13

NOW

Charles Woodson opened the door for Maxie at nine AM sharp on Monday morning and stepped aside so she could enter.

"Wow," she said, taking in her surroundings. "This place is amazing."

"Yeah." Mr. Woodson grumbled. "It ain't an old folks home, I tell ya that." Maxie followed him to the kitchen, where his place was set at the table. He sat down and picked up his newspaper. "I guess you're gonna be here a lot so you might as well make yourself at home."

Maxie smiled and sat down at the table. "Did you have breakfast?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I made myself a shake."

"That's not breakfast, Mr. Woodson."

"Call me Charles. Mr. Woodson is my son. Do I look like my son? Do I walk around with a five-inch-thick stick lodged up my ass? I don't think so."

"That's not breakfast, Charles."

"Well, I was never much of a breakfast person."

She stood and went to the refrigerator. She was pleased to see it was packed to capacity. "Do you like omelets?"

"I said I'm not hungry."

"Mr. Woodson told me to make sure you eat breakfast. And did you take your six AM pills?" she asked. He scoffed and mumbled something. Grabbing the water from the refrigerator, she brought it to the table. His pills sat before him in a small container, all separated by time and day. His six AM pills remained. "This pushes us back, you know."

"Who the hell is awake at six AM to take fucking medicine? Why couldn't they give me nine AM pills?"

"Here, take them," she said.

"They make me gain weight. I lost twenty pounds. Twenty. I started taking those goddamn pills and gained twelve of them back. And it's all water weight, you know? The kind that makes you puff up like a fucking blow fish. These things keep me as bloated as a woman on her goddamn cycle."

Maxie couldn't help but laugh. "He says they're important."

"I don't wanna take them. They taste bad."

"Fine," Maxie said, scooping them up and going back to the refrigerator. She pulled out everything she needed from there and raided the cabinets next. Charles watched as she moved about the place with comfort and familiarity. "I've never cooked for a diabetic before."

"Great, because all I need is someone else in here that thinks diabetic friendly food is equivalent to shitty food. The last girl that my son hired fed me some of the blandest food I've ever tasted in my entire sixty-four years."

"You're sixty-eight, Charles."

"Whatever. The point is, all she did was omit the good stuff. Sugarless, saltless, tasteless everything."

"Good thing I'm not that girl."

He scoffed and turned back to his paper. "Better-fucking-not be."

Maxie prepared an Italian omelet with ham, cheese, and vegetables, crushing Charles's pills and adding them to the recipe as she did so. His eyes bulged when she sat his plate down before him. "Eat up," she said.

"What is this?" he demanded, picking up his fork as he examined his breakfast. She didn't have a chance to reply before he had a piece of it in his mouth. "Mm, not bad, kid."

"Enough taste?"

"Plenty taste."

Pleased, Maxie sat across from him and read his paper as he ate. When he finished, he leaned back in his chair and patted his belly. "I haven't had a breakfast like that in a long time. Do you always cook like that?"

"Breakfast, lunch, and dinner," she replied without looking up.

"Hm. Well, so far so good, then. This might work. Except there's no way I'm gonna lose any more weight if you keep feeding me like that. Did I tell you I lost twenty pounds? Twenty."

"That's great. How'd you do it?"

"I drank forties and ate shit every day. How do you think, kid? I dieted. And I also exercised a little bit. Not too much, I'm no fucking young stallion like I used to be, but sometimes I'd get out and walk around."

Maxie laid down the newspaper and leaned forward. "And you don't anymore?"

He scoffed. "Nope. Mr. Woodson thinks I should roll around in a goddamn wheelchair for the rest of my life like someone's fucking paraplegic."

"If you'd like, we can take walks sometime."

For the first time all morning, Charles smiled. It was a small smile that made him blush and look away, but a smile nonetheless. "You know what, kid? I would like that."

 

Maxie arrived home just after dark. She had lingered around Charles's neighborhood, looking for a place to kill a little more time before making her way back to her own. Her favorite café happened to be just three blocks from his apartment. She hadn't visited it in months.

Maxie had sat in it and snacked on muffins as she'd chatted with the cashier she'd never met before. Milla was her name. She was an elderly woman with five grandkids who loved when she brought them cookies from work.

"You're probably wondering why I work," she'd said. "At my age, I should be home knitting or something. But after my Joseph died, it's just too lonely at home. A pretty, young girl like you probably wouldn't understand. I bet you have lots of boyfriends to keep you company."

Maxie didn't bother telling Milla that she understood even better than she wanted to. She thought Charles probably understood, too, and made a mental note to mention the sweet woman to him.

