CHAPTER SIXTEEN
God help me, part of me is still in love with this man.
But unlike the last time I loved him, there’s a new storm of emotions swirling within me. I think I’ve idealized our early days, and they’ve taken on the saccharine sweet flavor of puppy love — virginal, naive, vulnerable, wondering. I feel that uncertainty as if it’s new — because as I once wondered if Grady would kiss me, I find myself wondering the same thing all over again. There are seconds, as I watch him stand and greet me with a hug that feels like paper-thin glass, that I think he might lean in. My heart beats harder. I try to control my breath, but I’m preoccupied. My eyes want to sigh closed. I want to tip forward and let him catch me. I want our hug to last too long, and become something else. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
It’s clear he has no idea what to do.
If I were gullible, I’d see his posture full of regret. I’d believe — because I want to — that he’s sorry. His text was the most personal thing I’ve heard from him since he left, and it wasn’t hard to read between the lines.
He wants to make it right. But in what way?
He wants to talk to me. But why?
I won’t let myself believe this is what my foolish girl’s heart wants to think it is. Because it’s not, and I don’t want to feel that way again. I was crushed once, and I can’t stand the thought of being crushed again.
“How are you?”
With effort, I find my voice. “I’ve been okay.”
“And … Mackenzie?”
I don’t want to give away how pleased I am that he knows her name. It makes me a fool. Of course he should know her name. He should have been here all along, to know it intimately, to have written it on thousands of forms. But it’s hard for me to pry self-righteousness from selfishness, and at the same time as I’m trying to keep my distance, I know I might be demanding too much.
“She’s good. Healthy. Happy.”
“I saw your photos on LiveLyfe. She’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
“She looks like you.”
“She looks like her father,” I say.
I don’t know why I say it. I guess I just want to see his reaction. Maybe I say it because it’s a way of saying sorry and offering a hand. A way of saying that I’m not innocent here, either.
He looks away. A short exhale leaves him. Then he picks up the menu. When I don’t do the same, he lowers it and says, “Have you eaten yet? Do you want dinner?”
“Are you offering to buy me dinner?”
“If you haven’t eaten, sure.”
I watch his brown eyes for a long moment. I try to find the truth inside them. I try to find his intentions in them. I try to find the reason he got in touch, and what he expects. But they’re only eyes, inviting me to break bread and nothing more.
“I had something before I left work.” It’s a lie, but my stomach is in knots and I don’t want him to see me hungry but unable to eat.
“Oh.”
But now he looks almost sad. I consider letting him stay that way for all those old grudges, but I promised myself not to react if I can help it.
“I’ll have coffee.”
I see a ghost of his old smile. He hasn’t shaved in a while, and the stubble gives him an uncouth, disobedient look that none of the other men around me have.
“You always had coffee at night,” he says.
“I still do.”
“Isn’t it hard to sleep?”
“I’m so tired these days, I sleep no matter what.”
The smile leaves Grady’s lips as tidily as if I’ve smacked it away, which I basically have.
“My dad and I used to come here all the time,” he says. “What does it say that I remember my usual order, right down to the strange half-and-half way they do the fries?”
“Half-and-half how?”
“Half-straight. Half-curly.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“With vinegar. You have to have vinegar.” He touches the brown bottle beside the sugar packets and salt and pepper shakers.
“Gross. I remember how you always used to put vinegar on fries. And at the fair?”
“You have to put a lot of vinegar on fair fries. You have to drown them. At the bottom of the cup, you want those last few scraps to be almost unbearable.”
I laugh a little, and Grady smiles. But then I stifle myself and let the laugh peter out. A slight-looking waiter arrives, and Grady orders so businesslike, it’s as if he’s requesting a stockbroker’s portfolio. When the server is gone, we look awkwardly across the table at each other, both of us with hands folded on the tabletop. There’s maybe six inches between my fingertips and his.
“You said you wanted to talk to me,” I finally say into the awkward silence. My heartbeat doubles. My fingers twitch.
“Actually, I said I wanted to see you.”
“I guess you’re seeing me now.”
“I am.”
