Seeking Mr. Wrong

by Natalie Charles

  The walk back to the Prudential seemed faster without so much emotional baggage.

  Good thing, because Faye had enough baggage for the both of us. When I saw her, she and ten shopping bags were sprawled out on a bench beside a middle-aged woman in a purple velour tracksuit.

  “There are some great sales,” she said in response to the questions that must have been written all over my face. “You wouldn’t think so, being so close to Christmas—”

  “It pays to procrastinate. Here, I’ll help you.”

  “You don’t want to look around?”

  “I do my shopping online.”

  We walked to the elevator to the parking garage. “How’d it go?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Great. He’s happy, and we closed things up. It was great to see him.”

  “Ah.” Faye stared straight ahead at the brassy elevator doors. “Does this mean you’re ready to move on?”

  My heart. Faye didn’t know that I’d already tried to move on, and I’d already messed up miserably. That was the other thing that seeing James had done: it had given me a comparison with Eric, and I missed him.

  “When I’m ready,” I said as the elevator jerked to our level. “I may have someone in mind.”

  Odin missed me so much that he’d pulled my dirty laundry out of the hamper and scattered it all over the stairs. When I opened the front door, he was sitting beside the stairs with one of my black T-shirts around his neck, wagging his tail with no guilt whatsoever. He followed me as I collected the clothing and returned it to the laundry basket.

  “What am I going to do with you, Odin?”

  He rolled onto his back and put his legs in the air.

  “Pretty much,” I said, and gave him a big hug.

  That evening, I felt lonely. It was Saturday night and I was home alone with my dog, and that didn’t cut it with me anymore. Mindy was out on a blind date, Faye was home with Win and the twins, and Eric was who-knows-where. Probably at Bar Harbor being hot and charming and moving on with his life. So I was at a pretty low point when I made the decision.

  I dialed the number three times before I gathered enough nerve to allow it to actually ring through. While I waited, I sealed my eyes shut and bit my lower lip, thinking that this was one of those uncomfortable things you had to power through, like a pelvic exam or a booster shot. On the fourth ring, he picked up. “Hey, Lettie.” He sounded surprised. I hated that I’d surprised him.

  “Hey. I was wondering if you’d like to do something maybe tomorrow. Grab dinner or something. Nothing serious. Just to hang out.”

  I didn’t imagine us dating. No way. It was just that we’d always been friendly, and being without Eric left me feeling like I had yet another gap to fill. Might as well fill it with friends. Besides, Max had suggested we have dinner many times. It’s just that until that moment, I’d never been lonely enough.

  “Well, let me check my calendar.” He laughed. “Just kidding. With you? Of course. Pick you up at six?”

  “We can meet at a place. I may be coming from somewhere.” The thought of Max coming to my house made me nervous. Too familiar.

  “Fine, fine. I’ll pick the place then and text you. Sound good?”

  “Sure. You have my number—?” I stopped myself. Of course he had my number.

  He chuckled and said, “Yeah, baby. It’s this number you’re calling me from. You don’t have to be nervous, I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.” More laughter.

  Ugh.

  As we hung up, I tried to convince myself that dinner with Max was nothing more than me getting over Eric and moving on—the same way he surely was—and that exploring my options and being open to possibilities was a reasonable, responsible thing to do. Max and I could be two colleagues having a friendly dinner. Besides, I sort of felt bad about all the times I’d laughed about him bench-pressing beer kegs and the homeless. Whatever the case, this was not about avoiding spending another night alone with my dog, being depressed and lonely on my couch.

  Sometimes I’m a very bad liar.

  WE MET the next night at Cedar Hill Tavern, a little place on the edge of River Junction with a rustic feel. When I entered, it was decorated warmly for the holidays with fresh garland and wreaths wrapped in red velvet ribbons and strung with white lights. The ceiling was exposed beam, and the floorboards were wide, unfinished, and well-worn. The bar looked like it had been made of reclaimed wood. It was a warm, unpretentious choice, and so I relaxed a bit and thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Hey!”

  I looked up and saw Max waving to me, calling from the other side of the tavern. Diners looked at us. I mustered the strength to put a small smile on my face and wave back. Yes, I see you. I’m hanging up my coat. But he kept shouting at me. “You wanna drink? I can get you a drink.”

  I held up one finger and hurried to get my coat on the rack, but the hanger was stuck. A young hostess took pity on me. “I’ll get it,” she said. Subtext: Please go so he stops shouting.

  When I came over, Max gave me a twice-over and said, “You clean up nice.”

  I was wearing a gray sweater dress with black tights and gray ballet flats. Nice without being too fancy, because I didn’t actually want to look like I cared. As soon as I saw him, my heart sank. Max was wearing a red sweater with some kind of snowflake design and blue jeans. Casual—meaning I was the one who’d dressed up. I was already sending the wrong signals.

  “Thank you. You look nice, too.”

  He stood to pull out my chair for me, but I waved him off. He said, “I gotta ask, what made you call me? I’m flattered and all, but it was a surprise.”