Back at her apartment, she passed her floor on the elevator and went up to the roof, where she found Isaac. She gasped when she saw the silhouette of him, lying flat on his back on the ground, staring up at the stars. She thought of turning back, just going down to the apartment, but her legs carried her to him. She couldn't turn away.

"Isaac," she said, stopping just before him. He looked up at her. "What are you doing up here?"

"I've been up here before," he said.

Her heart pace quickened. She nodded.

"I can't remember when. I just remember looking up at the stars." He patted the floor, motioning for her to join him. She did.

"How did you end up out here?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. I just...came up." He turned to her. "What about you?"

"Well," she said slowly, "I come up here all the time. You've been up here before with me."

He didn't reply at first, just stared at her, trying to remember. It was no use. "What did we do up here?"

"Nothing much. Talked. Laughed. You taught me French up here—"

"I taught you French?"

She smiled and nodded. "You're a very good teacher."

He narrowed his eyes. "What else did I teach you, Maximilienne?"

She inhaled sharply, her face flushed. Not how to keep a straight face. "Ah..." She swallowed hard. "How to punch." He grinned. How to make love. "How to garden." How to use my hands the way you like. "How to shoot." How to use my tongue the way you like. "How to play chess. And spades. How to do a back flip off of the diving board..."

"Anything else?" he asked, his gaze swallowing her whole. But she couldn't look back at him. She simply nodded.

"Yes. Lots else."

"Can I tell you a secret? Another secret."

She finally turned her eyes to him. "Sure."

"I remember you," he said. Her eyes widened, her heart hammered against her chest. Excitement and relief and happiness and more excitement flooded through her. "You do?" she managed.

He nodded. "I remember your smile. I remember your long hair. I remember making you laugh. I remember your skin without tattoos. Sometimes I can see you dancing. Or looking at me..."

Was that all? Was that all he remembered about her? She should have been pleased, thrilled even, that he remembered anything at all. But she just couldn't be. It wasn't enough. She needed him to remember the way she felt, the way she tasted, the promises she made, the love that overflowed out of her for him. If he could just remember, maybe, just maybe that would mean it was meant to be.

"Sometimes I remember things you've said. It's like I can hear you saying them. So clearly I look up expecting you to be there," he went on. Then in French, he whispered, "Sometimes I dream of you, Maximilienne." In English again: "Am I allowed to tell you this?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words emerged. Her heart was so full, her heart and her soul and her everything. She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"I can't tell Van. Sometimes she cries, you know. Because I can't remember her. She asks me how I can forget someone I'm in love with."

Maxie shut her eyes tightly.

"I wonder the same thing, Maxie. But I remember you. Maybe not completely. But more than I remember anything else."

He turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. She could feel him looming over her, though she never opened her eyes. His proximity was like having the warmth of the sun on her during a snowstorm. "What do you dream about me, Isaac?" she dared whisper.

He chuckled and she opened her eyes to behold his smile. His lips were full, his eyes were warm. "Now that," he said, "I'm not allowed to tell you."

 

Downstairs in the apartment, Van sat in the living room with Bea and Gnar. When Maxie and Isaac came in, both Van and Gnar stood up.

"What took you so long?" Van demanded.

"Sorry, I got caught up with something," Isaac replied, stepping around Maxie to go to her.

"Caught up with what?" she asked. "Were you guys together?"

"I bumped into him in the lobby," Maxie lied, looking back and forth from Van to Gnar. "What's going on?" Maxie asked, peering around the room. Her eyes stopped on Bea who shrugged guiltily.

"Well, I wanted to have a drinks and hors d'oeuvres night," Van explained. "But I was expecting you an hour ago," she told Isaac. "And Maxie wasn't even here to make the hors d'oeuvres."

Maxie glared at Bea. Why was she participating in this? She must have known there was no way Maxie would have agreed to such an idea. "What's the occasion, Van?" she asked in a tight voice.

Van shrugged. "I don't know. I just figured we could all use a night with friends. Seriously, everyone's been in such a funk lately." Isaac and Maxie exchanged glances. "I was trying to help." Poor Van. She was always trying to help.

Conceding, Maxie sighed and dropped her bag. "I'll make some hors d'oeurves."

Isaac, too, gave in. "Good idea, babe," he said, kissing Van's forehead. She beamed. At last, something right, she must have thought. After the flop of a surprise party and the hellish dinner with her family, she had some making up to do.

Maxie made her way to the kitchen. Bea followed. "Don't be mad at me," she whispered.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Maxie demanded.

"Van invited me."

