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It's fine. It's just a gift. People love gifts.
But this isn't just people. It's Joan.
"What's all this, what's happening?" Mo's voice startles Zoey out of her internal panic and back to reality, where she is immediately met with his unimpressed stare. He gestures over her, his hand waving up and down several times before pausing above her head. She forgot that she had burst into his apartment impulsively to talk herself out of the ridiculous errand she was about to run. "Did you just have a vision? Was it fabulous?"
"I don't have visions," Zoey replies, frowning.
"Girl I don't know what that brain of yours is up to...ever," Mo rolls his eyes. "So? What's got you a thousand miles away?"
"Nothing," Zoey deflects quickly. Too quickly, judging by Mo's silence and exasperated sigh. "Okay, I just. I'm going over to Joan's to drop off a gift and I'm freaking out about it a little bit."
"Well that's...generous," Mo says slowly. "Although I'm fairly certain you aren't obligated to get her anything."
"It's the holiday! I just thought it would be nice, I wanted to do something nice. Is it too much? It's too much." Zoey throws her head back in exasperation. "I'll just forget it--" she frowns at that. Obviously she isn't going to "forget" the ridiculously overpriced whiskey she purchased on a whim, figuring it would be the perfect excuse to spread some holiday cheer.
She'll just drink it, alone, at her apartment, and no one will have to know. Perfect.
"Zoey? Breathe," Mo pleads. "You're doing that thing you do when you're stressed. You're practically on my ceiling."
"I'm breathing," Zoey insists, exhaling sharply. She realizes she has decidedly not been breathing, but he doesn't need to know that.
"It's fine, all of this is really nice, I'm sure she'll appreciate it," Mo says through clenched teeth. "What I'm confused about is why is this breaking news? You're severely ruining my vibe."
"Right," Zoey says, trying to fake confidence. "Right, I'm overthinking it."
"You see Joan like...every single day," Mo chuckles. "This isn't really a huge deal, is it?"
It shouldn't be, Zoey reasons. It's just Joan. Smart, snarky, sexy Joan. Sexy? Did she say that out loud? She glances nervously at Mo who is staring impatiently at her.
"I'm not nervous, you're nervous!" Zoey exclaims, turning quickly on her heel and heading for the door.
"Come to think of it, you were awfully cozy at Simon's engagement party," Mo says, tapping his chin as he ponders. His eyes widen as he claps his hands. "Please tell me she's in contention!"
"Contention?" Zoey stops abruptly, turning her head so fast she practically gives herself whiplash. "Contention for what?"
"Oh I am so here for this!" Mo announces. "For the record, I am firmly Team Joan, always stanned, never dissed."
"That's--" Zoey shakes her head so vigorously it feels like her brain is rattling inside of her skull. "Stop it! There's no team anything. It's just a gift!" She reaches for the door, calling out a hurried, "I'lltalktoyoulaterbye!" before Mo can say anything else.
The thing about it is: it's not just a gift. It's an excuse. A very weak, pathetic excuse to check up on Joan outside of work. She could just leave the gift on her desk, or send a card and forget about it, but it's not enough. It's Joan. Joan, who supported her as a new manager, who gifted her those Louboutins that cost more than her rent, who was there for her when her father was sick and who took her out for drinks just so she could have someone to lean on. It's her boss who became a friend and then allowed her to take time away from work when her mother couldn't handle making funeral arrangements alone and who showed up at her father's wake and wrapped her in the warmest hug when words wouldn't suffice. Despite all of Zoey's misgivings, they were close. And now, it's Joan's first holiday without Charlie, and Zoey's first holiday without her dad, and it feels significant in all the important ways. Enough that she feels like she has to do something about it.
It would be wrong not to, right?
Right.
So that's why, thirty minutes later, she's in Joan's driveway idling like a lunatic without any recollection of arriving.