  Now there was a kickoff. “I just thought it might be nice to go out to dinner. Mindy and I go out all the time,” I added, and hoped he would see that there was no reason to believe that this was anything serious. Max was definitely a Mr. Wrong, and while I may have had a place in my life for such people, they were not permanent spots. When you’re lost at sea, any port starts to look good. “Nothing strange about having dinner with a colleague.”

  He slumped one shoulder and sat back in his seat. “I guess not. I didn’t know if it was something more, because—”

  “Yeah.”

  “—you’re single, and I’m single.”

  “Uh-huh.” We were not talking about dating or my need for human contact. I took a sip of my ice water and reached for the menu. “What’s good here? Something smells delicious.”

  The menu offered new twists on comfort foods—like macaroni and cheese with lobster—as well as old favorites like a classic cheeseburger. When it came time to order, I selected the macaroni and cheese and Max chose a salad with grilled chicken and dressing on the side. Then he had the nerve to make a face and mumble something about the fat content of my meal, and I pretended not to hear. “How’s your training going?”

  I sat back in my chair and listened patiently while Max went through his workout routine. “Today I did hams, quads, glutes, and calves. Complete lower body. Man, I was doing these burpees—”

  “The what now?”

  “Burpees. I do five different kinds, but it’s a squat with a powerful explosion. You could really tone up your thighs that way. Get in shape for swimsuit season.”

  Oh goodness. I was not about to discuss the sad state of my thighs with Max of all people. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

  “Body composition is eighty percent diet,” he said, and flicked a black cloth napkin onto his lap. “The human body is efficient. People don’t burn as many calories as they think they do when they work out. You can do burpees for an hour and you won’t burn off the mac and cheese you’re about to have.”

  Well.

  I scooted my seat a little and set my hands on the table. “You know, Max? I don’t care. I want to eat macaroni and cheese and I don’t care if it dimples my thighs.�
��

  He smirked and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Hey, it’s cool. Lots of women care about looking hot on the beach, that’s all.”

  “I’m not one of them,” I said easily as I swept some stray crumbs aside. “My time is valuable, and food is delicious. I will never be a bikini model. It’s not my lot in life.”

  “I like your confidence. Can I be honest?” He leaned forward and plunged ahead without waiting for me to answer. “I’ve always found you attractive, dimples or not.”

  “That’s sweet, Max.”

  “Seriously. When I first met you, I thought, she’s cute and funny and the kind of girl I could take home. Like my mom would totally dig you.”

  I tried not to grin as I imagined telling Max what I wrote and published in my free time. “Thank you. Really, it’s nice of you to say.” I had to return the compliment. “My dad would like you.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “He likes running.” When he’s being chased by a bear.

  “Then we’d have a lot to talk about.” Max polished off his ice water and set the glass down. “Look, I gotta level with you. I should’ve said something sooner, when you called, but I was so caught off guard . . .” He reached a finger up to scratch his temple, and I realized how high his forehead was. “It’s just . . . I’ve kind of started seeing someone.”

  I jerked my arm too quickly and sent my flatware clattering into my bread dish. “Oh, stop.” I set my hands on the fork and knife. “I mean, that’s great.”

  “It’s all new, she’s a real nice girl.” He tugged at his collar. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would’ve been real excited to go out with you a few weeks ago.”

  “Aha.”

  “But you’re like, two weeks too late.” His grin was so broad I could see straight to the back molars. “And then you’re all dressed up and I—I don’t want to lead you on, okay? Tonight isn’t a date.”

  Oh my gosh, I was getting rejected by Max—and we weren’t even on a date! Something deep down inside of me bubbled, tickling as it rose, and I laughed. I laughed because this was one of the stupidest things that had ever happened to me, and because I knew Mindy was going to die when she found out I’d invited Max out for dinner, and because I didn’t know why I was there in the first place. Why in the world did I think I should have dinner with Max? Was I hoping all of my instincts about him being a meathead were wrong? They so weren’t!

  Max watched me and then began laughing uncomfortably, clearly not sure what the joke was. “So, that’s cool then, right?”

  “Oh, Max. I’m sorry. I’ve had a long few days.” I wiped at the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. “Of course it’s wonderful. I’m happy for you. No hard feelings, I promise.”

  I was still chuckling as I took a sip of my water. Hilarious. Mindy would fracture a rib laughing.

  “So like I said,” Max began, “I’m surprised you called me.”

  “Yeah?” That makes two of us, buddy.

  “I could’ve sworn—maybe I’m wrong.” The sides of his mouth pulled into a mischievous grin. “I thought you might’ve had a thing with the vice principal.”

  “Eric?” The smile fell off my face and my arms broke out into goose bumps. “Why did you think that?”

  He lowered his head. “I see the way he looks at you. It’s unprofessional. Sexual harassment.” He pronounced it harris-ment.

  I swallowed and felt a burn climb my chest. Max had noticed. It’s possible half the faculty thought I was sleeping with Eric. In fairness, they’d been correct at one point. I set one elbow on the table and leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Listen, I don’t know whether—it’s embarrassing, really. But someone actually went to Brun—Gretchen, and said that Eric and I were in a relationship. It got us both in some trouble.”

  Max looked down as I spoke and ran his thumbnail into a groove on the table. “You got into trouble for that?”

