The Vanishing Year by Kate Moretti Page A

, our ankles crossed.
    â€œThe punk girl, right? I remember Lydia.”
    Was he not listening at all in the kitchen? I try not to be exasperated.
    â€œI miss . . . having a girlfriend. I don’t talk to her much anymore.”
    â€œWell, you have different ideas now. You’re a rich woman, in a different world. She’s not. It drives a wedge between a lot of people.”
    â€œIt’s more than that.” I pull my ankle back and cross it under me, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt. I pick imaginary crumbs off the blankets.
    â€œOh?” He raises an eyebrow.
    â€œHenry, do you like her?” I choose my words carefully, picking through the minefield that is a delicate subject with Henry. Again, I sense the closing door before its confirmed.
    â€œI have no feelings about her whatsoever, Zoe.” He sits up straighter, his face pulled in, becoming Henry again. “You can do as you like, with whomever you like.” The kind of person who says things like as you like and whomever versus the guy who smacked my bare bottom twenty minutes ago. All these quick-changing people, like stage actors in a play.
    â€œYou’ve never seemed to approve.” I put my pizza down and touch his hand. He looks at it blankly.
    â€œI approve, Zoe. It’s fine.” He stands up, gathers the pizza box and the crumpled paper towels, and sweeps crumbs from the white comforter. He mumbles something that sounds like crumbs in bed.
    I feel panicky; I’m losing him. I make a calculated decision.
    â€œShe reminded me of something I forgot about.” I straighten the pillows, going for nonchalant. “When you andI met, I had just started digging, trying to find Carolyn. I was striking out.” He is staring at me, his eyes wide, his expression a marble wall. I rush on. “I wonder if you can help me now. You’re rich, powerful, connected. ” Henry loves more than anything to be a hero, and a celebrated one. Nothing gets him going quite like can you help me.
    I expect this to work, to be the bridge between us, to bring him back to bed, his ankles over mine, his face in my neck as he brainstorms about who he knows that could help locate her, and how we could do it. Who he could pay, We’ll hire the best PI I can find. I genuinely believe this.
    Instead, his mouth is set, his jaw working.
    â€œWhy am I not enough, Zoe?” His hands hang down by his sides, but his fists are clenching and unclenching.
    â€œOh, honey no, I just meant—”
    â€œI know what you meant.” He slaps the bed, hard, and I jump back. “In the course of one evening, you tell me you were almost killed, you’ve connected with an old friend—someone shady and who looks like a common criminal—and now you want to reach back into your past and find your birth mother, even though, by your own admission, your past is shrouded in secrecy and vague, and you have no living relatives. We’ve made a goddamn life, Zoe.”
    I’m stung by his words, his assessment of our evening and how drastically different it is from mine.
    â€œHenry, I’m telling you this because I feel close to you! Please, just listen—”
    â€œI said you can do anything you want to do. I mean that. But you are restless. You are not content in our life. With everything we have, you want more. You bring up this Carolyn every time I turn around. She’s the woman who left you. I am the man who is here. And it will never be enough. ” His eyes flash with anger and he spits the words at me.
    â€œHenry! NO! ” I shout, I can’t help it. He’s not even listening to me. This all seems ridiculous. He obviously doesn’t understand what I’m talking about, what I’m asking.
    â€œDon’t you dare raise your voice to me like that.” He says it slowly, low and scary, and I shrink back. I’ve never been afraid of Henry before.
    â€œHenry. I’m happy