Becoming His

by Mariah Dietz

  I grab a bagel and opt for orange juice, knowing that the power has been out for several hours and seek Kendall and Shelby to find them eating crab cakes and mimosas.

  “You guys shouldn’t eat those. The power’s been off for a while,” I say, taking a seat next to Kendall.

  “They wouldn’t offer them if there was a chance they’d gone bad,” Shelby insists as she bites into another.

  We spend the rest of the morning with the other cruise goers up on deck where we’ve been instructed to wear life jackets—another sign that seems alarming to me. Most everyone is drowning their concerns in alcohol that the cruise employees seem to be anxiously handing out for free; and I have the suspicion it’s to distract us.

  When my phone vibrates shortly after three, I’m relieved to know I still have service. I look down to see that I have a dozen messages and realize we’re dancing on another invisible barrier here out at sea.

  Seven of the messages are from Max, the others from my parents, Abby, and Wes. Initially I assume that they’ve heard that we’re stuck out here, but after reading them I realize they’re oblivious; they’re all just asking how we’re doing and how things are going.

  I send a message to Max and my dad:

  Me: No need to panic, but we’ve lost power, so we’re floating …

  Max responds immediately.

  Max: Wut about the generators? R there NE ships near?

  Followed by Dad:

  Dad: Aren’t the generators working?

  I feel relieved and a bit silly to read this. Of course, generators! I’m sure they’re trying to repair the main engine, and if they can’t get it working, they’ll flip on the generators.

  My relief is interrupted by the horrible sounds of someone retching. I don’t know why I look when I know what’s happening, but I do and see a guy leaning over the railing and decide maybe it’s time I find one of these drinks that they’re so anxious to hand out.

  They don’t even ask to see my fake ID. I sit in my lounge chair beside Kendall, who’s busy sunbathing, and drink my warm beer. I don’t like cold beer, warm beer is even worse, but I’m really hoping that by the time I see the bottom I’ll feel a little less edgy.

  I’m not even halfway through my beer when Kendall bolts upright and sprints to the side of the boat and throws up over the rail.

  Welcome to Hell.

  I set my bottle down and hurry over to her and grip her hair as she empties the contents of her stomach into the ocean. Focusing on my Feisty Flamingo pink nails, I tell myself everything is going to be fine and they’ll kick on the generators soon.

  Two hours later Kendall and Shelby take turns heaving overboard, along with most of the other passengers. Many have not made it to the edge, covering several areas of the deck in puddles of vomit. The stench from both the vomit and the bathrooms quickly becomes potent with the heat from the afternoon sun.

  I drink two more beers to try and calm myself down as I face the reality that the generators aren’t working either. There’s no way they’d allow this to go on for so long if there was an alternative; but no one with answers is anywhere to be found. The crew members handing out drinks look my age or younger, and they flinch every time someone approaches them.

  I’ve lost signal on my phone and turn it off to preserve battery life as they start distributing pillows and instructing us all to stay above deck for our own safety and comfort.

  I don’t even bother telling Kendall and Shelby they should’ve listened to my warning on the crab cakes. They’re both miserably hot and feeling awful. Instead, I assure them they should start feeling better soon and give them bottles of water that are as warm as a bath to drink.

  Sleep is an elusive promise as I try to offer support to a slew of sick passengers, being one of the few that turned down the crab cakes this morning.

  We arrive home from our disastrous spring break two days early, and with an extra flight from Texas to San Diego. It’s after midnight and we all feel a common sense of exhaustion, sun-sickness, dirty, and hungry. I want nothing more than to shower the last three days off and climb in bed, but my need to see Max is even greater.

  My hot shower feels incredible, and feeling clean for the first time in days is even better. I send Kendall a quick text as I dress, offering her a ride, and gather some things together to bring over to Max’s.

  Thirty minutes later Kendall and I are in my car. She looks beat and doesn’t bother speaking as we make our way to their house.

  “Hey!” Landon greets us with a grin that falters when we quietly mumble our replies.

  Jameson enters from the kitchen and gives a wistful smile to Kendall as he makes his way to her and wraps her in his arms.

  “I want to go to bed,” she murmurs into his shoulder.

  Jameson nods and leads them down the hall as the front door opens. I turn to see Max holding a couple of brown bags that are bleeding with grease.

  “Hey, babe, sorry I’m late. I just wanted to make sure you guys had something to eat.”

  My bag falls to the floor as I go to wrap my arms around him. “You’re the best.”

  Max presses a kiss to my temple and I feel his smile against my skin. “Where’s Kendall?”

  “She went to bed. We’re tired.”

  The three of us sprawl out on the couch and dig into the bags of street tacos. Food has never tasted so good.

  “I guess the bonus is that you got really tan.” Landon smiles hopefully at me.

  “Forget the tan. The last three days were hell. I don’t want to discuss a silver lining right now.” I tuck myself into Max’s side and fall asleep within seconds, feeling complete and relaxed.

  Max’s phone ringing wakes us both up the following morning. I feel like I could sleep another five days.

  I hear Max grunt a greeting into the phone as his arm snakes around my waist and pulls me closer to him, making me groan in protest as I hear Wes’s happy tone on the other end inviting Max to go hang out.

