11

NOW

Maxie woke early. She needed to get out of the apartment and far away from it. If even for a day.

She put on a low-cut shirt that stopped just below her belly button and a pair of cut-off shorts. For a moment she stood in front of the mirror, studying her reflection. What a difference from a year ago. Her hair, her clothes, her skin now decorated with colorful tattoos. Maybe that was why he couldn't remember her. She wasn't the girl he'd met on that snowy Christmas night.

But she was the girl he'd made her into. Didn't that mean something?

Sighing, she fluffed her hair and turned away from the mirror. Slipping her feet into a pair of sandals, she grabbed her purse and plodded out of her bedroom. When she reached the living room, she stopped short and inhaled sharply. Standing in the kitchen, locked in a passionate kiss, were Van and Isaac.

Van stood on her tiptoes, the sheer nighty she wore rising up past her butt as she held Isaac around the neck with one arm. He leaned down to kiss her, holding her around her waist, gently thrusting against her hand, which disappeared into his boxers. He glanced up at Maxie in a lustful daze before letting his eyes drift shut again. Then they shot back open as realization hit him, and he jumped back, pulling away from Van and moving her in front of him to block his bare body—and his erection—from Maxie.

"What's wrong?" Van asked, breathless and confused. She followed his wide-eyed stare across the room to Maxie, who stood with her eyes closed and her head down.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't you dare cry. But tears burned behind her eyelids, and dread lay heavy on her chest, and anger and disgust and sadness and resentment formed a thick knot in her throat. Had she really just witnessed that? She almost wanted to open her eyes again, just to make sure, but the image was still crystal clear in her mind; plaguing her thoughts like a painful, nasty, lethal disease.

"Oh!" Van cried. "Maxie, I didn't realize—"

But Maxie spun around and hurried back to her room, eyes still squeezed shut. She closed her door tightly and went to the bathroom. Shutting that door tightly as well, she turned on the sink faucet to drown out the sound her of sobbing.

How could she stay here with them? Day in and day out? Every night, she lay alone in bed, wondering what Isaac was saying to Van in the next room. Wondering what he was doing to Van in the next room. Maybe the same things he'd said and done to Maxie. She would toss and turn, and listen to music, and read books, and try to fall asleep, anything but dwell on the scenarios that scarred her tortured imagination.

But to see it. To see it with her own eyes. To see Isaac's insistent hands on her best friend, his insistent lips on her, lost in the pleasure of her hands on him. Something inside her died. She felt it, whatever it was. It blackened, and decayed, and shriveled up into nothing but dread and anguish and hate inside of her.

She looked down at her wrist where the word Remember was tattooed in flowing script. Remember to be happy. That's what her mother had said to her—it was the last thing her mother had said to her—and she'd tried, she'd tried to live by it for so long. But how could she now? She had fooled everyone before, even herself, until Isaac came along and reminded her of what true happiness was. But now what?

 

By the time Maxie emerged from her bedroom again, an hour had passed and Isaac was in the living room, doing pushups. He was still shirtless, and covered in sweat this time, but at least he was wearing pants. And at least Van's hands weren't down them. Not raising her eyes to him, she hurried toward the front door, as if he weren't even there.

"Maxie," he called out to her, getting to his feet. She didn't reply, didn't even slow down. "Maxie, wait."

Why did he always want her to wait? What did he have to say, anyhow? What was there to say? Never turning to look at him, Maxie left the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Did he see her distress? she wondered. Was he aware of how torn up she was on the inside? Completely frayed, ripped open at the seams. It had taken all she had to compose herself as she made her way past him and out the door. But as soon as she was away from him, she felt herself breaking down again. Where was she supposed to go? Where was there peace? She could only think of one place: Bea's.

When she arrived, Bea opened her front door to Maxie and gasped. Even behind her big sunglasses, Bea could see Maxie's flushed face, crimson and swollen and wet with tears. She groaned as Maxie pulled the glasses off and stepped inside. Maxie went to the couch, sat for a moment, and then stood again and began to pace.

"Maxie," Bea said, sitting down as her friend moved back and forth in anguish. "Look at yourself."

Shaking her head, Maxie sank to the floor. She couldn't cry anymore, but she couldn't stand anymore, either.

"Max," Bea said, kneeling down beside her. "Look at yourself."

"Who am I, Bea?" she whispered.

"You're you. You're just going through something. And for what? Van? Would she do it for you?"

