by Mariah Dietz
“You said you wanted crazy.” His voice holds a note of a challenge that makes my eyes grow at the prospect of really doing this.
“Alright, if you go with me! I’m going to get us a couple of shots. I need some more liquid courage!”
I get back to the table as Max is returning from the stage, grinning as he reaches for the tray crowded with four shots and two beers.
“I thought you didn’t like beer?”
“This is a hard cider,” I answer with a shrug. “I figure in case I need to nurse something, I can drink it. Otherwise, you can.” I take a seat and lean forward so I can talk over the noise. “I know you like whiskey, but I just learned there’s big difference between the different kinds, so I got us each a whiskey sour and a malt. I heard you tell my dad you like lager beers, which I also had to ask the bartender to explain, and he guaranteed me you’ll like this!”
When Max doesn’t reply, I look up to ensure he’s able to hear me. He’s staring at me, his eyes warm, yet guarded, like he’s waiting for me to tell him the bad side of things. I open my mouth to say something, I’m not even quite sure what, when he grabs my arms and pulls me out of my seat and into his chest and roughly kisses me.
“Thank you!” he says, looking at me with his intense blue eyes. I smile before I lean forward, kissing him again.
The night passes too fast as we laugh and sing along with others on stage. We chat with another couple that briefly joins our table when the place is too packed for any empty tables, and we kiss. We kiss a lot.
By the time we get home we’re both exhausted and I’ve had too much to drink to not start sleeping soon. Max leads me to my room before heading back into the kitchen. I brush my teeth and shuffle into my room where I peel off my clothes and change before Max appears with two glasses of water. I drink them both and lay my head on the cool cotton of my pillow as my ears ring in the quietness of my apartment.
“Where are you going?” I mumble, hearing the quiet swish of fabric. I look up to see Max standing in my doorway with his back to me.
“The couch.”
I shake my head and pat the bed beside me. “Come on, you can sleep above the sheet if you don’t trust me,” I say, sticking out my bottom lip.
“That pout could make world leaders sign peace treaties.” He sighs in defeat and pulls off his T-shirt. The sight of him unbuckling his jeans has me swallowing. Maybe this was a bad idea. Max stands before me in his boxer briefs.
I’ve seen him in his bathing suit dozens of times, this is no different, I repeat to myself as I pull the blankets down. “Don’t worry, I’m too tipsy to try much. I feel like I’m about to sleep for twelve days.”
“I’m worried about my self-control, not yours,” Max admits. He hesitates another beat before I see the resolve cross his face, and he slides under the covers.
I snuggle myself close to him and shiver, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating against mine. Max reaches over and pulls me closer, wrapping an arm under my neck so my head rests on his shoulder. He then hitches my leg so it lies between his thighs, my foot between his knees. I drape my right arm across his chest, and take deep breaths of Max as his hand lightly combs through my hair.
“Thank you. That was the best crazy I’ve ever had,” I whisper, closing my heavy eyes as sleep pulls me under.
The next afternoon I patiently sit on Kendall’s couch as she wraps up a call to Jameson, huffing about us being on our way.
I lift an eyebrow as she throws her phone in her purse like she’s pitching a softball. “Everything okay?”
She looks over at me and we silently stare at one another for a long moment before she lets out a loud sigh and follows me down the apartment stairs where our shoes slap against the metal. I silently climb into the passenger seat of her car, watching as the words work through her mind. Usually Kendall speaks through her thoughts, rather than processing them first like I do, making me feel slightly anxious for what she’s about to tell me.
Her head leans against the headrest, gazing into the parking lot, while holding her keys in a loose fist. “I think I love him.”
She slowly turns to face me, and I see the fear etched across her face. My sister has used the “L” word in nearly half of her relationships, but I can tell this is different. This is sincere. I remain silent, allowing the words to penetrate the air as we both digest them.
“I love him,” she repeats with more conviction, turning to look at me. I smile at her reassuringly. “We’re dating best friends and I love him. What if something turns bad?”
I shrug, not even wanting to consider the possibility. “We’re all adults, and we’ve been friends, so we know if something happens, we can always go back to that.” Her lips turn down in a grimace, and I reach my hand to grip hers. “Right now everything is going great. You can’t worry about something happening that hasn’t. You’ll drive yourself crazy. Stop acting like me.” Kendall breaks into a grin and lets out a small laugh.
“Seriously, I am becoming you.” She groans, sliding her eyes back to me. “Really, though, I’ll always choose you first. I promise. Nothing will ever come between us.”
“I would never make you choose.”
“You’ll never have to. You’re more than just my sister. You’re my best friend.”
“I love you too,” I say, squeezing her hand. “You should tell him you love him.”
Kendall squeezes my hand in reply and then makes a flippant comment about my boobs looking bigger, and we spend the short car ride joking and laughing.
“Are you kidding me? For the love of all things holy!” I look up from my phone and see Max’s Jeep and Jameson’s car, then take in the moderately-sized tan house that looks too nice to have college students living in it, even if it is a rental. I look back to her in confusion and see the scowl on her face. I follow her gaze out the driver’s side window to see three scantily-clad women doing yard work.
