Three hours passed, each hour filled with awkward pauses and impressionable giggles. I had gotten to know more about Zac through comfort food and corny, dirty jokes shot once in a while.

The shining stars were looking down on us as we heeded to them to be themselves throughout the blissful exchange of our meek hellos. 

The wind blowing hard and strong but the connection between us was enough warmth to wrap the both of us. However, it was difficult not to fall asleep on a full stomach.

Zac bought over too much food for the two of us. By far it was the most I had eaten at dinner. I wasn't used to this much prepared on the table. Moreover, I thought it was generous of him to bring some home to Stuart. And most of all, he didn't ask anything from me, not even a cent.

Although my goal was to not pay for anything, I insisted I paid for something, even for the drinks at least. But he didn't let me, no matter how many times I asked him to reconsider; and I couldn't be any more grateful.

I wouldn't call it selfish; however, I was merely very frugal.

"You can have the last fry," he politely said after a good laugh.

I shook my head with a chuckle. "You just feel bad for laughing at my first-grade horror story. It's not my fault Mrs. Layla didn't allow me to go to the bathroom."

"Seriously, all the other kids went outside?"

"All of them, including Mrs. Layla," I said, my cheeks feeling warm. "I was all alone in the room with underwear full of dripping wet shit. And I was only seven years old."

"They were all laughing at me. Mrs. Layla couldn't contain them."

"That's some serious childhood trauma story," he continued to laugh, some of the crumbs in his mouth came out.

There was something about the words child trauma story and the way he said it that made me ponder about something else. Something not suitable for a good laugh. It wasn't a good thought to think about it at that time. It soured my mood.

"Yeah..." I said uneasily. "You have no idea."

He picked up his large milkshake. "Now why don't you tell me the secret to walking like a model?"

"Well the first thing you have to do is to flaunt your imperfections," I said with a foreign accent.

"Why flaunt something you're not proud of?" he asked.

"That way other people wouldn't have anything to hold against you. If they love you, hate you, you shouldn't have to depend your happiness on them. What matters is you know yourself."

"Hm," he smirked, "Such great wisdom from a little girl who pooped in the middle of class."

"Why thank you," I said with the foreign accent then changed it back to normal, "You grow out of it eventually even when you don't intend to. Somehow you just make it out of the storm."

Zac gazed at me again with that seductive look in his eyes. I guessed he didn't mean to be that way; it just came off irresistible to me.

One of my most adored facial expressions of him, but I was trying not to fall for every single one of them. I lost count.

"What's with your face?" I sipped my chocolate shake. The straw made sounds; there was no more left to sip.

"What do you mean?" he asked, maintaining the seductive facial expression.

"Why do you always look at me like that?"

"Like what?"

Giggling, I pinched his lips together by squeezing four fingers on his upper lip and a thumb pressed below. "Like this. What's with your lips."

Zac laughed as he took my hand and held it close to his lips, almost kissing it but didn't. "Your hand feels nice," he said.

I let go of his clasp and panted quietly.
"You're weird."

"It's cute how you don't know how beautiful you are," was his response.

"Why would you think that?"

"I can see it in your face—the look of shock when you meet face to face with flattery."

I scoffed, laughing nervously. "I'm just used not being told anything that compliments me physically," I looked down, "I mean, look at me."

"Then start getting used to it, Mary—"

"Reeves," I said with a shy smile.

"Reeves—goes well after Johanson, don't you think?"

It was an amazing feeling—a feeling so simple yet unexplainable. Talking to a stranger about the most random first date queries to personal late-night thoughts ejected that amazing feeling.

Finding someone with the same form of language as you and not feeling awkward at all. Until that time you never knew you could talk so much, so fast, and so meaningfully.

"What's up with you and Dr. Kelly?" I changed the topic.

"Dr. Thompson told you?"

"No, that's why I'm asking," I said, "What's with the attitude at the hospital?"

He threw his drink into the plastic bag and sighed. "Dr. Thompson's my dad's doctor.  She's been with us since he was diagnosed with bone cancer. So about four years," he replied.

I wasn't expecting that at all. Now I felt bad for asking. "So...how are you holding up with everything?"

"Holding up? I'm doing great. I have a life ahead of me," he clicked his tongue, "I don't know with my dad though. I hate him. Left me and my mom for some trashy golddigger."

"I came to ask Dr. Thompson how much time was left but she didn't wanna tell me. I'm guessing it was his orders," he added.

"Yeah, they were. Sorry about that," I confessed, looking down.

"I hate him but he's my father, you know," he explained, "What kind of son would I be."

