by Mariah Dietz
We ride in silence for several minutes, my fingers tracing the seams of the seat as I wonder why we take two steps back for every one that we take toward being friends.
“So what’s your deal with Emory?”
My eyebrows rise in surprise as I try to shuffle my thoughts, keeping my eyes focused on the windshield. “There’s no deal. We’re friends.”
“You know he likes you, right?” I can feel his gaze on me, but I refuse to look over at him.
“Should I feel like I’m getting the third degree on all of my relationships?”
“I’m just trying to get to know you better.” I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic so I look over to him, but his focus is directed on the road and obscures anything he might be revealing.
I sigh with irritation and roll my eyes. He’s trying to ruffle my feathers, and unfortunately it’s working. Even though he can’t see it, I’m fairly confident he knows by my tone. “Emory and I have been friends since high school. We had a humanities elective together, and we disagreed on the necessity of every American owning a gun. We became friends because we could respect each other’s opinions.”
“You like guns?” Max asks, looking over at me.
“No,” I answer, shaking my head, “My brother-in-law Caulder is a cop. He and my mom both feel guns are essential. They wanted the whole family to go through gun training and safety classes a few years ago. Luckily my dad’s pretty much on the same page of thinking as me when it comes to weapons so it never really came to fruition. But my mom does own like three guns. She likes to play the Texas card, saying it’s in her blood.” I turn to look at him and this time I make my eye roll evident to show him I think she’s full of it.
“If I had five daughters I think I’d want some guns too.”
I laugh and shake my head.
“Seriously, I still remember your first day of high school because every guy in school was talking about you. The day you turned sixteen was practically a holiday for the male race.”
I’m stunned to hear that Max knows we had to be sixteen to date which causes my response to be slightly delayed. “As I recall, you dated the entire senior class your junior year.”
Max looks over to me and smiles a wicked smile that makes my heart race.
“So you’re good friends with Jess?” Max asks, avoiding commenting about his previous conquests and steering the conversation back to me. It takes me a moment too long for his words to finally process as I try to change lanes in my head, and I turn toward the windshield to form a coherent thought.
“Yeah, we’ve known each other forever.”
“She speaks really highly of you.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I continue to stare out the windshield seeing nothing but the occasional blur of color as we pass.
“You do know Emory likes you, right?”
I glance over at Max and see that he’s studying me. “Emory dated Kendall.” I watch as he attempts to ascertain what my statement means. “I’d never date him, and he knows that.” The wind from Max’s open window blows a strand of hair across my cheek and I tuck it behind my ear. “Emory and Kendall ended things as friends, but I don’t date guys that have dated my sisters.”
“Did Nathan Hudson date Kendall?”
“Does Nate ever really date anyone?” I ask.
“He dicked around with her?”
“He’s an asshole. There’s a lot of reasons I don’t like him.”
“What did he do to you?” Max’s eyes flash to my face and I turn to look out the windshield once more.
“It isn’t important.”
“If it isn’t important why won’t you tell me?”
“For the same reason I’m not telling you what I ate for breakfast: It doesn’t really matter, and it affects nothing.”
“Usually people refuse to discuss something when there’s something to hide.”
“Usually people can catch a hint.” I raise my eyebrows.
Thankfully we’re pulling into the parking lot of the lake, and I hop out of the car before Max even turns off the engine.
I start in the direction of my car as I hear his Jeep door close. My foot slides on some loose gravel and my arms fly out in an attempt to balance myself as I squeeze my eyes shut with anticipation of contact. Instead, I feel two hands grip my waist, anchoring me. My hands clutch to the support, and I open my eyes to find myself staring into Max’s chest, still gripping his forearms.
I glance up at him with a sheepish grin. “Thanks.”
He nods once and loosens his grip. “You should really break that habit of closing your eyes when you fall. It helps to actually see what’s around you.”
Max tinkers around quietly under the hood of my car as I hover by the driver’s side door.
My phone rings, making me acutely aware that I’m staring at Max’s tattoo peeking out from his shirt sleeve. I pull it out quickly and see that it’s my dad.
“Hey.”
“Hi, sweetheart. I just wanted to touch base with you since I’ve missed you the last couple of mornings.”
I back away from my car, turning toward Max’s Jeep, and keep my eyes trained on the ground to watch my steps. “Do you mind if I call you back? I’m actually at the lake. My car won’t start.”
“Why didn’t you call? Do you need a ride?”
“No, Max is actually looking at it.”
“You went to the lake with Max?” My eyes snap to Max. He’s still fiddling with unknown wires. I take a few steps forward, pressing the phone harder to my ear ensuring he can’t hear.
“No. Dad, I have to go. I’ll see you soon. Love you,” I say too quickly and hang up before he can respond.
I slide my phone in my pocket and collide into a wall as I turn back to my car. The impact knocks me backwards and once again, Max’s hands grip my sides; only this time when I reach out to grab something for support, I hold on to his biceps. His muscles bulge under skin that feels hot against my hands.