Did she spend enough ? What are the rules for a situation like this? Zoey glances at the sadly packaged bottle in her passenger seat and ruminates. It's not too late to turn around. She could just drive away and pretend this whole stupid idea never happened.
But then she thinks of Joan's sly smile, and the way she nods appreciatively at her when she does something particularly noteworthy and she gets that feeling. That deep rooted feeling in her gut that only seems to react when she's thinking about her . It reminds her that there's a reason for all of this. There's something that compels her to be here, pushing her to be brave enough to see her boss. Her friend . She puts her car in park and forces herself to the door. The next thing she knows, she's ringing the doorbell and smoothing the wrinkles out of her cardigan, half wishing for Joan not to be home.
"Leave the food by the mailbox I don't know what part of zero contact is hard to understa--" the door flies open and a flustered Joan stops abruptly, her jaw clenching several times before she speaks again. "Zoey?"
She brushes a stray hair out of her face and stares down at her with a chilly glare that sends shivers down Zoey's spine. Eventually her eyes soften and she crosses her arms over her chest. It's startling to see her standing there, dressed in a cozy sweater and black jeans, looking casual and soft and--
Nope. Not the point. Zoey shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts, blurting the first thing that comes to mind.
"Ahoy Joan!"
"Please stop doing that--" Joan winces.
"I don't know why it just comes naturally," Zoey says, her cheeks blazing. Why does she turn into a pirate the instant she's in Joan's presence?
"Do I have an eye patch or something, is that what you see when you look at me?" Joan asks incredulously. "You know what, it doesn't matter. Since when do you work at DoorDash? If you needed a raise you could have just come to me."
"I don't-- DoorDash?" Zoey frowns. "No, no I'm-- I'm here to see you, actually."
Just as Joan is about to respond, they're interrupted by the click-clacking of paws on tile, as her two Pomeranians go bounding around her legs and out the door.
"Tom Ford! Hermès!" Joan exclaims, calling after them. The entire scene is just a commotion of Joan calling out commands that sound vaguely threatening while Zoey assists uselessly with one arm. It’s not quite how she planned this visit going, but she's fucking trying .
The dogs bark happily, running circles around both of them and causing chaos before they are corralled back inside. Joan places a hand on her hip and exhales loudly. She studies Zoey for a second as she gains her composure. "Ok, well are you coming in? Or is this like an awkward drive by? Because I really just don't have time to detangle all this," she says as she gestures over Zoey.
"Oh, right, yes," Zoey says, straightening up. "Is that okay? Is this a bad time?"
"Well I was about to cancel on my pilates instructor so no, this is great," Joan says, offering a flustered smile as she turns to go back inside. She doesn't wait for a response, leaving the door open behind her as an invitation. Zoey glances around as if committing a sneaky crime, before crossing the threshold.
The house -- mansion, actually -- is even bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside. Something flutters in Zoey's chest as she realizes she's never been inside Joan's house before. She cranes her neck up at the high ceilings, her eyes following the winding staircase in front of her.
"Wow," she breathes. "This is incredible."
"I know right," Joan says, glancing over her shoulder and scrunching her nose as if Zoey had complimented her outfit or something equally as unassuming, and not the structure of the actual palace she lives in. "I found an extra bathroom the other day. Just like that, a whole other bathroom! I can't wait to post about it. Suck on THAT, Zuckerberg."
Zoey chuckles as she follows Joan past more unoccupied spaces and through to a surprisingly cozy looking family room with oversized leather couches and a TV that takes up almost the entire wall. Zoey wrings her hands nervously as she stumbles around the couch, trying to figure out the best place to sit-- or should she stand? Why is everything such a major decision lately?
"You seem stressed," Joan comments, her eyebrow jutting skyward as she appraises Zoey with a keen stare. "Are you always like this and I've just blocked it out? You're so tense..."
She takes a small step toward her, but Zoey steps back as if by reflex. Joan freezes.
"Me? I'm fine."
