by Cora Carmack
“Hell no. Yesterday someone spit coffee at me. Okay, so on the counter in front of me, but still I watched liquid arch from a stranger’s mouth toward me. This is my life.”
We laughed, and then the line went quiet.
After a few seconds, he said, “Now that I’ve buttered you up with laughs, I’ll get straight to the point . . .” And so the other shoe drops. “Bliss. I heard about the engagement. I’m sorry, man.”
I picked the airline ticket back up, and held it as I said, “You and everybody else on Facebook.”
“How are you doing with it?”
I said, “Okay.”
And I was just fine . . . where Bliss was concerned anyway.
“Cade . . .”
“I am, Rusty. I promise. I mean, I saw them a week or two ago, and it was awkward as hell. And depressing, because I’m pretty sure my friendship with Bliss is DOA. But I’m okay. There’s actually this other girl.”
I hadn’t told anyone about Max. I’d liked feeling that she was this awesome secret that I refused to share with the world. But she had my mind so twisted up that I had to tell someone.
“Another girl, huh?” he asked. “What’s she like?”
“A total mind fuck, that’s what she’s like.”
Rusty said, “I like the sound of her already.” He would. “So you’re together?”
“Not exactly.”
“Are you about to be?” he asked.
I looked back at that damn ticket and said, “Um . . . I doubt it.”
“Were you together?”
“Sort of.”
“Damn I’m confused, and I’m not even part of it.”
“Tell me about it.”
“If I’m reading between the Cade lines, I’d say you still want to be with her.”
“I don’t know, man. I do, and I don’t. She’s amazing, but she’s got a whole baggage claim to herself, man. If I’m honest, she stands to screw me up way more than Bliss ever did.”
“This is why I don’t date girls.”
“Not a solution I’m willing to take, man.”
He said, “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind. You know this girl isn’t good for you.”
I did know that, but it didn’t stop me from thinking about her constantly. I had to keep reminding myself of how it felt waking up alone that morning just to stop myself from calling her.
“You’re right. I just want life to be simple again, you know?”
That’s what I’d seen in Bliss. I knew it now. A life with her would have been simple and nice and safe. Complication free.
“Good luck with that, Winston. Life isn’t ever simple. Not until you’re dead.”
The phone call went on for a while after that, but my mind stayed stuck on those words. We talked about what other friends were doing and the possibility of getting the gang together for New Year’s.
But I thought about how I’d spent twenty-two years chasing after a life that I’d convinced myself I’d wanted. A simple, predictable, perfect life. But it still had yet to become any of those things. I’d been accumulating talents and accomplishments, marking them off this unwritten checklist that had been in the back of my mind since I was a kid. But what did it all add up to?
The truth was . . . none of that kept people from leaving. Nothing could, if the person was determined to go. The only question was how long you were willing to chase them.
Rusty had to get to work, so we wrapped up the call with promises to talk again soon. I had hoped talking with him would give me perspective, but I still didn’t know what I wanted, and my thoughts were more knotted up than ever.
32
Max
I refused to be nervous about spending time with Cade. Not when I had so many other things to worry about, but thoughts of him kept creeping into my head.
He’d ruined me.
Before I’d been like ice—cold and cutting and solid. But for weeks, he’d been thawing me out, and I hated it.
There was no control like this, no protection. And I had fewer than twenty-four hours until the end of the world. Also known as family Christmas.
Home was the lion’s den. My scars were always more sensitive there because that’s where I’d gotten the wounds. Now more than ever I needed my armor.
So today was about strengthening my resolve.
My mom had called seventeen and a half times today already. The half because one of the phone calls lasted so long that classifying it as one call just didn’t seem fair.
My brother and his wife, Bethany, had arrived yesterday, and I could feel the pretentiousness creeping through the phone just hearing them in the background.
I still hadn’t packed my bags. I had two sets of clothes folded and ready to go—my traditional holiday garb of turtlenecks and scarfs . . . or my normal clothes. As much as I wanted to make Cade happy, this wasn’t a decision that I could make lightly.
When I came home from my shift at the tattoo parlor, I reached out to tug open the door to my building, and it didn’t budge. I blinked, and then pulled again, but nothing changed.
I stepped back and looked around my street to make sure I’d gone to the right building. There was the Laundromat next door, which meant I was in the right place. I stepped forward and yanked on the door again. Nothing.
The door was locked.
The door to this building hadn’t been locked in ages, almost a year, I was sure.
I fished out my keys, and it took me a few seconds to even remember which key worked on this door because it had been so long. What had made the landlord fix it now? I’d given up bugging him about it months ago because nothing worked.
Unless he hadn’t been the one to fix it.
I froze with the key halfway to the lock. Would Cade have done that? Even though we were . . . well, not whatever we had been.
I weighed the probability in my mind of who could have fixed the door. Between my bum of a landlord and Golden Boy—the choice was obvious.
My heartbeat sped up faster just thinking about the possibility.
Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it wasn’t even him.