That was the question Maxie asked herself over and over. Was it worth it? Would Van do it for her?

"Yes," Maxie replied. "She would."

 

Isaac stood in the middle of the living room, dumbfounded. It was as if she hadn't even heard him. But maybe it was better that way. Better to pretend the humiliation of that morning had never happened. He didn't even know why he'd been so embarrassed. Van surely wasn't. In fact, she hadn't stopped laughing about it. She was his girlfriend after all. And they were adults, two consenting adults. Surely Maxie knew that they fooled around, and it wasn't like she saw anything too vulgar.

But still.

Isaac wanted to talk to her. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to assure her that he would be more careful, that it wouldn't happen again.

And he wanted to tell her that he liked her shorts. And the way her hair fell that morning. And the pink shade of gloss on her lips—that was new, he'd noticed it right away, even in the midst of his embarrassment. It matched the pink nail polish on her toes. Her small, pretty toes...

"Was that Maxie?" Van asked, emerging from the bedroom. She was still wearing her small nighty. Isaac followed her all the way to the kitchen with his eyes, examining her body. He often did that, wondering what his first thoughts of her had been. She was a beautiful girl; her skin was flawless, her hair fell in soft straight strands, always smooth, down her back. Her hazel eyes always sparkled, her smile was nothing but full lips and perfect teeth. And her body. Her body was everything a man could ask for: slender, toned, not too busty but busty enough, not too hippy but hippy enough. And she was tall. Not as tall as him, of course, but taller than most of the women he had known. On a scale from one to ten, Van was an eleven, easy.

Yet, somehow, he often found himself wondering why he hadn't chose Maxie—not that he wanted her—he just wondered. She was shorter than Van, yes, but Isaac liked towering over her, looking down at her small body before him, her face turned up to his and her big eyes staring at him. Her hair was much more unruly, but sometimes, when he watched her mindlessly finger her curls, he'd get the strongest urge to reach over and grab a handful of them. And Van wasn't skinny, but her behind wasn't as round as Maxie's, her breasts not as perky, her waist not as tiny, her legs not as muscular, her stomach not as smooth. He could only imagine the sensation of Maxie's skin under his palms. He wanted to grab her, stroke her, squeeze her, just to see, of course.

But curiosity killed the cat, so when such thoughts of his girlfriend's best friend entered his mind, he quickly pushed them out. "I think she's upset," he said to Van, joining her in the kitchen. She was rummaging through the refrigerator.

"Upset why?"

"This morning, I guess."

Van waved him off. "She's fine. Maxie doesn't care about things like that. It's not like she doesn't know what we do behind closed doors."

"But we weren't behind closed doors. We were in the kitchen." He looked around regretfully and added, his voice lower, "Her sanctuary."

"Trust me, she's fine." She shut the refrigerator and sighed. "Why didn't she make breakfast? I'm starving. Let's order takeout. Do we still have the menu from that place around the corner?"

"Where do you think she went?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Bea's probably, where else does she have to go? Ah!" she said, grabbing a menu from the drawer and holding it up. "Here it is."

They ordered breakfast and sat together in the living room as they waited for it to arrive, talking about things Isaac wasn't really focused on. He couldn't take his mind off of Maxie, and of dinner just two nights prior.

"I was thinking about taking an acting class. That sounds fun, doesn't it? Can't you see me acting?"

 

"Van," he said, ignoring her question. "Remind me about your mother."

She looked at him, eyebrows raised. "What do you want to know?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Is she always like that?"

Van rolled her eyes. "Always. Critical, opinionated, outspoken." She waved her hand as if waving her mother off. "You just have to learn to ignore her. You did before."

As nonchalantly as he could, he said, "Maxie doesn't seem like she ignores her."

"I know. Maxie's just extra sensitive. I think she just wants to impress my mom, you know? She wants to make my mother as proud of her as she is of Tony and me. Which she is. She loves Max like her own daughter. She's just..." She paused, looking for the words to defend her mother. "She just is the way she is, you know? And instead of taking it with a grain of salt like the rest of us, Maxie takes it personal."

"It sounded pretty personal."

"It wasn't. She criticizes everything, everyone. If anything, it's a compliment. She expects more from Maxie because she sees Maxie's potential."

Isaac considered that for a moment. He could have even accepted it, except there was Tony, too. "What about your brother? Is he an asshole to Maxie because he sees her potential?"