I burst into laughter and climb out of the car with my bag in hand as Kendall follows me to the door, muttering under her breath. When the door opens Landon stands before us holding a bottle of beer and smiling.
“Hey, ladies! Do you need help with those?” he asks, lifting his beer in greeting.
“I think your neighbors are begging for help,” Kendall snaps, pushing past Landon who raises his eyebrows and looks at me in confusion. He takes a couple of steps forward and peers out the open front door to see a girl in a pair of shorts that look like she outgrew when she was seven, along with a bikini top and cowboy boots, mowing the lawn.
“If that does anything for you, please don’t tell me,” I say, taking a couple of steps inside.
Landon chuckles and closes the door as Max comes in the room, hair still wet from showering and a short layer of scruff on his jaw from not shaving today. He looks sexy as hell. I hoist my bag further up on my shoulder and lean forward to kiss him.
“What’s Kendall talking about? Rabid skanks?” he asks, taking my overnight bag from my shoulder, a smile playing on his lips.
“Your neighbors. They’re working pretty hard to get your attention.” I nod toward the large picture window beside the living room which is mostly bare except for a foosball table. “Tell her they look desperate and trashy.” Max walks to the window and peers out.
“Okay, tell me they look desperate and trashy.”
He closes the shade with a pull of the string and faces me with a growing smile. “Rabid skanks for sure.”
Landon laughs, retreating down the hallway. Max leans forward and gives me another quick kiss, taking my hand in his, and proceeds to give me a tour of their house.
It’s apparent it’s been well taken care of, with newer updates that were obviously done with care and precision. It’s clean, but feels slightly empty with sparse furniture and nearly no decorations. We finish upstairs where there’s a large room for storage and Max’s bedroom. He opens the door and I feel relieved he looks as nervous as I feel.
Max’s room is painted
white, like the rest of the house. His king-sized bed sits against the far wall, covered in a navy blue comforter with a nightstand on each side, each adorned with a matching lamp. A large bureau sits across from the bed with a TV sitting atop it and a couple of framed pictures I zero in on immediately. There’s one of us from this summer, wearing our bathing suits. I’m sitting on his lap, my back pressed against his chest, wearing matching smiles so big it looks like our cheeks should ache. I don’t know where he got the picture and can’t even remember that moment, but a thrill goes through me seeing I hold a place in Max’s room. Beside it rests a picture of his mom, brothers, and him, all looking much more serious in a beautiful black and white image.
My thoughts break, hearing a soft thud. I turn and see my bag leaning against the armoire. Max has an undefined look in his eyes as his bare feet pad against the hardwood floor, stopping when he’s standing inches from me. He bends slowly, too slowly, and kisses me.
My arms wrap around his neck on their own accord, possibly his. Max’s hands sit on the curve of my hips, holding me securely to him as he pulls back and his eyes scan over me, reading my thoughts.
“I like this.” I gently brush my fingers along the length of his jaw; the sharp shadow from not shaving has favorable effects on my body. “I’d like to see you with this in four weeks and six days.”
Max grins and presses his lips to mine and gently lays me on his bed. He climbs over me, kissing his way along my neck until we hear Kendall yelling for us.
I groan as Max stops and lifts himself off of the bed, looking down at where I refuse to stand, not sure my legs will be able to support me after that kiss.
“God you’re beautiful,” he says, his head shaking as he leans down to give me a chaste kiss.
That night I triple check that I have everything for classes the next day. I’m on a waiting list for two classes: Philosophy and Bio-Chemistry. My mom was reluctant to allow me to sign up for the diverse smattering of classes ranging from political science to anatomy, however my dad encouraged it saying it was good for me to experience as much as I could to make an informed decision. Mom never seemed to fully buy it, but after I picked up another science course she seemed a little less hesitant.
I arrive to Philosophy fifteen minutes early and feel grateful I do when I see the class is already quite full. I quickly scan the room and elect to take an empty seat in the front row, directly in front of the podium.
“Well, what do you know, it’s my neighbor! We could be carpool buddies.” I look up from my laptop to see Nate approaching. I frown and busy myself as he slides into the seat beside me.
“I didn’t see you around last night. Don’t tell me you guys are that serious. It might break my heart.” I roll my eyes, keeping them forward. Apparently ignoring him isn’t giving him the satisfaction he’s looking for, because only a few seconds tick by before he reaches out and flicks a few strands of my hair.
I grab my laptop, preparing to move, when the door opens again and a man that doesn’t look much older than us but is distinguishably a professor dressed in a brown suede sport coat and loafers. He takes a few long strides to the front of the room and stands behind the podium where he quickly scribbles something on a sheet of paper and then stalks back to the door. He opens it and tapes the note on the outside before turning to face us again.
“Alright, welcome to Philosophy. I understand there’s a waiting list to be in here, so I’ll congratulate you all on making it past the first step, which was getting here on time.”
Class is riveting. Professor Parker is incredibly intelligent and has a very dry sense of humor that I enjoy immensely. There’s something about him that draws me to him.