“I’m sorry. I swear I’m not trying to authenticate every blonde joke ever made.”
Max releases an easy laugh, and I feel his fingers constrict for the briefest second on my waist before he releases me and takes a step back.
“You didn’t close your eyes this time. That’s progress.” He smiles at his own joke. “I think that one was my fault. Are you okay?”
I nod, not allowing myself to analyze the slight squeeze to my hips as Max takes another step back making me wonder if it even happened. He continues over to his Jeep, retrieving his tool box while I head back over to my car.
“So how do you know Jess?” I ask, praying the answer isn’t a sexual encounter.
He glances over to me from under the hood of the car and his eyes seem to go vacant for a moment before he turns his attention back to the engine. “Keith, her brother. He and I were pretty good friends.”
My breath catches in my throat as I recall seeing him and Keith hanging out on multiple occasions while visiting Jess; it’s been so long I’ve somehow completely forgotten the brief encounters, which seems crazy since I’ve always paid too much attention to Max Miller. Guilt resides within me for having forgotten about their friendship, and for the pain that I know Max feels from having lost a friend.
The memory of Keith causes a sudden rush of both sadness and love. He was always such a happy person. Most of my friends’ older brothers would generally ignore us or tease us incessantly. Keith, however, had always been an exception and had become a friend to me as well.
When Jess and I were juniors, he had been up driving really early one morning, heading out to surf. He’d stopped on a particularly narrow stretch of road to help a woman with a flat tire. Another driver rushing to work wasn’t paying attention and hit the rear end of the car where Keith was kneeling. He died instantly. It was very traumatic to Jess and her parents. It had been for most of our town; everyone knew and liked Keith.
I lean against the car lost in thought.
“Do you r
emember that zip line swing they had?” I ask, tracing the piping around my car door with my index finger. “I was terrified of that thing.” I feel a small smile lift the corners of my mouth as the memory plays in my mind. “One night, Jess and I had stayed up really late and she talked me into going on it.” I pause again, picturing their dark yard and can feel the grass, cold and wet against my bare feet, as we giggled and raced to the swing with the moon so large and full in the sky it seemed too close.
“I climbed all the way to the top and froze. Deer in the headlights froze. I couldn’t move! I was terrified to swing, I was terrified to get down, I was stuck. Jess was sure her parents would be mad at us because it was like two in the morning, so she went and got poor Keith out of bed. He climbed up on that tiny platform with me where I shook like a leaf and promised I’d be okay. Then he covered my hands with his so I wouldn’t lose my grip.
“I think he eventually had to give me a little shove.” I smile, shaking my head with a quiet laugh. “I remember I felt like I was flying.” I pause, recalling the energy that had consumed me that night. “Keith and I were laughing so hard. The three of us stayed up all night going on it over and over again.”
I’m not positive why I share this particular memory. Sometimes tragedy happens to someone so bright and wonderful that regardless of the kind and beautiful sentiments people tell you about them, or where they’ve gone, it’s still difficult to understand why they were taken too soon.
I glance over at Max; his eyes are soft and warm, confirming he understands my story without saying a word.
“You definitely aren’t every girl.” He studies me briefly before turning his attention back to my car while I try not to interpret his words in a manner that will make my heart further accelerate.
“Okay, try to start it.”
I climb in and turn the key. The engine instantly purrs to life.
“You did it!” I cheer with a bit too much enthusiasm. I swallow, commanding myself to tone it down. “Thanks, Max. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You spent your afternoon fixing my car when you were obviously heading somewhere.” I eye his dark washed jeans and fitted gray T-shirt as I lean against my car, leaving the door open to prevent myself from stepping any closer.
“It’s no big deal,” Max insists with a shrug. The slight movement causes another wave of his scent to wash over me.
“Yes, it is.” His eyes bore into mine for a moment before I blink and look over my shoulder.
“I’ll see you later, Max. And be careful on those rocks. They’re slippery,” I say, trying to ease the awkwardness that I’m not certain how I created, but feel.
Max purses his lips and smiles, then shakes his head as he walks back to his Jeep. I wait until he gets in before driving away.
Rather than going straight home, I take a detour and go see Jess. I don’t even think to call; my car just seems to navigate itself there. Thinking about Keith reminds me of how difficult it was for her to deal with his passing and has filled me with a sense of melancholy that’s directing me toward her.
Jess’s mom Cindy answers the door gifting me with a warm smile—Keith’s smile. I return it, suppressing the surge of sadness threatening to invade me as she grabs my shoulders and pulls me through the door and into a hug. Cindy is one of the warmest and most compassionate people I’ve ever met; Keith was so much like her.
“Jess, Ace is here!” Cindy calls over my head, still holding me securely. The lingering scent of cinnamon brings back the truckload of memories from the last fifteen years.
Jess appears from the family room with a grin on her face.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I was just in the area and crossed my fingers,” I say, giving her a guilty smile.
“Don’t apologize! You’re welcome anytime.” Cindy gives me a final squeeze before making her way into the kitchen.
