"Whew," I exhaled, my back slumped against the wall as I counted the books piled around Zach and me.

Having nearly emptied the second bookshelf in Athena's Used Books, Zach and I were surrounded by waist-high stacks of books that began to resemble a wall that shielded us from the outside world.

"Just a couple more," Zach huffed as he stretched to reach a handful of books from the topmost shelf. 

The movement caused his dull red t-shirt to hike up, revealing a strip of his rigid, muscular torso.

"Uh, Leena?" he called, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. 

"What?" I asked, craning my neck to look at him.

Zach turned around and crouched next to me, holding a few books in his brawny arms.

"Aren't these the books that your stepmother gave to the store?" he asked, eyeing me cautiously. "Sorry, ex-stepmother."

For three blissful seconds, I hadn't the slightest clue what Zach was talking about. When the realisation finally hit, I was at a loss for words. I reached for the hardcover classics, holding them in my arms with great care.

"Hey," Zach murmured, peering at me closely. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, no," I said, shaking my head to clear it. "I'm okay. It's just . . ."

"You were going to tell me about these books when you saw the register, remember?" he asked, laying his large palm on my shoulder gently.

"I remember," I murmured.

"Hun, I'm here for you if you want to talk about it," he soothed. "But if you want me to, I can just stuff these books somewhere else and pretend like they don't exist."

I looked up at Zach's face, his flawless features creased with curiosity and earnestness. Yet again, I was overwhelmed by the urge to confide in him.

"No, I want to tell you," I said, setting the books down on the floor in front of me. "Can I?"

"Of course," Zach replied immediately, moving to sit beside me.

"Okay," I exhaled, knotting my hands together in my lap. "Well, my father and Claire dated for a long time before they got married over two years ago. At first, I wasn't very happy. I was a typical teenager about it for a while."

Zach smiled understandingly. "Was Claire nice?"

"Yes, very," I nodded. "Right from the start, she made such an effort to bond with me."

Clearing my throat, I continued, "My dad was on his way to becoming the CEO of the company where he worked when he met Claire. He was buried in work, but he managed to make time for us. But after he landed the CEO's position, we hardly ever saw him. He was always busy. I mean, he stopped using his personal cell, so Claire and I were put on hold by his assistant, Rita, whenever we wanted to speak to him. Sometimes, we would be on hold forever only to find out that he can't take our calls."

"I'm not complaining," I hurried to clarify as Zach examined me with sympathy. "Dad is such a hard worker, and he's given me so much to be thankful for. And although Claire was upset that he wasn't spending any time with us anymore, she wouldn't show it too openly. But that changed when we found out that Dad wasn't going to be in town for my eighteenth birthday. Claire and Dad's wedding anniversary was just a week after my birthday, so she had this special celebration planned for the three of us."

I sighed before continuing, "Part of me knew from the start that my dad wouldn't make it, but I still hoped he would because the three of us hadn't gone out as a family for months. When we found out he wasn't coming, we both felt awful."

I fell silent. Despite the time that had passed, the scene that unfolded inside my head was clear as day. 

Claire paced the length of the living room anxiously, waiting to be connected to Dad's office. I watched her, my worry compounding with each second, as my father brought her plans to a crashing halt with the news of a sudden board meeting in France.

"Don't apologise to me," she said, her voice so cold that I flinched. "Apologise to your daughter who's going to celebrate her eighteenth birthday without her father."

Nonplussed, I stood by the couch, picking at a loose thread on the hem of my yellow Snoopy t-shirt. Claire hurried towards me, holding out her phone. 

When I didn't react right away, she pressed the phone into my hand and said, "Talk to him, Leena."

Claire's sudden intensity and discomposure scared me. I didn't want her and my father to fight, but most of all, I didn't want to be the reason for their disputes. That was a weight that I simply couldn't carry on my shoulders.

"D-dad?" I called into the phone.

"Lee, I'm so sorry that I can't make it," my dad said in a hurried, businesslike tone. "I really do want to be there, but my hands are tied. You understand, don't you?"

"I do," I said, avoiding Claire's questioning gaze.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he assured me. "And when I come back . . ." 

"Yeah?" I asked, suddenly hopeful. 

Maybe we can reschedule and go out when he comes back!

"When I come back, I'll buy you whatever you want for your birthday," he promised, sounding satisfied with his offer.

My heart deflated like a balloon that had been pricked by a needle. I had hoped that my father would promise to spend time with me. Instead, he promised to buy me material things that could never compensate for his absence.

"It's okay," I muttered, stung. "Thanks."

"Great," he murmured, his distracted voice interrupted by the rustle of papers. "I'm sending Rita over to the house tomorrow to give Claire the anniversary present. I thought I'd wait until I come back from France, but maybe if she sees it tomorrow, she won't be so upset. Don't tell her yet. Let it be a surprise."

"Okay, Dad," I said, stealing a glance at Claire. 

She stood a few paces away from me, her arms crossed over her chest. With her eyebrows furrowed and lips set in a disappointed frown, she looked like she was in no mood for surprises.

"I'm really sorry, okay?" my father said. "I'll call on your birthday. We'll talk later."

Before I could respond, he hung up. Dejected, I fell onto the beige couch that was so big that it almost swallowed me whole. Claire collapsed next to me, holding my hand in hers.

"He's not coming, is he?" she asked.

Shaking my head, I tried to tell her that it was fine, but all that came out was a pathetic little squeak.

***

"Hello, earth to Leena?" Zach called worriedly, waving his palm in front of my face. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm okay," I muttered, my words sounding unconvincing to my own ears. "Sorry." 

"You don't look okay," he said, placing a hand on my denim-clad knee. "Maybe you shouldn't talk about this, hun."

"No, I want to tell you," I insisted. "Where was I?"

"Well, you told me that you and Claire were upset when your dad cancelled on you," he said. "And then you kind of slipped into dreamland."

"I'm sorry," I repeated, a short, throaty laugh tumbling out of my lips. "Anyway, Rita came over the next day to give Claire the anniversary present."

"Wait, why was she giving Claire the present?" Zach interrupted, tipping his head to one side.

"Dad wanted to wait until after his trip to France to give her the present himself, but he thought that if he sent Rita to give it to her before their anniversary, she wouldn't be so mad at him."

"Oh," he replied, still looking confused.

I was unwilling to explain to Zach that after what happened with my mother, Dad had turned to money and materialism, putting more faith and value in things instead of people. He thought that by securing my future financially, he was doing what was best for me. I was grateful for everything that he did, but that wasn't the kind of support that I wanted from my father. 

All I wanted was for him to be there and talk to me about my mother. But whenever I mentioned her, his face contorted with so much anguish that I decided it best not to bring her up anymore. Although Claire knew what had happened, I couldn't bring myself to talk to her about it, either.

So, I bottled it all up. I kept it a secret from everyone except Chris. When I told him about my mother, I made him promise that he would never, ever bring it up. Thankfully, Chris kept that promise throughout the duration of our friendship.

I could have told Zach about everything. He would have heard me out patiently, ready to offer me comfort. He would have held my hand and told me how sorry he was. I would have looked into his perfect, sapphire blue eyes and found them filled with pity.

Pity that I didn't want. Pity that I probably didn't deserve.