"Nope. He's an asshole just because he's an asshole."

"He seems bitter."

"He is."

"Resentful, even."

"Yep."

"Why's that?"

Van shifted uncomfortably. "Well..." Isaac waited. "I don't know, Isaac, a lot of reasons. Nothing worth you remembering, really."

"Van," he said, "what am I missing?"

"It's just issues, Isaac. Family issues."

"Well, I'm practically your mother's son-in-law, remember? Doesn't that make me family?"

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. The big secret has to come out sometime anyway, I suppose." She shook her head. "It's just so humiliating. And shameful."

"Tell me," he probed, more interested in getting to the bottom of the mystery that was Maxie than actually hearing about whatever shame was brought to Van's family.

She sighed again, deeply, and lay back on the couch to look up at the ceiling. "Two years after Maxie came to live with us," Van began, "my father..."

She paused and Isaac held his breath. Her father? He'd wondered why Mr. Trimmel never came around, why no one ever spoke of him.

Van shook her head. "My dad was like my best friend. So, naturally, he got close with Maxie, too," she said. "He loved her, you know? She was my sister, his daughter... They were close. She graduated high school a semester early, and they started spending even more time together, partly because he was helping her get ready to start at Julliard, and partly because she just had more free time."

She paused again, and Isaac waited, unblinking, unmoving, not even breathing.

"And then one day she changed. She stopped speaking at the dinner table, she wouldn't look any of us in the eye. She avoided my mom at all costs." Van shook her head, recalling. "That's when she started dressing differently, always covering up. She wouldn't invite us to any of her shows." Exhaling heavily, she continued. "And then, all of a sudden she started sleeping in my room. Every single night, until we just moved her in officially. Well, I found out it was because he came on to her. My father came on to my best friend," she said, dropping her eyes.

Isaac's mouth fell agape. "Did she..?" He couldn't finish his sentence.

"Of course not!" Van cried. "He went into her room one night and... and offered himself to her. She turned him away, and that's when she started staying in my room. She didn't say anything about it. Nothing for three months. And then she finally told me truth. It turns out he kissed her first. He kissed her and she rejected him and he apologized and swore it would never happen again, so she tried to just put it behind her." She shook her head, disgusted. "Of course she couldn't put it behind her, though. It ruined her. And then, to make matters worse, he tried again."

Isaac stared pitifully at Van. He couldn't help but imagine how much it must have hurt not only Maxie, but her. "What happened?"

"I told her she needed to tell. She didn't want to, you know. She kept saying that my family had done so much for her and she didn't want to ruin it. But how was she supposed to just live with something like that? How much longer was she going to avoid him, avoid my mother, walk around covered from head to toe, even in the summertime? It just wasn't fair. Not to her. Not to me. And definitely not to my mother. So I told her to tell. And when she didn't, I did."

"Wow, Van," Isaac breathed. "That was very noble of you."

"What was I supposed to do? Let her suffer? After everything she'd already been through?"

"What did your mother say?"

"She was in denial at first. My father said Maxie was lying. My brother was on my father's side, of course. I think the only reason my mother ended up believing Maxie was because I believed Maxie. But just because she believed her," she said, lowering her voice, "doesn't mean she wasn't a little resentful. Not saying that it's right, but... Their marriage was perfect before it happened. We were happy. Sometimes, we couldn't help but be resentful."

"Are you still resentful?"

"No," Van said quickly. "I'm not going to act like I don't see how everything changed, how Maxie became even more of an outsider than she already was. But I wasn't going to treat her like that then, and I'm not going to treat her like it now. It wasn't her fault. It was my father. He's filth. He fooled us all."

Despite the anger that occupied her voice, Isaac could hear the underlying bitterness, sadness, remorse. Resentment. "Does she blame herself?" he asked.

Dropping her eyes, Van nodded. "Of course she does. She blames herself for everything."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What do you blame her for?" he asked.

Still not meeting his eyes, she murmured, "Nothing."

 

The sun was going down and the summer air was cool when Maxie left Bea's house to make her way home. She walked slowly toward the subway, enjoying the warmth of the evening and the chill of the breeze. Such a beautiful night for such an ugly day, she thought. And now she had to go back to the apartment, back to her very own little hell on earth. She almost considered turning back and just staying at Bea's, but how long could she run from reality? It was what it was. Isaac was Van's. The way it should have been from the beginning.