But what if it was and what if it did?
I thawed a little bit more.
I shook my head, and focused on my keys. When I found the right one, I shoved it into the lock a little too hard. Then I went upstairs and faced my packing options. I took a few turtlenecks, just in case, but for the most part I packed my normal clothes, the clothes I thought Cade would have approved of.
When I couldn’t hold back my nerves about tomorrow or my fantasies about Cade being the one to fix my door, I went to bed for the night, hoping I could stay strong . . . against everything.
My head was pounding, and it sounded like I was underwater. The world was so far away and too bright after so long alone in the dark. A light shined in my eye, and I flinched. A face hovered over mine, and my heart turned over in my chest.
Alex.
It had to be.
I tried to say her name, but my tongue felt like sandpaper, and my throat burned with the effort. All I managed was a whisper.
“Don’t try to talk, Rest your vocal cords.”
The voice was male, not Alex’s. My world chose that moment to sharpen, to emerge from the blur of my vision. I licked my lips. They were sticky and tasted like pennies.
Two fingers pressed into my wrist, and the man startled rattling off numbers to someone else I couldn’t see.
I registered the steady rumble of an engine, and whatever I was lying on swayed slightly.
I was in an ambulance. They were taking me away.
I panicked, and tried to sit up, but my shoulders were strapped down. I was trapped again. I bucked and squirmed, and a sharp pain shot up my leg. I tried to scream, but nothing came out.
Empty.
The pressure in my head increased until I thought it might explode.
I mouthed Alex’s name again and again, even though I couldn’t say it.
“You’re going to be okay,” the paramedic assured me. “We got to you in time.”
No. No, they hadn’t.
They were too late.
I saw the paramedic pick up a syringe, and then my world went fuzzy again. The panic subsided, but the memories did not.
It all came too late.
I woke up, gasping, my arms and legs slick with sweat and stuck to the sheets. My dreams were always worse around the holidays, but that had been the first in a while. I’d been too preoccupied with other things of late for my old demons to show their heads. I guess it was too much to hope for that they’d finally ended.
I tried to go back to sleep, but now the accident was fresh in my mind. Every time a car passed outside, the lights reflected through my window, and I shot up in bed, afraid another dream was starting.
Finally I decided that sleep wasn’t going to be a possibility. I got up, and took a long shower. I used the time to clear my head, and focus on what I needed to do on this trip.
The end goal was music. That was what I had to remember. Music was my constant. As eager as I was to see Cade again, I couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not by him, not by the past, not by anything.
I used the extra time to straighten my hair, a rare occurrence for me, but it kept my hands busy. Mom called twice to make sure I was up, and the second time I just put her on speakerphone and let her chatter on, interjecting the occasional “Yes,” and “Really?” to keep her going.
I pulled a scoop-neck shirt over my head, and looked in the mirror. The tattoos weren’t blatantly on display, but they definitely weren’t hidden. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine how my parents would react.
But for the life of me, I couldn’t picture it. Or maybe I didn’t want to.
I was grabbing my coat and scarf when a knock sounded on my door.
Cade.
My head was spinning.
“Just a second!”
I leaned a hand against the nearest wall and took a second to calm myself and fortify my walls.
Don’t think about him. Think about music.
I imagined a quick cigarette, but it did little to calm my nerves. Finally, I just grabbed the doorknob, and pulled.
He stood on the other side of my door, leaning against my doorjamb in a way that was so comfortable and sexy that I thought I had to be dreaming.
I pinched myself, but nothing changed.
So much for not thinking about him. All the emotions I’d narrowly kept in check this week hit me hard and fast. I tried to swallow it down, but it was just too much.
The expression on his face was unreadable, and I couldn’t seem to get my brain to process the fact that he was standing in front of me. It took all of my brainpower to utter, “Hi.” Then the rest of my thoughts fizzled out completely.
He pushed off the door, and stood in front of me with his hands in his pockets. My traitorous eyes traced from his arms to his shoulders to the straight edge of his jaw before I managed to get myself under control.
If just seeing him could affect me like this, how was I ever going to survive the holidays with him at my parents? I looked up, and he smiled like there was no painful history between us, like he wasn’t dying just from being in such close proximity. It took all my strength to resist touching him, and he stood there, the picture of ease and comfort.
I stared, battling with myself until he cleared his throat and said, “You ready?”
Not even close.
33
Cade
When she opened the door, the sight of her undid me. Her hair was longer and so blond it was almost white. Her normal curls were gone, and it fell in long, straight sheets. My heart sunk because I thought she’d tamed her hair color to appease her parents. Then she turned to the side to gesture me in, and the light hit her hair through a window. It was not white, but a very pale purple.
She smiled, and she seemed genuinely glad to see me.
“The hair looks great,” I said.
The top half of her hair was pulled back so that it didn’t cover the birds on her neck. Her clothing wasn’t outrageous, but it was still her. More importantly, it didn’t feel like she was hiding.