“How’s it going for you? Seeing me?” I don’t know if I sound playful or stupid. I know I feel stupid, but coming here in the first place, with no agenda, was stupid enough for us both. I won’t trust my judgment on these things for a while.
“It’s nice,” he says.
We sit for another thirty seconds or so in silence.
“I have a cat now.”
It’s such a non sequitur that I blink.
“What?”
“A cat. He’s back at my uncle’s old house. His name is Carl.” There’s a pause, and then Grady says, “He’s an asshole.”
“Why did you get a cat?”
“The cat got me.”
“How big of a cat?” It’s a worthless question, but I have to say something.
Grady holds out hands to show me. “I think he’s actually closer to a kitten.”
“Oh. Well, that’s nice.”
Grady nods. More silence.
Finally, he sighs. Grady seem to mentally rummage through several possible things to say, rejecting one or two before deciding. Then he locks eyes with me, weakening my resolve, and says, “I missed you, Maya.”
My tongue finds my cheek. I nod. I should answer in kind, but now that he’s exposing his belly, all I want to do is slash at it. Not because I hate him, but because I know I should. Because I still have some dignity left, and responding in the wrong/right way simply says I’ve accepted the apology he didn’t care enough to properly give.
“Looks like a lot has changed around here,” he says, backtracking when I don’t say what he wants me to.
“You’ve been away a long time.” It’s just a statement, but I can hear the bitterness in my words.
“I keep hearing about Inferno Falls. It’s like everyone’s decided it’s suddenly hip.”
“It is.”
“Do you approve? Or is the change annoying?”
“I like it. I always figured I’d leave some day, but now I can see staying.”
Which is good, because I can’t leave.
I keep that last bit to myself, but I can’t help saying what comes out next.
“If you heard so much about it, maybe you could have come back.”
He looks right at me. That was too blunt. I have to soften it.
“Just out of curiosity,” I add.
“I was all the way across the country. It’s just me and my truck.”
“Exploring the world like we always wanted to.”
“Well … ”
“So what was your favorite place?”
Grady looks disoriented by the small talk. It’s clearly not what we’re here to discuss, but where can we possibly start? The gulf between us is enormous. I wouldn’t know where to jump if I wanted to.
“Um … New York?”
“That’s predictable,” I say.
“And too expensive, I guess. Maybe Austin?”
“Texas?”
Gavin nods, but he does it like someone being interviewed by an executioner. He doesn’t seem to think we’re actually having a conversation, so the answers don’t matter.
“You don’t strike me as a Texan.”
“We used to talk about Austin,” he says. “Do you remember?”
Of course I do. We used to talk about a lot of things. We used to talk about having a place in France and Hawaii, too. We were two stupid kids, clueless to the world’s harsh realities.
“We did?”
“We even looked at homes there. Did a Zillow search.” He laughs a little. “Don’t you remember? You were going to bring it up to your dad.”
Jesus. I’d forgotten that gem, but now I remember it plenty. I’d been lying with my head in Grady’s lap, and his PowerBook had been on my as-of-yet-unpregnant belly. He’d done the search using me as a desk, and at some point I’d set the PowerBook aside and rolled around to kiss him, and the potential and energy of youth had taken things from there. That was shortly before we broke up for the first time, before the first bump as the road got rocky then turned bad.
“My dad in Texas,” I say, forcing a laugh.
“Has he left Inferno since … you know?”
“No.”
“You should pose it to him as a challenge. Just to see if it’s possible for him to leave his fifty-mile radius.”
“I don’t think he can.” I don’t want to play along, but Dad’s general distrust of the outside world is something we always found funny. He’s sure Inferno Falls is the best place in the world because he’s eliminated none of the alternatives. “It’s like he has one of those electronic tethers.”
“You know what Arthur would be great at?” Grady says.
I look up.
“House arrest.”
For some reason, that strikes me as hilarious. I’ve been sipping water, but I spray a bit on the table as the waitress shows up with my coffee. For a second, I feel an internal wall sigh, but her intrusion gives me a moment to rebuild it. I’d almost fallen right back into our old ways. To torture myself and stay focused, I turn my mind to Chadd’s photo, the one of him and Tommy. What would Grady say if I showed him?