Just when she felt the dark pit inside of her beginning to open again, someone called her name. She looked around until she found Daniel Gnar on the curb, stepping out of his car. "Maxie!" he called again, waving to her. "Where are you headed?"

"Home," she admitted. He motioned her over. He walked around the passenger side and opened the door for her, but not before opening his arms and wrapping her in them.

"You look pretty," he said as he bent to hug her.

"Thank you," she replied, pulling back. "If my apartment is out of your way, I can walk," she said. "I don't mind."

He stepped aside so she could get into the car. "I'm not going to let you walk."

Once they were both inside his car, he said, "Where are you coming from?"

"Bea's," she said.

"You and Bea are pretty close, huh?"

"She's my best friend," Maxie admitted. "Besides Van."

He nodded. "How is Van?"

"Dandy," she replied dryly.

Gnar smirked. "Can I tell you something?"

She shrugged. "Sure, what's up?"

"When I first met Van, I was surprised that she was Isaac's girlfriend. All that time, I thought it was you." Maxie didn't reply, so Gnar went on. "And even after you told me that he was seeing Van, I still thought you two had something going on. Funny, huh?"

"Yeah," she said with a humorless chuckle. "Funny. What changed your mind?"

"I don't know. I guess I just got to know you guys a little better. Your friendship with Van seems genuine. I guess I just can't see you doing anything like that to her, and vice versa." Maxie swallowed hard. "Plus, Van and Isaac are good for each other. Don't you think?"

"Oh yeah," Maxie choked out.

"Even though he's just getting to know her again, he's already falling pretty hard for her." For the first time since the conversation started, Maxie looked at him.

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "And can I tell you something else?"

"Sure," she replied, though she didn't want to hear anything else.

"I'm glad that I was wrong about you and Isaac. Because I've been captivated by you since we met, Max, Isaac or no Isaac. Of course he's my closest friend," he added. "Almost like family, so I wouldn't have pursued you. But you really caught my eye. You still have my eye."

She forced a small smile. "That's sweet, Gnar."

Sighing, he looked away from her. She was thankful for that. He was silent, too. She was also thankful for that. Finally, he said, "Maybe I'm stupid to ask—given your enthusiasm and all—but maybe I could take you out sometime?"

She bit down on her bottom lip, averted her eyes. "Actually, Gnar, I don't think now's a good time for me to be dating—"

"Well, I was thinking more like Saturday or Sunday," he said.

She chuckled. "No, I mean, there's just a lot going on in my life right now. I just broke up with my boyfriend, and being in that apartment all day is really hard, considering everything that went on there, so I'm starting the job hunt tomorrow. And I really need to start looking into printers for my cookbook. I'd really like to publish it, and I haven't been putting as much time and energy into it as I need to." She shook her head as if to stop herself from rambling on. "Anyway, the point is, now—as in, this point in my life—isn't a good time for me to be dating."

Gnar nodded. "Okay, then."

They pulled up to her apartment, and she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Thank you for the ride."

"It was my pleasure," he said.

"And I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." She raised a confused eyebrow. "For the nuisance I'm about to become," he clarified, and then he grinned. "I've thought about you far more than I should have in the past year, Maxie, considering I thought you were my best friend's girl. Now that I know you aren't, you can't expect me to give up so easily." She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could get a word out, he said, "By the way, what kind of work are you looking for? I know a guy who needs someone to look after his dad during the week."

"Like a nurse?" she asked.

He frowned. "Actually, it sounded more like a babysitting job to me. But it's something. If you're interested, I could talk to him for you."

She narrowed her eyes. "And what will I owe you in return?"

"Ah," he said. "Just your patience."

"Fine, if you enjoy disappointment, be my guest."

"I don't enjoy disappointment as much as I enjoy reaping the fruits of my labor. You being the fruits," he said, looking her in the eyes. She smiled. This time she couldn't help it.

"Thank you for the ride," she repeated.

He nodded, and she climbed out of the car and made her way across the wide sidewalk to the door of her building. She typed in the code to buzz herself in and turned back as she pushed the door open. Gnar was still sitting there.

Maxie sat on the floor in front of the mirror that hung on her closet door and applied her makeup. She didn't wear makeup often—she didn't wear makeup ever—but her mother had taught her how to apply it when she was just twelve years old. She remembered sitting at her mother's vanity table, with a myriad of eyeliners, eye shadows, foundations, lips glosses, rouges, and everything she could have dreamed of putting on her face.

