"Wash up," Zack's father says causally. Zack's competitive nature rebels against the casual command, but the exhaustion of their conflict makes him too tired to argue. He stands abruptly, scraping his chair against the linoleum floor as he carrier both bowls to the sink. "Fine," he mutters, turning on the tap with unnecessary force. "But don't expect me to dry off or put away. I am not your maid." His father says nothing, simple placing the container of leftovers in the refrigerator without looking at him. The kitchen feels smaller than ever with their tense presence filing it. As Zack starts scrubbing dishes more aggressively than necessary, his phone buzzes on the countertop. He glances at It immediately– a text massage from Anna with a picture of Kyle holding up a completed math worksheets with a proud smile.
"What are your plans this weekend?" Zack's father asked suddenly. Zack's hands freeze mid-scrub on the plate. The mention of his weekend plans brings back Anna's earlier threat about flowers and sexy outfits. "What is it to you?" he asks definitively, turning to face his father with a challenging expression. "You got a problem with me having a life outside this house?" his father leans against the counter with crossed arms, studying Zack's reactions carefully. "Just curious where you are disappearing to Saturday morning. You said you were driving Anna some were…" the mention of Saturday morning sends a jolt of panic through him– Anna's plan to surprise him suddenly feels like a ticking time bomb.
"I expect you to be home Sunday night before 9 PM," Zack's father orders casually. Zack jaw tightens as he grips the dishrag tighter. "9 PM? Are you serious?" he snaps turning fully to confront his father. "I am almost eighteen years old; I should not need a curfew like I am ten." His father pushes off from the counter, moving closer with the intimidating parental stance that always makes Zack's blood boil. "Nine PM or you don't go anywhere," he says flatly. "Take it or leave it. Your choice." The threat hands in the air between them– either comply with the ridiculous curfew or risk cancelling his entire weekend with Anna. Zack's mind races through options frantically before landing on the most obvious solution. "Fine," he grits out through clenched teeth. "But if I am home Sunday night at nine sharp, you owe me something in return."
"This is not a business negotiation, Zack," his father said coldly. Zack's competitive nature recoils at his father's dismissive tone, the rejection of his bargaining attempt hitting him lie physical blow. His hands drop to his side, the wet dishrag forgotten in the sink. "It has always been a negotiation with you," he says quietly, the fight draining out of his voice. "Everything has conditions and consequences. Even me wanting to spend time with my girlfriend." He turns back to the sink and finishes washing a plate with slow, deliberate motions, avoiding eye contact with his father. The familiar kitchen feels like enemy territory tonight. "I will be home by nice Sunday," Zack says finally, setting the clean plate on the drying rack without looking up. "But don't expect me to act grateful for your permission." Without waiting for a response, he wipes his hands on a towel and storm out of the kitchen toward his bedroom.
Zack slams his bedroom door shut with more force than necessary, the sound echoing through the quiet house. He kicks off his shoes angrily and collapses backward onto his bed, staring at the ceiling with frustrated energy coursing through him. He takes off his jeans and t-shirt to get comfortable. "Nine PM," he mutters under his breath, running both hands through his blond hair in exasperation. "What the fuck am I supposed to do– rush though the weekend?" his phone buzzes in his pocket, he takes it out to see another message from Anna, this time it is just a simple emoji of a heart wrapped around a clock face with the caption 'counting down.' A small smile tugs at his lips despite his annoyance. The image of Anna patiently helping her brother with homework while thinking about their weekend together is both endearing and infuriatingly distracting. "Eight months," he whispers to himself, rolling onto his side to check the time.
Fifteen minutes pass in silence before Anna sends another text. "Finished helping my brother with homework and catching up on my own homework. Can I still call?" Zack's competitive nature immediately perks up at her text, his frustration with his father instantly forgotten. He grabs his phone from the nightstand and types back immediately. "Call me now," he texts back quickly, his thumbs moving with purpose. "I need to hear your voice before I punch something." He sits up against his headboard, running a hand through his blond hair. The tension in his shoulders begins to ease just from knowing she will be calling soon. When his phone rings a minute lates, Zack answers on the first ring. "Hey," he says, his voice already softer than it was downstairs. "Tell me everything. How was kyle's homework? Did he actually listen to you for once?"
"Yeah, it went pretty smoothly. He even wanted to do extra. Surprising, isn't it?" Anna says excitedly. Zack lights up at her news about her brother's academic improvement. A genuine smile breaks through his earlier frustration as he settles back against his pillows. "Extra? Shit, did you actually teach that kid something useful for once?" he teases, though his tone is filled with clear pride for her success. "Maybe you should consider becoming a tutor or a teacher." He shifts the phone to his other ear, getting comfortable as if preparing for a longer conversation now that their day is finally winding down. The bedroom feels warmer now that her voice is filling the space. "Your dad must be proud too, right? Or does he still think you are wating time helping your annoying little brother?" Zack asks with casual interest, his own father's dismissive attitude still lingering in his mind.