  I didn’t like the way he said it. Something about his tone sounded guilty. “Of course I did. Gretchen hauled me into her office. It was mortifying.”

  He was really working that groove, and he refused to make eye contact. My stomach knotted as I realized what was going on. “Max. Did you say something to her about it?”

  “No.” But he kept worrying that table, and his shoulders were hunched over. “I didn’t want to get you in trouble. He’s the one who’s wrong!”

  I groaned and set my head in my hands. “You don’t understand. Gretchen dislikes me as it is!”

  “You?” His eyes were wide. “For what?”

  “Who knows. She’s not rational. But that’s beside the point. She’s putting a letter in my file. I may not receive tenure.” My voice cracked. The thought terrified me.

  Max picked up a packet of sugar and started rapping it on the table. “That’s not right. I told her that I thought Eric was attracted to you, that’s all. I never said that you two were sleeping together.”

  “So she took your piece of information and ran wild with it, just to hold it over our heads.” Why did nothing about that surprise me?

  A server came over with our dinners, but my stomach was too knotted to digest anything. Brunhilda had robbed me of lobster mac and cheese. Unforgivable.

  “I’ll fix it for you,” Max said. “I’ll go in tomorrow morning and tell her the truth, that it was all made up and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I pressed my lips together. It was decent of him to make the offer, but when it came down to it, that wasn’t the truth. Eric and I had had a relationship. In any other school, we would’ve had to simply make a disclosure. I had a feeling that nothing anyone could say would make Brunhilda change her mind about me.

  “You don’t need to get involved, but thanks. I’m sure it will be fine in the end. People have short memories.”

  Max dipped his fork into his salad dressing and speared a piece of grilled chicken. “Not Gretchen. She’s like an elephant. Never forgets.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to hope she gets fired or resigns,” I joked weakly.

  Max turned over some baby spinach on his plate and chewed thoughtfully. “Actually, I’m a little surprised she hasn’t been fired already.”

  “Why is that?”

  His mouth quirked. “You gonna eat your mac and cheese?”

  I glanced at my plate. It was cooked in a small blue crock and dusted with breadcrumbs, and it looked well worth some cellulite. “If I eat will you tell me why Gretchen should be fired?”

  “I figure if we’re both having dinner, we got to talk about something, right?”

  I perked up and lifted my fork. “All right, I’m eating.” I took a bite of creamy shells and savored the texture. “So. Let’s talk.”

  Max grinned. Then we talked.

  CHAPTER 22

  THERE WAS A dusting of snow on Eric’s SUV when he left the house. The December morning was biting cold and dry, the kind of air that splits skin. He’d never enjoyed cold weather, and this pattern only seemed worse when it was almost Christmas and he was still missing Aletta. It was like the rest of the world was flinging its happiness in his face. He turned the key in the ignition, watched his breath spiral, and wished away a few months so it would be spring again.

  With other ex-girlfriends, he could convince himself that whatever position he’d taken at the breakup was correct, and time and distance would only strengthen this opinion. This was different. The more Eric turned over their last conversation, the more he found below the surface. Of course Aletta hadn’t done anything wrong by writing her book, and he had no business suggesting otherwise. Once he’d calmed down, he’d read the manuscript cover to cover, and she was right: there was nothing that could identify him in it. Not really. Her star-crossed-lovers tale had been inspired by their own affair, but that was it. And it was so much more than a story about two people who have sex. It was a love s
tory. Inspired by their love story.

  In other words: he was a self-absorbed, insecure ass.

  He’d blown it. She was a great girl, and he’d messed it up, and she would never talk to him again. Probably. There was that small possibility that if he managed to do something good for her, she’d be open to hearing an apology. Maybe.

  His focus now was on the reimbursement receipts he’d found in his office, the ones that had paid Marlene Kitrich for conferences she didn’t attend. Gretchen had signed off on them, but why? It didn’t seem like her not to second-guess everything that came across her desk, but in this case, she apparently hadn’t. All he needed was to find that smoking gun to explain why Gretchen would pay out this money without question. Eric didn’t know what he would do with that information, but sometimes his intentions veered dangerously close to blackmail. Leave Aletta alone, and I’ll never say a word. Let the police figure it out for themselves.

  So far, his search had been fruitless. The police had Marlene’s hard drive and all of her files. He was sleuthing around, poking through files in the main office, trying to look inconspicuous, but there was nothing there to explain why Gretchen would pay out obviously falsified receipts. He was getting desperate.

  The media didn’t seem to be having much luck either, although Carla Fredrickson was proving to be a force to be reckoned with. Eric wouldn’t say that she’d been relentless in her investigation of the Marlene Kitrich incident, but she’d been calling him at least once a week to get his opinion on the latest development. Eric was a person who answered questions, but the attorneys had been telling him that the only correct answer from now on was “No comment.” So when he came into school on Monday morning and saw Carla standing outside of the main office with a cameraman, he shook his head.

  “Good morning, Mr. Clayman,” she said, gripping the microphone at her chest. She was carrying a manila folder at her side. “I was wondering if we could—”

  “No comment.” He pushed past her and headed into the main office reception area. “Good morning, ladies.”