'You're a beautiful girl, Maximilienne,' her mother says, pulling the top off a brown lipstick she's holding. 'You don't need to wear any of this stuff. But sometimes you want to, just for a little extra something. You need to know how to apply it properly, though.'

They had sat for hours, going over everything Maxie needed to know. After that day, she hadn't put on makeup again until her mother's funeral. When she'd finished putting it on, she'd decided her mother would be proud. And then just an hour after that, she'd cried it all away.

A knock at her door made her jump, and she nearly poked herself in the eye with the liner she was holding. Sighing in frustration as she licked her finger to fix the smear, she called, "Come in!"

The door opened, and Isaac stepped inside. "Van told me to tell you—" He stopped short as his eyes found her on the floor, wearing just a sweatshirt and panties, one bare leg folded under her, the other propped up to hold her arm. She was leaning close to the mirror, her head back a little so her hair, which fell in soft waves, reached down her back.

She's sitting in that very spot, her legs crossed Indian style, as she leans close to the mirror the very same way. She's putting on mascara—or is she just plucking her eyebrows? He can't remember, but he sees her there, as clear as day, hair curly and reaching all the way down her back, almost to her waist. And she's only wearing underwear. No tattoos. Just lots of bare, smooth skin. For a moment, he just watches her, and then her eyes flicker in his direction and she smiles.

Isaac blinked and inhaled sharply. Maxie's head was turned toward him now, and she stared at him, puzzled. Was that a memory? A memory of Maxie, half-naked before him and not even attempting to cover up? And then he realized that she was practically half-naked now before him, not even attempting to cover up.

Averting his eyes, he stammered, "Van wanted me to tell you..." He paused. What was the message he was supposed to deliver? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember a simple message, but Maxie's image, sitting at that mirror with her long hair and bare skin was clear in his memory. "Maybe you should just go in there." With that, he turned and hurried out of the room.

Finishing her makeup, Maxie pulled on a pair of shorts and went to Van's room. Van and Bea stood at Van's closet, both holding up outfits, and Isaac sat in the corner holding a book. It was obvious he wasn't reading it, but he kept his eyes low, anyway.

"Max!" Van said, rushing forward. "I think you should wear this!" She held up a short, tight black dress. "With a blazer and closed-toe heels, it'll look perfect."

"She's meeting with a potential employer, not the owner of a strip club," Bea snapped at Van. "That is a club dress. You should wear this one." Bea held up a much more casual summer dress. It was looser, longer, and much brighter. Van rolled her eyes.

"She isn't going for a stroll through the park, Beatrix. This isn't a dog walking position!"

"It isn't a call-girl position, either!"

Van huffed in frustration. "Who are you to give fashion advice, anyway? Look at what you're wearing!"

Bea peered down at her tattered jeans and tank top. "Well, excuse me for dressing down to lounge around the apartment all day. This isn't the red carpet, Van, and you can stop posing. No one's taking your picture!"

"I am not posing!" Van shot back.

Maxie sighed and raised her hands to her friends. "Actually," she said, making her way to Van's closet. Her options were endless, but she already knew what she wanted to wear. "I already picked something out." She pulled out a peach colored blouse and a silky, floral skirt that stopped at her thighs. Neither the shirt nor the skirt were too loose or too tight, not too short, not too revealing, not too modest, not too casual. She held them up to herself and turned to the only unbiased person in the room: Isaac.

"What do you think?" she asked.

He looked up, surprised to be addressed, and appraised the outfit. "What's it for?" he asked.

"Gnar got her a job interview," Van said.

"Gnar got it for you?"

She shrugged, lowering her eyes. "He knew the guy from the gym. I don't think he had to go too out of his way or anything."

"But I bet he would have," Van said, taking the shirt and skirt from Maxie's hands and holding it up. "Yeah, you're right. I think this is perfect. Very summery."

"Are you two..." Isaac paused. Maxie hoped he wouldn't finish, but of course he did. "Are you seeing each other?"

"No, he's just doing me a favor."

"But he wants to be seeing her," Van piped up again. "He asked her out the other day, right, Max? But of course she said no."

"Leave her alone, Van," Bea said.

Van rolled her eyes. "You just want her to be single and lonely. You know what they say, misery loves company."