"The least I could do is to prepare the bed where he'll lie."

"So you don't really care about him? Just your image as his son?"

He nodded.

Zac wasn't at all pumped up about this conversation. I could tell by his cold replies and the lacking of passion in the way he talked.

"How about you? You hate your parents too?" he asked.

I cleared my throat and looked down as I talked. "It's just Stuart and me. My parents—they died. Terrible car accident."

"Both of them?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

"I'm sorry..."

Talking about this made me more anxious than I thought. After all these years I didn't think it would still affect me the same way as before, but I was very wrong.

For others, both parents dying in a car accident would be their ultimate childhood trauma. But it wasn't the case for me. I suffered something far worse than the pain of death, and it was my own doing.

No more.

"Zac, the truth is," I confessed, "I have scoliosis. I'm a scoliotic."

"Really? Can I see it?"

I turned around and removed my cardigan. He observed my back and stood corrected.

Amazement dressed in his voice. "Oh yeah, there it is." He traced my backbone with his index finger softly.

"How did this happen?" he asked with concern.

"It's a long story."

"Well, I have all the time in the world."

"I'd rather not talk about it," I sighed, looking at him to witness his raw reaction to the truth. "Now you know." I wore my cardigan back.

"Okay, so what if you're scoliotic?"

"Nothing. I thought you'd be mad. You're having a date with someone who isn't exactly your type," I told him confidently.

He let out a chuckle. "What do you know about my types?"

"Well, looking at you, you look like someone who gets into one night stands and not giving a damn about the world because you're rich."

Zac imitated being shot in the heart. "That's quite harsh and judgmental of you, Virgin Mary."

"But true," I muttered, "Therefore, you don't date girls like me. If you do, it's not serious."

"Not true," Zac said, "I date a lot of imperfect girls. Exhibit A," he pointed me.

I gasped, hitting him in the arm. "Really, huh? And what are those imperfections?"

"It's gonna take me the whole night to mention every single one. I see a lot of them," he said frankly, "But I don't mind one bit. I love seeing them, knowing them, literally everything about them."

It was the first time I encountered a guy who would talk to a girl on a first date like that. He wasn't afraid to speak his mind which other girls find as habits of a douchebag, but I said otherwise.

Zac was confident sharing every bit of his life with a girl he barely met, and I wondered if he was really that stupid or if he just really trusted me. Either way, his confidence in me made me feel good about myself.

The date went well. But I wasn't entirely sure whether my appreciation of it was because I hadn't been on a date for about two years. It was different; I would say.

A perfect way to end it was with a kiss.

A force was pushing us towards each other. One more move. Closer and closer.

Inches away from each other, I received a text message that ruined the night.

"Stuart's in the hospital—we have to go."

                                  *****

Zac drove me to Velmont right away. We didn't get to talk about having another date or talking about something else since I got the text.

I ran to the room number indicated in the message Dr. Kelly told me. Then when I had finally seen it, the doors opened before me.

"He's fine, he's fine. Dr. Vincent is currently running some tests," Dr. Kelly rushed to me with concern.

She already anticipated the amount of worry on my face. She knew how much I loved my brother.

"Doc, what happened?"

"His teacher called me as an emergency contact and told me your little brother has been skipping meals and now is paying the price."

"But I cook breakfast and dinner for him every day. I know that he used to skip lunch but he said he's changed."

"Fifteen-year-old teenage boys are good liars, Mary," she said, "He's been selling his food to his classmates. One of his friends told his teacher that he's been saving for something big."

That kid is dead when we get home.

Gritting my teeth, I took a deep breath. "I need to speak to my brother."

I opened the room and Stuart was there lying in bed, pale and sick. I wanted to feel sorry for him but my anger got the best of me.

"You said you wouldn't tell her," Stuart glared at Dr. Kelly, holding his stomach.

"I'm gonna leave him to you," she told me quietly as she patted my shoulder.

When the door closed, that was when I showed my true colors. It was getting harder to breathe, repressing all the things I wanted to say to him.

"Explain."

"I have nothing to explain to you," he said, turning his head away from me.

"I told you not to skip meals," I spat, walking around the room in circles. "Stuart, do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into?

"What have you been saving huh? Drugs? Girls? Cocaine?" I went closer to him.

Stuart didn't say anything.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself? Speak!"

"I'm saving for your surgery."

"What?"

"I've been saving surgery for your back," he said.

"How many times do I have to say that it doesn't concern you?"

"But it does!" Stuart whimpered. "Mom and dad already left us and I don't want to be alone."

"It hurts me when you're in pain. You're my sister," he said meekly.