avoided his eyes and stared into the streets. Every word seemed like heavy weight, one that provoked unwanted teary eyes."He has Alzheimer's. For a while now, actually. He started off with forgetting to deliver mail, or what his wife's name was, and ended up forgetting me, this morning. He hasn't recognized me as twenty-one year old Zoey for a while now. I'm always a kid, to him."

"Oh, no," he straightened up. "No."

"Yeah," I blinked repeatedly. If anything could get my emotions worked up, it was talking about Walters. "Oh, yeah."

I took a sip of the drink; it burnt my throat but landed warmly in my stomach. "I know."

After a long pause, Nico spoke up again: "he's the one who made me realize..."

"Realize what?"

"Nothing," his eyes went wide and went back to unfazed, but a slight emotion betrayed him. "Nothing. I skipped Christmas there last year, if I had gone-my dad should've told me."

"No one was supposed to know. I found out by accident, I overheard my mom talking to Bea. I almost cancelled the whole moving-away thing, you know."

He stared into a blank space. A natural silence made itself comfortable in the air, it seemed to happen a lot. But it wasn't the kind that made you rack your head for subjects to talk about, it was the kind that spoke louder than words ever could.

I didn't want to compare him to James, I really didn't. I didn't want to try picturing James there and wonder if I could look at him without having the need to punch him. I didn't want to imagine if Nico and I had ended up together, how any of this would be different. I didn't want to think about how easier it was to talk about this to Nico than James, at the moment.

But I did.

I didn't want to feel like he was my friend. I didn't want him to regain his place as such an important person in my life, so smoothly. I didn't want to still have trouble getting over the pain and hate I harbored towards him in my heart.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I nodded, "I'm okay. I think."

"Doubt is a bitch," Nico said. He opened his mouth to add more, but then stopped and began again. "Has James talked to you?"

"Yeah."

"So, you know?" his hair was all messed up, there were two strands out of place. His name tag ended with a smiley face.

"About?"

Confused wrinkles formed on his forehead. "What?"

"What?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know something I don't know?"

"No."

I glared at him for a solid thirty seconds before he said, "Yes. But if I tell you, you'll hate me. And if I don't, you'll hate me for not telling you."

"Will whatever you say hurt me?" I asked, and it was like that question popped up every day. A fear began to form around everyone I knew, one that shivered at the sole chance that they could cause me pain.

"I," he looked up. Then, he clenched his hand around the cup tightly. "Yeah."

"Then don't tell me. I'll find out later. Life likes biting my ass."

Nico huffed and looked at the clock at the shop, "I should go."

"Okay."

"Do you want me to stay here a little longer?"

I didn't know what he wanted me to say, so I didn't say anything at all. And just as I thought he was gone, with the empty cups and plate, he came back later. A series of hiccups began while he was gone, which I tried to conceal by drinking a tall glass of water.

He set down a plate of chocolate cake in front of me, and a glass of milk. He dug into his own sandwich, eyeing me once or twice. The moment he noticed the hiccups, he looked at me for a full thirty seconds, before the next one arrived. His face spread into a full, genuine smile that soon progressed into stifled laughter.

"I hate you," came along the next hiccup. "It's not funny."

"It is," he laughed loudly, getting a few glances from others around us. "Drink something while looking at your shoes, it works."

I did. And we waited for a minute, nothing came up. He leaned back in his chair with satisfaction and took another bite of his meal. "What would you do without me?"

"I'd be wonderful and happy," I replied instantly. At the flash of hurt in his face, I added: "I'm kidding. You're not so bad, Forrest."

He wasn't so bad, only, because he brought me food.

"Right back at you," he said.

And because he stayed up on the roof talking to me. He came to my flat out of worry and hope to be my friend. He, I believed, was at least a little genuinely sorry. He wasn't so bad.

"Diana and Joel got engaged," I announced. It was confirmed to me about an hour back, when Diana sent me a paragraph long message about what exactly happened and what she said to him later on. She, apparently, hysterically sobbed and told him that she wanted to have his kids. (That was a yes.)

Nico's face lit up, "Finally!"

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew!" he exclaimed, "The whole population of Silvercrest knew, except for her. Remember when he finally got the balls to ask her out?"

"I do. They were disgustingly cute."

"I know," he crinkled his nose. "So were we."

I chuckled, "No, Forrest. We were low-key cute. We were fire-against-ice cute."

"True," a shadow of a reminiscing smile came up.

"Speaking of, how's your love life? You know, since mine is shit. I hope yours isn't so bad."

"Well," he rubbed the tips of his fingers to get the crumbs off, "there's been girls. None have been right."

"Tell me about them," I managed to smile. "Are there funny stories?"

His eyes twinkled and I saw a kid in them, "most of them are funny stories, love. You'll be sprouting milk from places milk shouldn't come out of."

"After the week I've had, I need funny stories."

"Okay," I was in for a long night, "Let's begin."

-

2 a.m.

Jessie rarely woke me up at night. While she was an all-day, all-night cheerful soul, I couldn't stand being torn away from sleep. Once my body hit the bed, I refused to be spoken to or woken up. The rules we established were: do not wake Zoey up unless

a. the flat is in flames

b. our lives are in danger

c. we are in need of a friend

d. none of the above.

She shook my body so harshly I almost fell off the body. I cracked my eyes open, fully prepared to cuss at her until the sky turned pink.

"Jessie, are you dying?"

"No," her disheveled manner proved otherwise. "But I need you."

"What happened?"

She scratched her nose, a habit that only came out when she was worried or anxious. "I need you to get up. Someone's here for you."

The first person who came to mind was Nico, he was the only one who could be at my doorstep so late at night. Although, I didn't understand why Jessie would be so troubled. It got me out of bed in seconds; I waited for her to tell me who was there.

"Jess. Who is it?"

She stayed frozen to the spot, blabbering: "Arse who hurt you."

"Nico?"

She shook her head, I rolled my eyes at her. She couldn't have woken me up with no valid reason. I grabbed my covers and wrapped them around me, hid a pair of toenail cutting scissors in my hand, just in case it was someone I didn't know, and headed out into the living room.

The doorbell rang once, I fastened my pace towards the door. Closed, I put my head to it and shouted: "Who is this?"

"Zoey, it's me. James," said a boy from the other end.

Everything went cold. My hands stammered to twist the door open. It couldn't be anyone than him. That voice, I would know it in my sleep. My heart went from unperceived to loud, so loud that every pulse made my mind hurt a little.

He stood there. Hair growing out, ever so soft skin kissed by the thin layer of rain that was outside. Eyes smiling, but lips in a straight line. I knew him, every inch, every edge, every street. I went through those features a hundred times before, when I kissed them or when they made me laugh.

He was here. The body that I wanted so badly to hold for the past months, the smile that I ached to see in real life, the voice that helped me fall asleep.

"Zoey," he smiled, as if the sky began to rain in a desert. My fingers felt an itching, to reach out and hold him. My lips were stiff, and his seemed so easy to touch. A small part of me jumped up and down.

The other though, was the one that shut the door in his face.

- - - -

HOLAAAAAAA!

so?? WHAT DID YOU THINK? thoughts?

also, please do suggest songs that go along with this story!

if i haven't answered your pm yet, i apologize! i'm getting to that in the morning, since it's 3:32 a.m.

i've missed this (torturing you) :-)

love always, yas