"Again, I ask—"

"I didn't think it was a bad idea, Max. Everyone needs to start moving on. You can't avoid being in the same room with Isaac and Van forever."

"Forever? It hasn't even gotten close to forever." She lowered her voice even more, leaned closer to her friend. "I can't take this, Bea. I literally cannot take it—"

"Ladies," came a voice from behind them. Both of them spun around to find Gnar standing there. He raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Everything okay? Can I help with anything?"

"No, we're fine—"

"Actually," Bea said, "I think I'm going to go sit back down. Gnar, you don't mind, right?"

His eyes were locked on Maxie, who glared angrily at her friend. "No, not at all," he said. Bea flashed a smile at Maxie before turning back into the living room.

"How discreet of her," Gnar said. "Oh, and you, too. I almost couldn't see the disdain written all over your face."

She dropped her eyes. "It's not like that."

He nodded. "No, of course not. Anyway," he said. "What can I help with?"

"I really don't need help," she said, turning back to the sandwich platter she'd begun to prepare.

"Fine, then I'll just stand here and keep you company. That's what I came to do tonight, anyway."

She sighed. "You really don't give up."

"I really don't," he said, moving closer to her. So close she could smell the spicy musk of his cologne. Why did he have to smell so good? "How was work?"

"It was fine."

"Do you like the old man?"

"Very much."

"That's good."

"Yeah, thanks again."

"Maxie," he said, turning to face her.

"Hmm?" She pretended not to notice that his chest was practically pressed against her shoulder. She pretended not to feel his gaze locked on her. She pretended the comfort that crept up her spine and warmed her insides wasn't familiar.

"Will you look at me?" Reluctantly, she did. "I want to take you out. I want a chance. If you prefer we don't call it a date, I'm fine with that."

"A date is a date, Gnar."

"Or maybe it's just two friends spending a day together."

She sighed and her eyes went to the living room. Bea sat in the armchair, laughing at something Isaac said. Van laughed, too, as she climbed on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him heartily. And he returned her affection.

Maxie looked away. How natural that had become for Isaac, returning Van's affection. How genuine.

"Alright," Maxie at last heard herself say.

Gnar leaned forward. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

She smiled, looking at him. "I said alright. I'll...spend the day with you. Sometime."

He smiled, his brown eyes coming to life. "That's what I thought you said."

"Don't get cocky," she snapped.

"No, no, I wouldn't dare. I'll save the cockiness for when you fall in love with me."

Maxie laughed out loud. "Getting ahead of ourselves, are we?"

"No," he replied, solemnly. "Just stating the facts."

They made their way back to the living room where Maxie sat the tray of finger foods on the coffee table. When she stood up, she stumbled over Van's feet and nearly crumbled to the floor. Isaac practically threw Van off of his lap as he reached out for her, but Gnar darted forward, catching her by the waist and steadying her.

"Whoa," he said, picking her up off of her feet and then setting her back down steadily. "Watch yourself."

Not pulling away, she looked up and Gnar and smiled. Isaac watched him, watched her. The look in her eyes made him stare. He'd seen it before, countless times. It was so familiar, it made his heart pace quicken and his stomach flutter, yet somehow it filled him with an inexplicable rage that was almost completely unfamiliar to him. Jealousy. Raw and irrational, boiling in the pit of his stomach.

 

"So, Van and I thought of a great idea," Bea said as Gnar and Maxie sat. He was impossibly close to her, his entire side pressed against hers. She noticed Isaac, directly across from them, roll his eyes as Gnar rested his arm across the back of Maxie's seat. Clearing her throat, she moved to the edge of the sofa.

She raised an eyebrow at Bea. "You and Van?"

Ignoring her skepticism, Bea went on. "I've met a man recently—"

"Who isn't married," Van added.

"—and Van and I thought it might be fun if all of us go on a group date. Me and my date, Van and Isaac, of course, and you and Gnar, Max."

Van smiled widely, nodding emphatically at the idea. Isaac's eyes fell on Maxie. "I think that sounds fun," Gnar said, also looking at Maxie. "Hey, don't look so excited."

"Huh? Oh. No, that sounds..." Torturous. Miserable. Horrifying.

"Fun," Isaac said, dryly. Both he and Maxie forced tight smiles.

"Yay!" Van yipped. "I was thinking we can go to that cute little lounge by the Hudson River. You know which one I'm talking about, Bea."

"I know exactly which one you're talking about, Van," Bea said, grinning. She shot Maxie a smug glance. Maxie glared back at her. "How about Friday?"

"Actually, Friday's no good for me," Maxie said. "I have to stay late with Charlie."