“Since this is Philosophy, and the oldest philosophical question that seems to be asked is which came first, the chicken or the egg, I’d like you to go and ask your friends, family, strangers for their opinions and answers on this question. Then I want you to shape your own answer and be ready to defend it on Friday. Then we’ll know who will be staying and who will be leaving.”
When he dismisses us I remain seated waiting for Nate to gather his things and leave. He makes it obvious that he has no intention of hurrying, so I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder, making a wide berth around his seat, and follow the trickling line of students out the door.
As I arrive in the science ward, I pull out my phone to check the time and notice I have a text from Max. The edges of my lips go up in an involuntary grin as I open it.
Max: I h8 philosophy. I want U here.
Bio-Chem is boring—painfully boring—mostly attributed to our professor who speaks about three words per minute with the most monotone voice I’ve ever heard apart from Ben Stein. My mother, being from Texas, speaks slowly and with a drawl, but she’s a speed talker in comparison.
When we’re finally excused, my body itches to move and my mind feels half numb. I’d tried numerous times to make myself focus on the syllabus and what we’d be learning, but my mind wandered around faster than a pinball while she droned on. Max, and my birthday, occupies my thoughts and whether I should tell him about Nate being in my Philosophy class, and pretty much everything, other than Bio-Chem.
The warm September sun pours down on me. My eyes float to the clear skies, noting the morning clouds that seem to frequently make an appearance in San Diego mornings have lifted, and it’s another beautiful day … then I spot him.
Max leans against the wall, his foot casually propped up, while a girl from my last class talks to him, wrapping strands of her hair around her fingers. Max’s eyes skip past her and dance along the other students that mill past. I grin, gripping the strap of my backpack and approach them.
His face lights up as I catch his attention. He turns and quickly says something to the girl and pushes away from the wall to meet me as I launch myself into his arms, like it’s been weeks rather than hours since I last saw him.
“God, I needed to see you.”
I lean back to look at him. “Bad morning?”
He shrugs, obviously wanting to avoid it. “On the bright side it looks like good camping weather. How were your classes?”
“Bio-Chem was pretty mind-numbing.”
Max laughs and nods in understanding. “What about Philosophy?”
“It was good.” I hear my voice go up at the end, almost as if I’m posing my statement as a question, and feel Max’s eyes turn to me. “It was good,” I say, nodding with more conviction, “But Nate’s in the class.” I look up to gauge his reaction to the news.
“Nathan Hudson is in your class? Are you serious?” I watch the muscles in his neck and arms tighten, making his veins bulge. He runs his free hand over his head a couple of times, and I wait for him to process the news.
“Why do you call him Nate? It sounds like you guys are old pals,” he says, his eyes turning darker as they harden.
I shrug. “Because he hates it.”
Max shakes his head, trying to fight a grin and grabs my bag. “It will all work out. What is it your dad says? Let it be?”
“Actually he generally says it and then breaks into song, but yes, let it be,” I say with a laugh, watching as the rest of the tension seems to roll away from him. He reaches a hand up and strokes the left side of my face with his thumb, looking at me with his beautiful blue eyes that I’m sure Mother Nature wishes she’d painted the skies with the color. I smile and grip his fingers in mine and bring his palm around to my lips.
Friday arrives and I enter the Philosophy classroom and text Max since the room is still fairly desolate.
Me: Four weeks and 1 day left … not that I’m counting or anything … ;)
I tuck it in my bag and wait for class to begin.
Professor Parker stands in front of the class¸ holding a plastic Easter egg and a stuffed chicken. “Chicken or egg? Egg or chicken? What came first? Who wants to begin?”
“The rooster came first … pun intended.” I look over my shoulder to see a guy smiling widely.
“Thank you, Mr. Loftus, for your wise assessment,” Professor Parker says over the laughs and snickers.
“The egg.” I glance behind me and see a petite brunette with a smug smile on her face. “An egg could have come from divine creation or the product of necessity since the creature hadn’t existed.”
“You don’t look convinced, Ms. Bosse.” My eyes widen slightly as they meet my professor’s. He’s staring at me while casually leaning against the podium with an amused smile.
“I just think the question is much broader than what we’re discussing.” Professor Parker nods for me to continue. “I think when people ask what came first, the chicken or the egg, it’s referencing instinct versus a learned action.”
“Such as?” he asks, raising his eyebrows as his head tilts slightly to the side, making me wonder if I’m grossly misinterpreting the question.
“I think certain fears are instinct—like how infants fear being placed on their backs with their stomachs exposed. Instinctively, they know they’re more susceptible to being injured because their vital organs are accessible.”
“Okay, fear.” He nods. “What else?”
“Breathing.” Another voice behind me speaks out.
Professor Parker looks to me and I squirm with unease.
“Not exactly. Breathing is an instinct, but it’s a physical instinct. It’s something our bodies are wired to do, like creating cells or our hearts beating. You can’t stop it or really control it other than for a few brief moments when you focus on it. So it’s along the same theory, because instincts you can’t control. I’m more referring to things outside of the body.”
“Okay so fear is an instinct, are all fears?”
“Of course not,” I reply instantly.