"I can get you a prescription for that," Joan says, shrugging it off. She waves to the couch closest to Zoey and then sits across from her. "Or well, not really a prescription, but I can get you whatever you want. Just don't ask me to call that vile Theranos woman. Oooh! Unless you want to prank call her? I could absolutely do that, she's so nutty --" Joan takes out her phone, studying something on the screen which causes Zoey to interject.
"I think I'm all set," Zoey says and Joan frowns, placing her phone back in her pocket.
Zoey tries to get comfortable, crossing and uncrossing her legs several times until Joan leaps up and heads to the kitchen. She comes back with a bakery tin filled with scones.
"They're from Snoop Dogg," Joan explains, taking one for herself and handing the plate over. Zoey eyes her. "Martha's recipe. I know, I'll never get over them being friends." She studies the scone after taking a bite, turning it over in her hand. "Uh, not sure if it’s her exact recipe,” she shrugs up her shoulders as if they’re in on a secret. “You might not want to finish the entire thing or I'll have to scrape you off my couch."
"Got it," Zoey mumbles as she takes a small bite, understanding immediately. She places the scone back on the napkin. Although, the more she thinks about it, maybe getting baked with Joan is the key to taking the edge off...
"So," Joan starts, taking her place back on the couch. She drapes her arm casually over the top, the other hand tangled loosely in her hair. "You're here. In my house."
"I am," Zoey agrees, looking around awkwardly, trying to avoid Joan's captivating eyes. She feels her staring as she tries to count each and every thread in the pillow she's leaning on. She only makes it to 20 before giving up.
"I brought something!" she says, remembering the bottle standing discarded by her feet. She holds up the bag sheepishly. "It's for the holiday, technically, I guess, but also to -- well, it's to thank you--" Her cheeks are engulfed in flames as she tries to figure out how to explain why exactly she felt the need to drive across town to deliver it in person. Or how to say exactly what Joan means to her. "--For everything," she blurts, which is supremely unremarkable, but it’s all she can manage. There are just too many feelings churning inside her and no way she's going to be able to get them all out without scaring Joan away.
Joan swallows heavily as she takes the bag with a shaky hand. She fumbles with the gift tag - - "Deck the halls with bottles of whiskey, xox Zoey" -- and her heart pounds in her throat. This is exactly the opposite of what she needs to happen, but God, if it isn't exactly what she wants. She's been talking a mile a minute to try to avoid the jitters working through her mind because she's not sure how to process being near Zoey anymore. And when did that happen, anyway? Somewhere between the working meetings and the happy hours and the long conversations, they're in this place that she can't quite name. And now they're actually here, in her house, and all Joan can wonder is how many times is she going to make the same mistake?
"That's--" Joan tries, unsure how to even respond. It's more than just a gesture, but maybe it's not. Maybe it's just a bottle of whiskey for a lonely woman during a stupid time of year. "You didn't have to do that."
"I know!" Zoey exclaims almost too quickly. "I just wanted to."
And there it is, just like that. Any resolve she thought she was building comes crumbling down around her. Zoey is not like the others. Zoey is sweet and kind, with a fierce determination and a penchant for meddling in things that rivals only Joan's own habits. She's everything Joan should naturally want, but she's also fully and completely off limits. Joan clears her throat, trying to remind herself that they're in a good place, just like this. As friends.
So as friends, she looks back over at the occupied seat across from her, and tries to distract herself from Zoey's bashful smile. "How are you holding up?" Joan asks, trying to gauge the response before Zoey can answer. Her eyes are slightly dark rimmed, her shoulders slumping from an invisible weight. She looks tired. Beautiful, of course. But tired from carrying everything.
"Ah," Zoey's voice quivers, but she smiles quickly. "I'm fine," she waves her hand. "Great. Couldn't be better."
"Don't do that," Joan scolds, shaking her head. "Don't lie to me."
Zoey hangs her head. She doesn't answer right away, and it's clear she wants to say something else. Joan waits, afraid to push too hard. When Zoey finally looks up, her smile is fading, her eyes watery. She sighs.