"Saturday, then," Van said.

"Saturday isn't very good, either. The gym stays open later on Saturdays," said Isaac, meeting Maxie's eyes.

Van huffed. "Can't you just close it a little early?"

"We can leave Rick in charge of the place," Gnar suggested. "We've done it before."

"I don't think that's a good idea," said Isaac.

"Why not?"

Silence fell over the group as they all waited for an answer. "Well... I just... Umm..."

"Why are you making excuses?" Van cried. "It's just one night, Isaac!"

Don't give in, Maxie silently begged. Don't give in, don't give in. But Isaac rolled his eyes and conceded. "Fine. Saturday."

Maxie sighed and he gave her a one-shoulder shrug. Van clapped excitedly and Bea sat back, the grin still on her lips.

"Charles!" Maxie called, making her way down the hall toward the kitchen. Charles sat in the same spot at the table that he'd been at the day before, reading his paper. In front of him was a cup of coffee. "Good morning, Charles," she greeted brightly.

"What's so good about it?" he grumbled.

She set her bag down on the table and went to the refrigerator. "Well," she said, "for starters, it's beautiful outside, so after breakfast we can go on that walk."

Finally, he set down his paper and turned to her. "Yeah?"

"Mm hmm. And after I went home last night, I did some research and now I have a bunch of diabetic friendly meals we can try out."

He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Today we're having pancakes, hash browns, and fruit for breakfast. Hey, did you take your six AM pills?" That was where she lost him. Groaning, he turned back to his newspaper. "Charles—!"

"I'm not awake at six AM!"

"Maybe you should just put the pills and a glass of water next to your bed. You can wake up, take them, and be back to sleep in thirty seconds."

"Or," he said, "I can not wake up at all and just skip those fucking pills altogether."

"Fine. You don't want to take the pills at six. I understand. But what about when you wake up at eight? Why don't you take them then?"

"I told you. They make me fat."

"But you need them."

He sat his paper down again and turned to her. "Jesus Christ, kid. I'm old. My son makes me use a goddamn wheelchair. Soon, I won't even have any fucking teeth to chew this food you make me. Can I at least be skinny? Can I at least be fucking skinny?"

Softly, Maxie repeated, "You need them."

Rolling his eyes, he went back to his newspaper. Sighing, she went and plucked the tiny pills out of the container. "Are we going to do this every morning?" she asked, taking them back to the stove.

"Not if you quit bothering me about it."

"I'm not going to quit bothering you about it."

"Fine, then. Suit yourself."

Without further words, Maxie crushed the pills and sprinkled them in his portion of the pancake batter. When she finished cooking, she sat his breakfast down before him. "You know, you've really inspired me. I think I'm going to add a diabetic friendly section to my cookbook."

He grumbled a reply.

"Did I tell you about my cookbooks? I have a bunch, I've been thinking about making a whole series."

He grumbled another reply.

"A 'Menu' series. Right? 'Breakfast menu,' 'Lunch menu,' and 'Dinner menu.' And a 'Desserts menu,' too. The nice lady in the café around the corner suggested it."

Finally, she had Charles's attention. "What café?"

"You know, the one just two blocks down. Right over there on—"

"Milla? You talked to Milla?"

Maxie smiled. "Yeah, that's her. You know her?"

Charles's face reddened and he looked down at his plate. "Sure, I've spoken to her once or twice."

Her smile widened. "Yeah? She's sweet, isn't she?"

"She's alright."

"And pretty."

He looked up at her, wide-eyed. "I don't know! I haven't looked! For Christ sake, I'm a married man, kid! What would my wife think? God rest her soul." He shook his head, took another bite of his food. "And to be completely honestly with you," he went on, "what the fuck would I do with a woman at my age? I'll tell ya, kid, not even Viagra can keep this snake rattling these days."

Maxie's eyes widened. "Ew! Gross!" she cried, laughing.

"What? I'm being honest! You're all young and perky now, but let me tell you, when you're my age, you won't be anything but a dried up bag of bones and loose skin!"

"I will not!"

He scoffed. "Sure. Keep hoping, kid, keep hoping."

"You're such a pessimist."

"No. I'm a realist. Life is a bitch, but let me tell you, you're the one who gets fucked. Denying that doesn't make you an optimist. It makes you a dumbass."

 

Maxie walked with her arm laced through Charles's. They left his wheelchair at his apartment and moved at a steady pace as he leaned on a cane. "Does Mr. Woodson come around often?" she asked.

"A couple times a month."

She looked up at Charles in disbelief. "A month?"