"Don't throw stones if you live in a glass house, Van," replied Bea.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ugh, I have to get ready," Maxie groaned, taking the clothes from Van and starting out of the room. "Van, mind your business, please. Bea... Just stop."

"Maybe you two can go grab a bite to eat after he takes you," Van went on. "It's not a date, just having lunch."

"He's taking her, too?" Isaac said, but that was the last thing Maxie heard before she shut her door behind her and began to get dressed.

Gnar arrived to pick her up forty-five minutes before her meeting with her potential employer, Mr. Woodson. When she opened the door, he took a step back and his small eyes grew wide. "Wow," he breathed, reaching out and running his fingers through a silky strand of her hair. His hands were big, she noticed, spanning out across the whole side of her face, much like Isaac's had when he used to touch her hair that way. She felt her cheeks flame red and dropped her eyes to the floor.

"It's so soft. I like it, it's pretty." He took a step toward her, towered over her, also much like Isaac. "You look pretty. Stunning."

"Thank you," she said quietly. Van and Bea were standing in the living room behind her. She could feel their eyes on her back. "Thanks again for coming to pick me up. You didn't have to."

"But you know I wanted to."

Again, she couldn't look in his face. His unnervingly handsome face. "Thanks again," she repeated.

He nodded and stepped aside so she could move past him and out the door. When she was in the hallway, he grabbed the knob to shut the door behind them, nodding at Van and Bea as he did so.

As the door shut, Isaac emerged from the bedroom. "You just missed Gnar," Van said.

"Did I?" he replied, unfazed. He glanced at Bea, who stared at him. What was that look on her face? That silent knowing, as if she was trying to communicate with him. Was she? I don't remember, he wanted to say. Whatever it is, I don't remember.

"You should've seen his face when he saw her. She cannot reject him forever."

"Why can't she?"

Van sighed and rolled her eyes. "Why are you being like that? He's your best friend, so he must be a decent guy. He's being good to her already. And look at how nice they look together."

"They do make a nice couple," Bea agreed, gathering her belongings. "It's sort of like déjà vu, seeing them together." She met his eyes again. "Like I've seen it before."

"Yeah! Because they just fit, don't they?" Van said.

"Mm hm," Bea said, lightly. "That's why."

 

Gnar waited in the car while Maxie went into the small café where she was meeting Mr. Woodson. As promised, he was sitting at a table in the back, his elderly father in a wheelchair on the end. Mr. Woodson was young, in his early thirties maybe, dressed in a business suit and talking on a cell phone while his father sat in his chair, bored. When Maxie approached, the son ended his phone call and stood, offering her his hand to shake. She took it.

"Ryan Woodson," he said. "It's nice to meet you."

"Maxie Shannen," she said. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"Have a seat," he said, motioning toward the chair next to him. "This is my father, Charles."

"Hi, Charles," Maxie greeted.

"Hey," the old man said grumpily, barley looking up at her.

"Well, let's get started. I hear from Daniel that you don't have experience in this area, but the job's not hard as long as you have common sense—"

"Yeah? Then why is this the fourth person we've had in a year?" Charles grumbled.

"Common sense and tough skin," Mr. Woodson went on, glaring at his father, who looked away, pouting like a small child.

Maxie nodded. "I've got both of those, sir. So far, so good."

He pulled out a pad. "This isn't a nursing job. My father doesn't need a nurse," Mr. Woodson started off.

"I don't need a fucking babysitter, either," Charles grumbled.

Mr. Woodson glanced at him and Maxie thought he had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "You're just there to make sure his day runs smoothly. He needs to eat, take his meds on time, bathe—"

"What am I, a fucking five year old? Are you kidding me?"

"Dad—"

"Right, kid, and while you're at it, why don't you piss and shit for me, too? And wipe my ass—"

"Dad!"

"What do you think I am?"

"I'm not saying you don't bathe, Dad."

"You're damn fucking right, I bathe. If you want to talk about not bathing, let's talk about you, all through fucking middle school. I swear, I had to pay this kid to wash his balls 'til he was sixteen. No wonder you didn't lose your virginity 'til college," Charles said. Looking at Maxie, he added, "And he thinks I need to be reminded to bathe."

Maxie bit down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing as Mr. Woodson turned crimson and shook his head. "Alright, alright. But all that other stuff still stands, okay?"

She nodded. "Sure, yeah."