  “No, not today. Sorry, dude, I’m hanging out with Ace today, or the Venezuelan posing as my girlfriend.” He chuckles at his own joke, and I glare at him before lifting the duvet over my head and snuggling closer to his warmth.

  As Max wraps up his call with Wes there’s a loud knocking on the door, earning another groan from me as I pull the duvet off and glare toward it.

  “Wakey, wakey!” Jameson calls, opening the door before either of us grant him permission. “Hey, get your lazy asses out of bed. We’re going to breakfast.”

  Max laughs an acceptance as I scrub at my eyes, trying to will the sleep from them.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat a crab cake again.” Kendall groans as we pour over our menus.

  “You and me both,” I mutter.

  “That’s alright. I haven’t been able to touch seafood in over a year,” Jameson shares. I watch him with mild interest as he fishes an ice cube out of his water.

  “So only a couple of months left until summer. What are we going to do?” Landon asks, throwing a sugar packet at Jameson in retaliation for flicking the ice cube at him.

  “Ace is going to need to hide.” Kendall turns her eyes to me. “Mom is going to freak out that you still haven’t declared a major. She was a little crazed when you decided to take that poetry course.” I feel the daunting wave of the future roll over us as I shoot her a look to shut up. The last thing I want to discuss this morning is my lack of a future plan.

  “Why don’t you just move in too?” Jameson suggests.

  I feel my eyebrows shoot to my hairline as I look at him dumbfounded. The sleepiness that’s been lingering over me like a shadow instantly vaporizes. I turn to see Max staring at me with a calculated expression.

  “You could. We spend most of our time there anyways. It’s closer to the campus and you wouldn’t have to constantly be going back and forth getting things.”

  “I don’t know,” I quietly murmur, suddenly exerting far too much attention to my coffee as I
add cream to it.

  Jameson’s need to flick more ice cubes across the table is a distraction, but I can feel that this discussion isn’t over.

  I lie in bed beside Max, my exhaustion covers me like a lead weight, but I’m having a difficult time allowing it to win over my racing thoughts.

  I’m twenty. I want to travel and experience life. I have a difficult time choosing a major because I don’t know what I want to do. All I’m certain of is that I want to make a difference and in some way improve the world and people’s lives. How am I going to explore the world and life if I move in with my boyfriend at twenty? And then what? Will we get married? Will I be twenty-two, married, and pregnant? Is that what I want? My heart thrums in my chest as my eyes dart around the room, noticing the stacks of my books and clothes that clutter so many surfaces now. I have a section of his closet and a few designated drawers. I have tampons in his bathroom.

  My eyes land on Max as he sleeps beside me and fall upon his finger exposing his tattoo. How did this happen without me even realizing it? I can’t do this. I’m not ready for this.

  I sneak out of bed and wander through the room, gathering my things and shoving what I can into my duffel. Grabbing a few more things in my arms, I quietly head to the bedroom door and back to my apartment.

  Pacing through the apartment, I rake my hands through my hair as I try to understand the rush of emotions constricting my chest. My breathing turns labored. I’m having my first panic attack.

  A forceful knocking wakes me. My heart thrums and I know without asking that it’s Max.

  I slowly open the door, exposing Max in a pair of cargo shorts and T-shirt, his eyes wide and wild. “Where’d you go? What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean?” Max rears his head back as though I’ve slapped him. “I wake up and you’re gone and half your shit is missing. What’s going on?”

  “I just …” A heavy sigh seeps through the air between us. “I can’t do this, Max. I just need some space.”

  “Can’t do what?” he asks, his eyes dancing over my face with a pleading expression.

  “I just need some time. I think we’re going too fast.”

  “Ace, you don’t have to move in. It was just a suggestion. Forget about it.”

  I shake my head a few times, dropping my eyes to the floor.

  “You said you loved me.”

  “I do, Max, but—”

  “No, Ace. There aren’t buts in love. You either do or you don’t. Love isn’t a conditional thing. I’m not going to do this. My dad walked out on me, and I’m not doing this again. If you’re done, then that’s it. I’m not going to chase after you and wait.” I chance a glance at him and see his eyes filled with anger and hurt.

  “I’m only twenty—”

  “Jesus Christ, I know how old you are!” His hand runs through his hair as he releases a deep breath and shakes his head, his eyes focusing on the ceiling. “This isn’t a fucking game. I’m done chasing you. I don’t want to hear from you. I don’t want you contacting me. I’m done.”

  He turns to leave and I don’t move to stop him as the door slams behind him.

  My heart now beats violently in my chest that feels much too small for how large both my lungs and heart are in this moment. What have I just done?

  Kendall arrives as I’m scrubbing my kitchen floor clean trying to think of how I can resolve this. There has to be a way. I don’t know how to handle this, though. The times that I’ve seen Max upset it was never like this, never at me. Because of me.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  I shake my head, not sure of where to even begin. “I freaked out … I am freaking out. I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “I feel like everything’s moving too fast. I just need things to slow down a little, but Max thinks that me wanting things to slow down means that I don’t love him and he compared it to his dad.”