"I'm doing the best I can," she says softly. "I guess that's all I can really do right?"
Joan nods sympathetically, but before she can fumble her way through with an attempt at wisdom, Zoey continues. "But more importantly, how are you? How's it been--"
Her words drop off, and it's what she doesn't say that sticks in Joan's chest. How has it been without Charlie . The truth is, it's better, and she knows it's better. Her heart finally has a chance to heal. She doesn't even think of him anymore. Not like that, anyway. He's just a part of her past -- a part she would rather not dwell on anymore.
But there's something about the silence that keeps her up at night.
"This house is...empty," Joan confesses, a sad smile ghosting over her lips. "I think if I stay here it will swallow me whole."
Zoey scoots a little closer.
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," Joan says through a soft chuckle. "For the first time -- I don't actually have a plan." She takes the bottle perched between them, desperate to navigate away from her feelings. "But this whiskey," Joan holds it up, grinning. "This is a good start."
As Joan busies herself in the kitchen opening the bottle and rummaging for glasses, Zoey hears it. The unmistakable jazzy intro. The soft snare drum beat. She immediately tenses.
Joan can't possibly be singing a heart song right now, can she?
The beat gets louder, and Zoey's heart starts to pound.
"Oh, I really can't stay," she tries, realizing she's failing as soon as the words are out of her mouth. Joan is already pouring a drink. She turns to Zoey, strolling purposefully back toward the couch.
Baby it's cold outside... she croons, her voice slow and deep. She holds out her hand.
"I've got to --" Zoey points fruitlessly over her shoulder. "Go away..."
Baby it's cold outside...
Joan takes another step closer, her eyes swirling with the right kind of mischief. Zoey swallows.
"This evening has been..." Zoey says, standing now.
Been hoping that you'd drop in....
"Really?" Zoey asks, surprised.
"What?" The music stops and Joan studies her with a confused look on her face.
Zoey would have to be a complete moron to deny that there's attraction here, but she didn't know it was reciprocated. She wouldn’t allow her mind to even go there. Then again, maybe this is just a really vulnerable time, and maybe Joan’s judgement is completely off base...
But what if she does mean it? Zoey contemplates leaning into the song...just a bit.
Can I be part of the performance? She makes a mental note to ask Mo about it later. But before she can overanalyze it from all possible angles, Joan takes her by the hand and they start waltzing.
Somehow, she knows the steps without even thinking about it, and Joan is leading them around the room in a choreographed dance, up and back, up and back. It feels like they've done this a thousand times, and Zoey can't help the giggle that escapes her lips.
Is this what happens when two heart songs are on the same beat?
Baby it's bad out there... Joan sings, her head tilted as she faces Zoey.
‘Say what's in this drink?' Zoey finds herself replying, grinning at the forgotten glasses on the counter.
No cabs to be had out there
‘I wish I knew how…’
Your eyes are like starlight now
‘To break this spell…’
I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell... Joan smiles as she runs her hand gently through Zoey's hair.
‘I ought to say no, no, no…’
Mind if I move in closer?
‘At least I'm gonna say that I tried…’
Zoey makes no attempt to pull away as Joan leans in. She feels her muscles tense as Joan's eyes flutter, patiently focusing on her face. Their hands are entangled while Joan's other hand ghosts over the small of Zoey's back, which sends a jolt through her core.
‘You've really been grand…’ Zoey whispers, and Joan smiles shyly.
I feel when I touch your hand...
‘But don't you see?’
How can you do this thing to me?
They're impossibly close now, wrapped in each other without a care in the world. Joan’s expression mirrors what she feels: starry eyed wonder, on the precipice of more . Zoey can feel her pulse in her ears. The music stops, but neither one of them move, afraid to break the spell.
"Okay," Zoey finally whispers, nodding slowly as her smile grows. "Maybe one drink, then."