He asked some questions, went more into detail about her job description—not without frequent interruptions from his father—and even let her ask some questions of her own, not that she had many. It all seemed easy enough. Just as Gnar had said, just as Charles had said, Mr. Woodson wasn't looking for anything more than a babysitter. Anyway, Maxie would have taken the job no matter what it called for. So when he told her what she would be getting paid, the generous offer was only the icing on top of the cake.

Her eyes widened. "That much?"

With a tight smirk, he replied, "Trust me. You'll see that this is worth every penny."

"I'm old, not deaf," Charles snapped.

"So, what do you think?" Mr. Woodson said. "If you want it, the jobs yours."

"Yes, yes, I want it," Maxie said, trying not to sound as eager as she felt.

"Great," he said, eyes lighting up. "Can you start Monday morning? Nine o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

He smiled. "Awesome. Hey, can I get you some coffee or anything? You and Dad can have a minute to talk."

"Sure," she said. "I'll take a banana nut muffin."

"Dad?"

"Coffee. Black."

"Why don't you try that new vanilla thing?" he asked.

"What new vanilla thing? No, just get me a black coffee."

Mr. Woodson stood. "Live a little, Dad."

"Live a little? Christ, son, it's coffee, not fucking bungee jumping!"

Rolling his eyes, Mr. Woodson left to get the coffee. Finally, Maxie let herself smile.

"You think he's funny, huh? I think he's an asshole. For such a smart kid, he's a fucking asshole."

"Actually," said Maxie, "I think you're pretty funny."

He scoffed.

"So I guess you're not big on the idea of having me around."

"Better you than someone else, I suppose." Then he paused and gave her a brief once over. "Well, I think, at least. Why do you want this shitty gig anyway? You're young. Attractive, I guess. You don't seem like a dumbass. Can't you do better than this? You don't have a criminal record, do you?"

"No, not yet," she joked, then she shrugged. "I don't know. I could tell you that caring for the elderly is my passion or something, but that would be a lie. Really, I'm just looking for something to keep me busy while I'm not in class. I didn't really have any specific jobs in mind." She looked at him guiltily. "Am I allowed to say that on a job interview?"

"I don't think so. Lucky for you, I don't give a shit."

She smiled. "Look on the bright side. At least you'll have company during the day now. Don't you get bored by yourself?" He scoffed again, but somehow, Maxie knew that meant yes.

She liked Charles. She liked him already.

When Mr. Woodson returned, he was on his cell phone, babbling on about things Maxie didn't understand. Setting her muffin down in front of her, he began to gather his belongings. "Alright, Dad. I have an emergency at work, so we need to go."

"What kind of emergency?"

Mr. Woodson just shook his head. "Thanks again, Maxie. Monday at nine, right?"

"Right."

"Hello! What kind of emergency?" Charles pursued.

"The kind I need to go worry about, Dad," Mr. Woodson replied, a bit frustrated.

Charles rolled his eyes. "I thought we were going to watch the game after this. What happened?"

"Sorry. Maybe we'll catch one tomorrow."

"There isn't one tomorrow."

Mr. Woodson paused to turn and look at his father. "What do you want me to do? I have to work."

"Why? What the hell is so important about your damn job that it comes before your own father? People are put on this earth for two things, Ryan. To fuck and die. If your job doesn't help people do either of those things, than it isn't more important than taking me to watch this game."

With a tired sigh, Mr. Woodson looked back at Maxie. "Good luck on Monday, kid."

 

Gnar was still waiting for Maxie outside of the café when she emerged from her interview. "How was it?" he asked.

She smiled. "It was great. I start Monday."

His eyes lit up. "Ah, that's great," he said, opening his arms to her. "Congratulations." He embraced her, lifted her off of her feet, and then sat her down again.

"Thank you for doing this for me," she said.

"Don't thank me. Let's just have a celebratory bite to eat."

How could she say no? After all, if it wasn't for him, she would probably be sitting in her apartment, locked in her room, hoping that Isaac and Van would stay in theirs. "Okay. That sounds good."

"Do you feel like walking?" he asked. "I know a nice spot in the park."

She didn't feel like walking. And she was wearing high heels. But again, how could she say no? "Okay. Lead the way."

They grabbed food to-go at a nearby restaurant and then made their way to Central Park. She followed him to a small area where a band played, and people sat around and talked, ate, and even danced. "This is nice," she said as they sat down on a nearby bench.

"Yeah, I come here a lot. Listen to the band. People watch."

