Zack recalls the conversation he and Anna had in their English class, when he compared her to a car: "Hell yes, Anna. You are the best fucking car I have ever seen. You are built for reliability. Like one of those classic American sedans– solid frame, engine that never gives out. But you are also built for speed when you need to be– remember that time you ran across the school to catch the bus and beat me by five seconds? And you have got that power under the hood too. The way you handle yourself when people try to mess with you… You are not just some pretty car sitting in the garage looking good. You are the one I would trust to drive us through a storm without even thinking about it."
After a long hot shower, he goes to bed and finally manages to sleep. The next morning when he wakes up, the scent of breakfast cooking wafts up from the kitchen, an unusual aroma in his morning routine. His father rarely takes the time to prepare meals before rushing off to work, which makes this particular Saturday morning feel… different. Zack throws on a t-shirt and dark grey jeans, running a hand through his blond hair as he descends the stairs. The sight of his father standing at the stove in a dress shirt and tie is almost surreal. "Morning," Zack says cautiously, approaching the kitchen island where a plate of scrambled ages and bacon sits waiting. "What is the occasion? Did you lose your job or something?" He is instantly on alert– something about this domestic scene feels like a test he was not prepared for. The usual morning chaos of their household is completely absent, replaced by the quiet sizzle of breakfast being prepared.
"Don't just stand there gawking," Zack's father says gruffly without running from the stove. "It is breakfast, not a unicorn. Eat." Zack's raises an eyebrow at his father's gruff command, but compliance wins out of argument. He grabs a plate and slides into a barstool, digging into the eggs with more force than necessary. "This is weird," he comments between bites. "You never cook breakfast anymore. Mom used to make bacon like this sometimes." The mention of his mother causes a brief pause in both men's movements. Zack's fork hovers mid-air before he sets it down and continues eating more slowly. "So, what is your deal this morning? Trying to be father of the year of something?" he asks with suspicious curiosity.
His father sets down the spatula and faces him properly for the first time since sitting down to eat. "Yeah, she did," he said softly. "Her secret was adding a bit of sugar to the bacon." The unexpected tenderness in his father's voice catches him off guard. He pauses mid-chew, looking up from his plate with genuine surprise flickering across his features. The mention of his mother's memory attached to this simple meal creates an odd sense of nostalgia he had not anticipated. "Sugar?" Zack repeats doubtfully, setting down his fork to study the crisp strips more closely. "Mom put sugar on bacon? That explains why yours taste so different." A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth– a rare expression these days.
Most mornings start with shouting matches about homework or chores, not shared remembrances over breakfast. "Thanks for making it," Zack says quietly, the words feeling unfamiliar on his tongue. What time are you heading out?" his father asks causally as he turned off the stove. The question reminded Zack of his plans with Anna and how she insisted on coming to pick him up, sending a rush of possessive excitement through him. "Anna's picking me up around nine," he answers shortly, pushing his empty plate aside. The nonchalant delivery masks the underlying intensity simmering beneath– the knowledge that within hours she will be here. His father watches him with that knowing look parents get when they suspect more that they are being told.
Zack's father just nods and stands across Zack to eat his own breakfast. "You are lucky," he said softly. "Anna is a special girl. Do not screw it up." Zack's jaw tightened slightly at the advice. The implication that he might somehow mess things up with Anna strikes a nerve– of course he will now screw it up. He had been waiting ten years for this chance. "I know she is," he retorts defensively, leaning back in his chair. "I have known her since we were kids. I am not going to do anything stupid." His father finished shewing a bite of eggs before speaking again, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Stupid is not what I am worried about. Girls like Anna do not wait around forever when guys act like idiots." The comment hits closer to home than Zack cares to admit. His past behavior– fighting, drinking, generally acting like an asshole– has caused problems between them before. But today feels different. Today he plans to prove he is not that guy anymore.
"I am not acting like an idiot," Zack insists, his voice carrying that familiar stubborn edge. "Today is different. We have been waiting ten years for this." He stands abruptly, grabbing his empty plate and carrying it to the sink with more force than necessary. The competitive instinct within him rebels against being lectured by his father, especially when it comes to Anna. "Besides, she is not just 'a special girl.' She is mine." The possessive declaration slips out without conscious thought, revealing the depts of his territorial feelings toward her. His father simply shakes his head with a wry smile. "Keep telling yourself that son. Love does not work like owning property." Zack scoffs at the sentimentality but does not argue further. Instead, he checks his phone for any messages from Anna– nothing yet besides their late-night conversation still saved in his call history. "I am going to go get ready," he announces pointedly.
Zack goes upstairs and packs some clothes and his charger. Then he hears an engine revving outside. He makes his way downstairs to the front door, where her sees Anna in a vintage Pontiac GTO, wearing a fitted, off shoulder knitted sweater dress in a soft heather grey colour.