To Have It All

by B. N. Toler

  When four o’clock rolled around, I decided it was time to get ready for dinner with Waverly. The Mill was high class, but whether I was in Max’s body or not, suits just weren’t my thing unless I was attending a wedding or a funeral. Luckily, after quite a bit of digging through suits and jeans that looked like they were bedazzled—were dudes really wearing this shit?—I found a semi-normal looking pair of jeans and a black shirt that fit well. Inspecting myself in the mirror, I gave a nod. It made this unbelievable situation a little more tolerable dressing more like myself.

  Rubbing the bit of scruff on my face, I momentarily wondered if I should shave, but decided against it. I had enough to worry about—a few day-old beard was the least of my worries. I assumed Max would understand, where ever the hell he was.

  When I rode the elevator to the lobby, I timidly stepped out onto the polished marble floors, glancing around. This place was hella-nice. I was wearing a T-shirt and jeans—some real expensive name brand shit too—because Max didn’t seem to be the kind of man to buy clothes from places a man like me would. Even wearing the finest of his over-priced casual clothes, I felt like white-trash as I walked through the lobby. People, Max’s neighbors I assumed, stared at me like I was a fly in milk—like I didn’t belong. I momentarily second-guessed my decision to dress down. Was that why they were staring? Because they’d never seen Max wear normal people clothes? Or was I imaging it all because I felt like the fact that I was inhabiting Max’s body was that transparent? I felt like the proverbial sore thumb—I stuck out. Shaking it off, I snickered to myself as I imagined the judgmental stares they’d cast at me if they’d seen me less than a week ago, in my own dirty body, clad in dirty street clothes.

  “How are you today, Mr. Porter?” A short gray-haired man removed his hat and bowed slightly to me as if I were royalty. Was he for real? I’d seen doormen before, mostly as I passed by nice buildings where they were opening car doors for residents, but I had never really spoken to one. Did they all bow?

  “Uh . . . I’m good,” I paused and glanced at the shiny metal name tag on his uniform, “Braxton.” Then I cut my gaze to his. “Your name is really Braxton?” Braxton the doorman? It sounded like something out of a movie.

  He chuckled nervously, his eyes filled with what looked like confusion. “Name given at birth, sir.” I almost smacked my forehead as I realized I had just asked his name. Max would have known his name. Right? Or maybe rich people wouldn’t care about their doorman’s name. Damn, this was frustrating.

  Realizing I must’ve sounded like I was insulting him, I quickly added, “Good name.” I cringed internally. I sounded like a dumbass. What dude gives a shit about another guy’s name? Keep it together, Liam, I reminded myself. I had to learn to be more observant. Otherwise, I’d make Max look like he was losing his mind.

  “Are you okay, sir?” he asked in a hushed tone. “You don’t quite seem like yourself.”

  My head reared back a little. “I don’t?” Shit. So it wasn’t just me. I really was sticking out like a sore thumb. I imagined I must look like a clay humanoid, awkward, as I navigated Max’s body around.

  Patting my arm, his mouth twisted into a smile. “You’ll be fine, sir. Maybe you just need a little fresh air.”

  “Yes, I think I’ll take a walk, Braxton,” I sputtered. “Thank you.”

  Braxton stared at me a moment, his mouth seemingly trying not to curve into a smile before he jerked suddenly and bobbed his head once. “Very well, sir. Have a nice afternoon.” He scurried off behind the desk and answered a ringing phone. As I headed out into the hot New York afternoon, I wondered if this would be how everyone I approached as Max would act—like they could tell I was a fraud?

  “I hope not,” I mumbled to myself.

  As soon as his eyes met mine I could tell something was off. If the way he smiled nervously and how he wiped his hands on his jeans as if his palms were sweating weren’t enough to clue me in, the way he was dressed certainly did. Expertly fitted black shirt and jeans that were perfect—but not his usual suit or designer get-up? The lax outfit paired well with the bit of scruff on his face which was also unlike him. He looked . . . good. I mean, Max was a handsome man, no doubt about it, but once you got to know him, his physical attributes were quickly tarnished by his egotistical and selfish character. Unfortunately, I was young and foolish when I met him and fell hard. I believed I could change him. What happened was I ended up wasting part of my life with a man who would never love anyone more than he loved himself.

