NOW
What good was memory anyway? Maybe Isaac just didn't realize how lucky he was to not have a constant reminder of the good things that can never again be, nor the bad things that you're forced to relive every time they find their way to the front of your thoughts.
Maxie sat cross-legged on the fire escape outside her window, a lit joint between her lips, a bowl in her lap, a stack of small squares of paper in her hands, all filled with Isaac's notes.
Memories.
Reminders.
'You know what?' Noelle says, staring at the flames before her. They're taller than Maxie by now, reaching up toward the sky as they dance across the night. 'Eighty-five percent of pain is self-inflicted. At least eighty-five percent, I'd say.'
Maxie doesn't reply. Noelle's been crying. She knows it's best to stay silent when Noelle's been crying. 'If something's bothering you, Maxie, you have to do something about it. You have to lash back.'
She bends over and picks up the box at her feet. It's full of photos and letters and dozens of keepsakes from a life with Maxie's father that her mother has collected over the years. Maxie's contributed to the box herself a few times. A ticket stub once, from her first trip to the movies with her parents. A paperclip bracelet, too, from the one year her father brought her to the office with him for Bring Your Daughter to Work Day.
But none of that is important now, Maxie guesses, because right before her eyes, Noelle throws it all into the fire. Handfuls at a time.
Maxie held up the first piece of paper, decorated with Isaac's small, curvy handwriting. One day, Maximilienne.
Lie.
She let the flame lick the corner of the paper before dropping it in the bowl and watching the fire swallow it.
I love only you, Maximilienne.
Lie.
Marry me, Maximilienne. Children, Maximilienne. A future, Maximilienne.
Lies, all lies.
Maxie remembered the first time they made love. The first time, the last time, every time in between. For a moment, she immersed herself in the memories of his hands on her. His hands, and his mouth, and his entire massive frame, all pressed against her. A sob formed in her throat as a single question invaded her thoughts: How many of those nights had he been engaged to her best friend?
Had any of it been real?
She may as well have been fifteen again, sitting on the floor of the bedroom she'd shared with Van, waiting for a phone call that would never come. Waiting for a man who would never return to her. Like her father, Isaac was gone forever.
"It's okay to cry," Van had said. She'd squeezed Maxie's hand and given Maxie her shoulder, and Maxie had cried like the broken soul she had been. And yet, here she was years later, still broken, and still fatherless. And even if she cried now, Isaac would still have been engaged to Van. It would still have been nothing but a lie.
Tears changed nothing. So she wiped hers and watched as the last of Isaac's empty promises disappeared into the flames, and then into the night as the breeze swept up the ashes.
It was over.
Nearly two years later, they were done. She exhaled the realization, and for a moment, she sat paralyzed by the torrent of emotions that gripped her. Sorrow, disappointment, longing and uncertainty. Resentment, bitterness, remorse. And in the shadow of those, like a lightness in her chest, relief. She couldn't remember what it felt like to be free of her love for Isaac, but now she would know again. Now she would be free.
"I thought I smelled you out here," came a voice behind her. She turned around to see Gnar poking his head out of the window. Like a small beam of light against a backdrop of blackness. "Is something burning?"
"No," she lied, pushing the bowl out of his view. Getting to her feet, she said, "I was just coming inside."
Her bedroom was nearly as cool as the air outside, but when Gnar pulled her against his firm chest, she could only feel his warmth. The low hum of classical music filled the air around them. Giving her a sideways grin that she was still powerless against, Gnar rested his hand on the small of her back, raising his other for her to take. "Dance with me?"
She slid her fingers up his wrist and into his palm, and then they were moving slowly back and forth. "Do you want to stay the night?" she whispered, as if her voice would break the serenity of the moment.
He pulled back to look at her face. Her cheeks were as pink as the whites of her eyes. "You're under the influence right now. If I said yes, would that be considered taking advantage of you?"
With a small smile, she shrugged. "I wouldn't mind, either way."
He drew her to him again, fully and completely. Every part of her body was against his, his hand remained firm against her back. "Of course I'll stay," he said, whispering as well. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."
"Let's start with tonight," she replied.
He chuckled. "I'll take it."
When they retreated to the bed, his large form took up most of it, yet she seemed to fit perfectly in the curve of his side.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
She wondered if he could sense when her emotions were in disarray, when her insides were in shambles.
Maybe they'd been in shambles since she'd met him. Maybe he was just checking his progress as he constantly worked to mend the broken pieces of her.
With a sigh, she nuzzled in closer to him, inhaled his scent, and replied, "I'm fine." And to herself, she silently promised, I will be. "Do you remember when you asked me about finding true love twice? If Charlie and Milla gave me hope?"
"Mm hmm," he said. Her eyes drifted shut as the tips of his fingers moved in soft circles against her temple.
"The answer is yes," she said. "I have hope."
For a moment, the air between them was silent, and then Gnar leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. Satisfied, she let herself relax, slowly yielding to the pull of slumber, dreams of a conceivable future waiting in the shadows of her unconsciousness.