It’s not a fair thing to think, but this exercise is for me, not Grady. I won’t be taken in this easily. I’ve held two things for nearly a decade now, and I’m not sure which to set down. In one hand, I’ve held a grudge. In the other, I’ve carried a torch. I won’t show him either. Not yet.
“How are your parents?” Grady says, apparently not reading my obvious tumult.
“They’re good. They help me take care of Mackenzie because I work so much.”
Again, an acutely uncomfortable expression crosses Grady’s features. I’m pretty sure I’m saying these things to twist a knife, but if I am, it’s not something under conscious control.
This is your fault too, Maya, I tell myself. You started what happened between us.
But no. That’s not true. Grady left. I played my role, but he ran.
“They asked about you,” I say, the peacemaker within me gaining a temporary upper hand.
“Really?”
“Not recently. A few years ago. They were watching one of those on-the-road-type shows, and Dad asked if I’d heard about you.”
“He did?”
“Mackenzie showed him your postcards.”
That seems to punch Grady a little, but he swallows it. “Did your dad think that was … I don’t know … weird? Me sending her postcards?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“So you’ve been giving them to her. The postcards. To Mackenzie.”
“Of course.”
“Well, what have you told her about me?”
“That you’re a friend I once had.”
I imagine the past tense hurts, but fuck it. Let him ache. He never came back. He never called. He never even sent a proper letter, or anything that didn’t say more than where he was. What was I supposed to tell my daughter about her mysterious pen pal?
“What’s she like?”
“Smart. Kind. Mature because she had to be.”
“That’s good to h — ”
“She’s a lot like her dad.”
“Really.”
“The good parts and the bad.”
“Maya … ”
“She’s proud. But she’s stubborn. She’s good at sports, but doesn’t really want to participate, which is probably my influence. Or my inability to get her to enough activities to really, truly join a team.”
His look is sympathetic. “That must be tough on you.”
“It is, Grady.”
“There are times I wish I hadn’t left.”
“Just times?”
“I couldn’t handle things back then. It was … too much.”
“Do you know how else she’s like her dad, Grady?”
“Don’t do this.”
“She’s proud. She won’t admit when she’s wrong.”
“It wasn’t just me, Maya. You have to see how it was for me. Not just with my parents and my uncle, but with you, too.”
“With me. With pregnant, little old me,” I say, my anger growing despite my intention to dampen it.
“We were both stupid.”
“And yet only one of us had to pay.”
“Don’t play innocent. You made your choices. I didn’t have anything to do with — ”
I raise my hands. I can stop this. I should stop this. We’ve taken a first step, but I’m suddenly certain I don’t want it to be our last. And besides, other diners are tossing glances. Grady may have forgotten how Inferno Falls is, but I know its penchant for gossip and nosiness. And if Vincent comes over to talk to us, which he’s socially retarded enough to do, even at this moment, it’ll all be over, and whatever this might be will end before it’s had a chance to draw its first breath.
“Okay,” I say with effort. “Let’s … let’s not go into all that old baggage now.”
I watch Grady’s face as he seems to decide whether to let this become a fight or something different. There’s a moment where the old stubborn independence I remember flares like a hot coal within him, and I’m sure he’ll not just keep fighting — but maybe flee the booth. He never liked confrontation, always preferring to solve things by leaving them behind.
“Fine,” he finally says.
“Clean slate. That’s the only way this will work.” Timidly, not liking what it exposes, I add, “If you want it to work.”
Work? Even I’m not sure what I mean. Aren’t we just meeting to catch up? There’s nothing to “work,” is there? My princess fantasies of rescue are showing. I’m being a fool all over again. I try to remind myself that what’s between us is done and that I don’t even want him around, but it’s so much harder to believe when I meet his eyes. I’ve looked into them too many times with hope in the past. There’s too much history there, and it breaks my heart to think of throwing it all away.
“Clean slate,” he finally repeats. Then, after a pause: “So what next?”
The next thing comes out of me like a traitor, and is between us before I can stop it.
“I have Thursday off. Let’s all go to the park.”
All.
Because I guess that somewhere deep down, my stupid heart must want Mackenzie to meet him after all.