"I'm used to it by now," he said with a shrug. "He's too uptight, anyway. I swear, every time he comes around, my fucking boxers are tied up in a knot."

She giggled and shook her head. "I just don't understand. Why? You're right here, in the same city as him, so accessible any time he wants. Why wouldn't he take advantage of that?"

"He stopped coming around after my wife passed five years ago. Once we talked about it—once. He told me I remind him of her. And you know what? I can't blame him, because he reminds me of her. He's her spitting image, you know."

"What's wrong with that?" Maxie asked. "What's wrong with being reminded of someone you love? I wish I had more people that reminded me of my mother. More anything to remind me of her. Sometimes I try to picture her face and I can't."

"What happened to her?" he asked.

With a sigh, Maxie admitted, "She killed herself. Swallowed a shitload of pills—excuse my language—fell asleep and never woke up again. She was in a coma for three days before they pronounced her brain dead. Those were the hardest three days of my life, not knowing if she'd ever wake up again." Maxie shuddered, remembering. And then she thought of Isaac. Maybe those were the worst days of her life. Or maybe she was living in the worst days of her life. She couldn't tell anymore.

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "I like to think that she's happy now. She struggled with depression my whole life. And my dad... well, he was no help. If anything, he made it worse."

"And what happened to him?"

She shrugged again. "I came home from school one day, and he was gone. He called a few times, said he'd be back, he just needed to get away for a while and clear his head. I waited for him for a while. But then the calls stopped. And he changed his phone number. And that was it. I haven't heard from him since."

"Wow."

She let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah. Wow."

For another block or so, neither of them spoke. Then Maxie said, "You know, Charles, after what my dad did to me, I thought I was better off without him. I thought that if I ever saw him again, it would be too soon. But you know what? I was wrong. Everybody needs somebody. At least one person, you know? Someone who's obligated to love you and take care of you and be there for you no matter what. Obligated. He's my father, Charles. He's my person. And Mr. Woodson is your son."

Charles stared straight ahead. When he didn't reply, Maxie gently tugged on his arm. "Here's the café," she said. "Want to go in and rest?"

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "No funny business."

"Of course not," she replied innocently.

"Hey, I'm not fucking around, kid."

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon," she said.

Relenting, he let her lead him into the café, where they sat at a small table near the window. When Milla spotted them, her eyes lit up. "You're back so soon!" she said.

"I told you I would be."

"Charlie!" Milla called, coming around the counter.

Maxie turned to him, wide-eyed, as his face reddened. "Hello, Milla," he said.

"Charlie, where have you been? I haven't seen you in almost two months!"

"My son doesn't let me takes walks anymore," he replied.

"Oh! Please!" she said, waving a dismissive hand. "You're no child! You have places to go, people to see!" she laughed. She looked at Maxie. "How do you know old Charlie?"

"I keep Charlie company during the day," Maxie admitted, eyeing him. His face reddened even more.

"How nice of you!" she said. "Can I get you guys anything? Cupcakes? Charlie? Your usual black coffee?"

"Yes, please," he mumbled.

"And I'll have a banana nut muffin," said Maxie.

Milla nodded and hurried back to the counter. "Okay!" she called. "Coming right up!"

As soon as she was out of earshot, Maxie turned to Charles, smiling widely. "Pet names?"

"It's a nickname."

"And she knows your usual?"

"I told you I've been here a few times."

"Charles! You've been holding out on me! She was completely flirting with you! Maybe you should ask her out on a date."

He rolled his eyes. "What did I say? No funny business."

"I'm not, but—"

"Hey!" he snapped. "My wife was my person, alright? Got it? Now cut it out."

Finally, Maxie was silent. Milla returned with their orders.

"This is on the house," she whispered, though there was no one else in the entire place. "For my old favorite customer, and my new favorite customer." She patted Maxie's shoulder before going back to the counter.

Charles and Maxie ate and drank in silence, and then walked back to the apartment in silence. When they were inside, Maxie said, "I'm sorry, Charles. I didn't mean to be pushy."

"It's fine, kid."

"I don't want to intrude in your personal business, either. You know, when I asked about you and Mr. Woodson—"

"I said its fine," he said.

She quieted, dropping her eyes.

"Hey," he said. "If you want to...I mean, I wouldn't mind if..." He paused, sighed in frustration and rolled his eyes. "Look, what I'm trying to say is you can call me Charlie, too, if you'd like. My wife called me that. It reminds me of her. And like you said, sometimes it's nice to be reminded of someone you love."

Smiling, Maxie nodded. "Alright, then. Charlie it is."