She shrugged. “You told me to be myself, so I am.”
I didn’t have to fake the smile that spread across my face.
Max moved toward the couch and fiddled with her carry-on, giving me the chance to take her in completely. She looked nervous, but I was sure it was just about seeing her parents.
I was a mess inside. I couldn’t make up my mind whether I wanted to turn around and walk out the door, or pull her into my arms and kiss her. I settled for behaving as naturally as possible.
I didn’t know what to say, so I settled for being useful. As soon as she had zipped up her duffel bag, I leaned around her and took it. My chest brushed against her back, and she stiffened.
I moved back quickly, but the damage had already been done. She moved away from me to grab a few more of her things.
“Are you nervous?” I asked.
She looked up at me, her blue eyes wide and questioning. Her eyes made this so much more difficult.
When she didn’t answer, I added, “About your parents?”
She breathed a laugh and said, “Only enough to throw up.”
It was good to hear her laugh.
“Oh, is that all?”
I followed her out into the hallway and waited while she locked her apartment. Over her shoulder she said, “ I should warn you, my sister-in-law, Bethany, is the Antichrist in panty hose.”
I laughed, and she whipped around to face me. She looked so surprised. I could only imagine what she had expected out of this trip. Maybe she thought I’d try to get her back. Probably she just expected me to be broken up over what she’d done.
I was sick of being that guy.
There was no reason I couldn’t act normal. I was an actor for God’s sake.
She said, “You laugh, but I’m serious. Spending time with her is like taking a cheese grater to the brain.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
She gave me a look and said, “When she married my brother, she insisted on having white doves released when they kissed. They got married in Oklahoma. She’s lucky someone in the audience didn’t stand up and open fire.”
“So she’s a bit crazy, but aren’t all women like that about their weddings?”
We emerged onto the street and she added, “She told me I wasn’t allowed to be a bridesmaid because my skin tone would clash with the dresses she’d chosen.”
I winced, but she wasn’t done. “Yeah. She was also runner-up for Miss Oklahoma like eight years ago, and she still maintains that the pageant was fixed, and she should have won.”
A cab was waiting for us at the curb, and I opened the door for Max to slide in first. “I get it. Don’t leave Max alone with Bethany or the sister-in-law might lose her waving hand.”
As we set off for the airport, the conversation became forced. It was harder to pretend when we were in such a small space and had a cabdriver as an audience. She twisted her hands nervously in her lap. One hand wandered up to the skin of her neck and brushed across the birds on her neck.
Before I could stop myself I asked, “Why birds?”
She looked like she’d forgotten that I was there completely. I wished I was capable of the same. She worried her lips with her teeth and I said, “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
“It’s okay. It’s pretty cliché. Before there was a bell jar, there was a cage.” She curved her hand around her neck and said, “I got these when I dropped out of UPenn. The first time I tried to stop pretending. They were supposed to keep me looking up and moving forward. Now they feel like a lie.”
I reached out and pulled her hand away from her neck. I ignored the shock of warmth and said, “It’s going to be okay, Max.”
I released her hand, and she wrapped both arms around her middle, like she was holding herself together.
“You’re really dreading this, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea. My mother is so hard-core about Christmas. She’s like the love child of Mrs. Claus and the Terminator. If you even look like you’re not filled with Christmas cheer, she’ll be shoving eggnog and cookies and Christmas carols down your throat.” She laughed, and it felt forced, but I could tell she was ready for a subject change, so I went with it.
I shrugged and said, “I like eggnog.”
She groaned, but her frustration gave way to a smile. Each new smile looked a little less faked, and I made a silent goal to put her completely at ease. I was a masochist. I was just as bad as that crazy monk in The Da Vinci Code, only her smile was my whip.
“So, um.” She fidgeted with her hands. “I should have said it before, but thank you for showing up. . . . I’m glad I won’t be alone.”
“You’re welcome.”
I thought that would be the end of it, but her cheeks flushed and she continued, “And well, we don’t have to . . . that is, if you’re uncomfortable about pretending to be together, we don’t have to really do anything, um, couple-like.”
I forced a smile. I’d been thinking of that almost constantly. Part of me thought I should avoid couple behavior at all costs, but another part of me saw it as a golden opportunity.
“Pretending won’t bother me.” Maybe saying it out loud would make it truer. “It’s not a big deal. Acting is what I do.”
She nodded, her lips pursed into a straight line. “Right, of course, I just wanted to . . . offer.”
Max’s anxiety continued to build so that by the time we boarded the plane, she looked ready to turn around and go back.
She gestured for me to take the window seat, and she sat on the aisle, leaning as far away from me as she could. She kicked off her shoes and pulled up her knees, like she was at home sitting on her couch. When we were high enough in the air that we could use electronics, she pulled out her phone and tucked her earbuds in. I could hear her music from here, and I wondered if it helped to drown out her fears.
I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the window, and tried to do some drowning of my own. It didn’t take long before my head drooped, and I drifted into a peaceful nap.