"Hmm," she said, looking around. "I may have to steal your spot."

"Or you can just join me."

She smiled but didn't reply. For a while, they ate in silence. The band played on, people went by, couples danced. Maxie watched them the most, longingly. Bitterly. She kept her anguish locked up tight, though, and when Gnar put down his food and asked her to dance, she accepted with a smile.

"I can't dance," he warned her, joining the three other couples in the small open space in front of the band.

"I can."

"Yes, I've heard. You can show me how it's done."

She laughed as he spun her and then pulled her close to him. To her surprise, he was a good dancer. Even better than good, she thought. He led well, twirling and dipping her, moving his feet in ways that came natural to him.

"You're an amazing dancer, you little liar," she said.

He laughed. "Yeah, I guess I am alright."

Soon, the music picked up and she kicked off her shoes. The couples they'd been dancing with were replaced by new ones, and then when they left, new ones again. But Maxie and Gnar danced until they were both sweaty and tired and laughing so hard they could barely stand. She found herself closer to him, her chest pressed against his, her arm tightly around his neck.

"Ugh," she said, pulling away and making her way back to the bench. "I'm so tired! I feel so out of shape!"

"No," he said, devouring her frame with his eyes. "I think you're in perfect shape."

Smiling, she looked away. "Thank you," she said. "For this whole day. This was such a good day."

He nodded. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

She folded her legs under herself and turned to face him. "Are you ready to go back?"

"No."

"Good, because I'm not either," she admitted, dropping her eyes.

"Life at home not so hot?"

She shrugged. "It's alright. I guess I just need a change in scenery. That's why I'm so glad for this job. And for you, bringing me here today. I can't take the apartment anymore. Lately, it's been so..." She sighed, let her voice trail off. "I don't want to complain, you know? Every time I think of what Isaac's been going though, I just shut my mouth."

"You have the right to vent. You went through it, too." She shrugged again. "How's Van dealing with everything?"

"The best way she can. I think her main focus is just rebuilding her relationship with Isaac." The image of Van and Isaac standing in the kitchen just the week before flashed in her mind.

They left the park, and by the time they reached the car Maxie's feet were throbbing. She groaned as she climbed into the passenger seat and kicked off her heels. "Ugh, why didn't I bring flats?" she said, massaging her red toes. She glanced at Gnar. His eyes were on her thighs, which were exposed nearly to her panties as her skirt rose up. Clearing her throat, she put her leg down and he turned away.

When they pulled up to her apartment, Maxie started to get up, but then Gnar found a parking spot just a block down. "I'm going to walk you to the door," he said, helping her out. They walked just a few feet before he paused and looked down at her shoes. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," she lied. Her feet were absolutely throbbing. "It's stupid that I'm an adult and I still can't spend a whole afternoon in high heels."

"Come here," he said, turning his back to her and kneeling down. "Get on."

She stared at him, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

"You can walk the rest of the way, if you want. But you don't want... Come on, hop on."

She couldn't help it, a small smile found her lips as she pulled off her shoes and hesitantly climbed on his back. His hooked his arms under her knees and lifted her up easily. "Better?" he asked, starting toward the apartment again.

"Much," she admitted.

When they got into the building, he didn't put her down. Even in the elevator, he held her. All the way to her front door. When he set her down, she thanked him. "For everything," she repeated. "Today turned out to be a better day than I'd hoped."

"You can thank me by letting me take you out again," he said. "On a real date."

She sighed and dropped her eyes, slowly shaking her head. "Gnar... I appreciate what you did for me, but I'm still not interested. I'm sorry."

"Would it be very egotistical of me to ask why not?"

She chuckled. "Not very." She sighed again. Turning him down was becoming increasingly difficult. She wished he would stop putting her in the position to do it. "Look, I already explained why—"

"Because you're busy. You don't really expect me to accept that, do you?"

"I wish you would."

"We had a good time today, didn't we?"

"Yes, but—"

"How can a person be too busy to enjoy herself?"

"Would it help if I said it's not me, it's you?"

He grinned, and it wasn't the grin of a man who had just been rejected. It was a grin of confidence, cockiness, even. It accentuated a dimple in his left cheek. "Unfortunately, in addition to my elevated ego levels, my arrogance is through the roof. There's no way in hell I'd believe I'm the reason for this rejection. It must be you."

She laughed. "Well, whoever it is, the answer is still no," she replied.

He nodded. "For now."