  Kendall leans against the counter beside me. I can’t read her expression, too many thoughts are crossing my own mind for me to focus. “How did things leave off?”

  “I don’t know.” My eyes grow wide as I hear his words replay through my head.

  “Ace, you need to talk to him. What are you doing here?” I don’t have to look to see the disappointment. I can hear it in her voice.

  “I’m trying to give him some space to let him think about things. He was really angry when he left.”

  “What did he say?”

  Tears clog my throat as I relive the words. “He said that he’s done.”

  Kendall drops beside me and pulls me into her. “He didn’t mean it, Ace. It was just out of anger and hurt.”

  After explaining the morning to my sister, she encourages me to get changed and go back over so that I can explain things to Max.

  My fingers dance across my blouse as we approach the house. Kendall opens the door without knocking and reveals Max carrying a laundry basket up the stairs. He turns and his eyes are hard and full of anger.

  “I told you, I’m done. I’m not talking about this anymore.”

  “Max—”

  “No! You made your decision. I’m tired of this. You got what you wanted. Space. Go enjoy it.”

  Landon walks toward us from the hallway, a look of confusion etched across his usually friendly features.

  “I’m not trying to break up with you, Max. I just need things to—”

  “I don’t give a shit what you’re trying to do. I’m not playing these games anymore. You need to get the hell out of here. I told you, I’m done.”

  “Max …”

  Max turns as Landon begins to speak. His actions are swift and precise, the veins in his arms becoming more pronounced as his anger grows. “I’m done,” he repeats and then slams the clothes basket to the ground and looks back to me. “Get out.”

  “Breathing.” The words from Philosophy float through the air as I wonder if breathing really is something we have to focus on more than I ever realized, because I swear my lungs have stopped working. I stare at his hardened jaw clamped to keep the remaining words from escaping.

  I hear Kendall but have no idea what she’s saying, watching him avidly ignore my gaze.

  Before I can register things, Kendall’s arm pulls me back through the front door and down the driveway to her car.

  We arrive back to my apartment and I feel locked in a trance, trying to sift through the words and meanings, not allowing several of them to penetrate the protective barrier I’ve somehow established to keep the reality of the situation at bay. Kendall talks me out of calling him and eventually confiscates my phone so I can’t when she realizes my heart is pleading with my head to do so.

  I pace until she tells me that I’m driving her insane and likely bothering the neighbors below.

  I do a couple of loads of laundry, which don’t help to distract me nearly enough. There’s far too much time between each step of laundry.

  When morning finally arrives, I’m relieved to go to class. I need to distract myself and my Anatomy class is in the same hall that Max’s morning class is.

  I notice him immediately as I leave my class. I’ve become perfectly attuned to Max over the last nine months, like he sends a specific current through the air that my body involuntarily responds to before I can even see him.

  As he sees me his blue eyes darken and his stance becomes more rigid. He makes a wide berth to avoid me and gets swallowed in a crowd that I trail for a while before he makes it obvious with his long strides he has no intent on me keeping up.

  I spend the entire week trying to catch his attention, because although I understand the need for space, I also understand how easily our mind can be our own worst enemy, spinning tales of fabricated half-truths to create much worse scenarios. I show up outside of each of his classes, send him stalker quantities of texts apologizing and asking him to talk to me. I call and leave voicemails with the same pleas, until he eventually turns it off.

  Fissures of pain and
doubt nag at me, making it difficult for me to sleep or focus. I spend a lot of time deep cleaning and re-reading my textbooks because my brain’s so consumed with Max it doesn’t seem to retain anything from my classes or the chapters that I’ve read over the past week.

  Night is the worst as it is anytime something seems to be haunting you. My brain replays image after image of Max until the pain, guilt, and tears eventually lull me to sleep in my bed that now seems too big, the sheets too cold. Once asleep, the comfort and peace from sleep never arrives because I search for the familiar heat of Max in the night, only to find another cold patch and feel a new wave of rejection and fear.

  I head home for the weekend. I don’t know where else to go. If I spend much more time in my apartment I’m going to go crazy, but home seems daunting as well. I doubt Max will go home, but the idea of running into Sharon makes my stomach lurch.

  I find my dad in his shop with Clementine, and I know as soon as he sees me that he knows that something’s wrong.

  “Hey, kiddo.” He grabs a red towel and wipes his hands on it as I climb into my familiar hiding spot on the passenger seat.

  “I messed up, Dad,” I admit, keeping my eyes trained inside the car as tears pollute my vision. I don’t want to look at him and see the sympathy that I don’t deserve and know he’ll give without even realizing what kind of monumental mess I’ve managed to cause. That sympathy will cause me to lose my composure, and if I lose my composure it means I’m admitting Max is really done with me.

  My dad listens patiently as I pour out my heart, crying unavoidable tears as I discuss the potential threat of losing Max.

  “Maybe he just needs some time and space to process everything,” he suggests.

  “I know, but I need to explain things to him, and he won’t listen to me. He won’t even look at me.” I wipe a large tear from my cheek and rest my head back on the seat. “He compared me to his dad.”