I spend the next couple of hours on the back porch with Jess, swaying on the swing that overlooks the zip line. Seeing that it’s still up makes my heart warm, although it’s obvious with a quick glance that it hasn’t been used in years.
For a moment I want to relive the story again with Jess, see if she can remember it as vividly as I do. I don’t, because despite the happy memory, death evokes depressed emotions for me, and I don’t want this to be a sad visit. The last few times I’ve been here the visits have been tear filled.
We discuss school for a while and how it differs from our expectations. Jess talks about New York and the chaos and excitement; all the while a look of longing is in her eyes making it evident that she loves it.
“So I hear you’re dating some college guy,” Jess says, surprising me as I lean forward to stand up.
“As opposed to a high school guy?” I joke.
“What’s he like? Max said it’s pretty serious.”
“Max?” I question, feeling my eyebrows rise in shock.
Jess nods, giving me a knowing look. “Yeah, when you went to find Kendall last week at Karli’s.”
I recall Max saying that Jess spoke highly of me and instantly want to ask what was said, but know that will be too obvious.
“His name’s Eric.” I shrug my shoulders without thinking as I try to push thoughts of Max out.
Jess throws her head back filling the air with laughter. Brown curls gleam like gold as they catch the fading rays of sunlight. “So obviously Max was wrong about it being serious. Does your mom hate him?”
“She never hates anyone I date; she just never likes them.”
“This isn’t like you. Once you realize you’re still dating the wrong person, you usually end things.”
“Still dating the wrong person?” I repeat with a laugh.
“I love you, Ace, but let’s face it, you always date the same type of guys. Guys that you know you don’t have feelings for. They’re not your type. I don’t quite understand why you want that type to be your type … I’m saying type a lot, aren’t I?”
I nod with a smile.
“So why are you holding on to this one?”
“I want to know what type of guy I keep dating that obviously isn’t my type, and what type I’m supposed to be looking for.”
“You date nice guys. Nice guys that just kind of go with the flow, and don’t rock the boat. Attractive, but kind of plain. They don’t question you, or push you, they just let you be.”
“Nice guys that are attractive and easy to get along with. What’s so wrong with that?”
“Nothing. If that was your type.”
“So what is my type?”
“You need someone with passion and fire, someone that’s going to push you and excite you. Maybe someone with tattoos?” She arches an eyebrow, insinuating something we both know I don’t want to hear.
“Oh, come on, I’ve known you since you were five! Maybe he didn’t notice but you were totally checking Max out!”
I let my head fall to the back of the swing and groan. “He’s hot. Obviously. But Max and I are very different. I mean he’s been with a lot of girls, and how many fights has he been in? I don’t think bad boy is my type.”
“Max isn’t a bad boy. He’s made some bad decisions, and he does sometimes use his fists rather than his words—”
“Sometimes?” I cry and we both laugh, knowing that Max has an extensive history of fighting.
“I think you should cross your fingers and try it,” she says, using the words I’d said upon entering the house. “Max is a really nice guy, and I see some similar qualities in you both.”
“Like my tough left jab?”
Jess rolls her eyes at me again, not smiling. “Like your compassion and loyalty and your drive. You’re both very passionate about what’s important to you. And I’ve seen you and your occasional wild side too.” She’s referring to when I’d go to parties and drink too much. I was fine, or so I’d thought, until I ended up having to get my stomach pumped one night.
“Max isn’t even interest
ed in me.”
“Interesting. Shouldn’t the fact that you have a boyfriend be your first objection?” Jess asks with the same knowing look she’s had throughout most of this conversation.
“See, you’re helping me build a defense.” I stand up, ending the conversation.
“Just think about it, before college boy does something crazy like propose.”
I look down at her, alarmed.
“See, there’s your answer,” she says, joining me. “You better keep me apprised.” This time I roll my eyes at her.
I start my car and turn the music up loud—loud enough it makes my ears hurt—as I drive home, trying to shut out any and all of my thoughts.
Cars overflow from our driveway and the Millers, reminding me that it’s a Bunco night. I silently pray they’re over at Sharon’s house as I find a parking spot three houses over.
“I was starting to worry about you. I saw Max get home and was concerned your car stopped again.” My dad’s words greet me as I step out of the car. “I was ready to send out a search party. Your generation’s supposed to be glued to their cell phones. How did you miss the wagon?”
“Sorry. No, I just went to see Jess and we got to talking. I must’ve left it in the car,” I say, trying to force a smile as I spot my phone resting in the middle console cup holder. I sweep in to retrieve it and see that I’ve missed eleven calls.
I hold it up with an apologetic smile. He shakes his head and places a hand on my shoulder, leading me into the house.
I need to get in the pool. I swim nearly every night during the summer. It began as a way of conquering my fear of water when I was ten, but now I just enjoy the peace that comes with it as I focus on my breathing and the way my body moves with little resistance.
“You probably want to skip swimming tonight,” he says, sensing my intentions. “The Bunco crowd is all in the back drinking.” I look at the kitchen, just now noticing the random bags of chips and dips covering nearly every surface.