  Taking a deep breath, I braced myself. “All you need is Max’s signature,” I mumbled quietly to no one. As I approached the table, he stood quickly almost knocking his chair back. Swinging an arm back, he caught it just in time and righted it, giving me an embarrassed smirk.

  I stared at him blankly. “Max,” I said, giving him a curt nod.

  “Waverly.” When he said my name, it sounded odd like he was questioning it more than stating it. We stared at each other for a moment before he widened his eyes and sighed loudly as if he felt awkward. “You look . . .” he paused and haphazardly waved his hand up and down my body before clenching his eyes closed and grumbling, “nice?” Again, it sounded like a question. Once again, I stared at him blankly. Nice? I looked nice? Was he serious? I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be kind or if maybe he was . . . nervous? But why would he be? He’d ignored me and made it clear he hadn’t wanted anything to do with me in years, so why bother being nice now?

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I pressed my lips together, stopping myself from saying something shitty. Snarkiness was a forte of mine; a double-edged sword as it had proven useful to me in moments of discord with others. However, it could also leave me looking like a giant ass with my foot in my mouth, too. I’d learned to reel it in as I’d aged, learning there was a time and place for it. Besides, I refused to stoop to Max’s level. He was the kind of man that could easily get you caught up in a pointless argument. He knew how to push people’s buttons. I’d spent a great deal of time choosing the right outfit and doing my makeup and hair to meet him tonight, a classic I look amazing while not looking like I tried too hard. Trying to look good before meeting him felt like a low point for me because he didn’t deserve it, but the last time I’d seen Max I’d looked like a train wreck, and I felt the need to erase that image from his head as much as possible. I wondered if he could tell the effort I’d put in. You look nice? He probably thought he was being funny, complimenting me. Asshole.

  “Allow me.” Moving around me, he pulled my chair out and waited for me to sit.

  It was a kind and gentlemanly gesture. Max was messing with me. Keep it together, Waverly, I told myself. Just get his signature, and you never have to see him again. Barely containing the eye roll I so badly wanted to make, I sat and waited until he sat again.

  “Merlot,” I told the waiter when he approached.

  “Would you like another whiskey, sir?” he asked, Max.

  “Yes,” Max practically groaned, almost as if he were desperate for one. “Keep ’em coming.”

  I gritted my teeth, but kept it together. Was seeing me that stressful for him? I hadn’t bothered him in almost two years except to set up this meeting. When the waiter walked away, I gave Max a sideways glance. “Since when do you drink whiskey?” Hello snarkiness, my old friend. I nearly bit my tongue off for asking, but the words flew out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. I didn’t want to ask him personal questions. I didn’t need to know anything about him. Now I’d asked, which made it seem like I cared, which was the farthest from the truth.

  His gaze shifted down as if he wasn’t sure how to answer, his hand holding the highball glass. Clearing his throat, he gave a slight shrug and wheezed, “Trying it out.” Before taking the last sip. “My throat’s a bit sore. Heard whiskey helps.” He was so ridiculous I wanted to laugh. His voice had been completely normal moments before, now he was hoarse and had a sore throat?

  I refused to comment further on
it. I’d already asked more than I should have. If he felt the need to feign a sore throat, why did I care? Pulling my large purse into my lap, I took out the folder containing the papers I needed him to sign.

  “I won’t take any more of your precious time than I need to, Max. Once you sign these papers, you’ll never hear from me or us again.”

  His blue eyes shot up and met mine. “Us?” he questioned.

  I wanted to reach across the table and smack him across the face with the folder—sometimes my snarkiness felt like getting physical. “Pimberly and me,” I clarified.

  His gaze never left mine, and my anger ebbed for a moment as his facial features contorted to something that looked like shock.

  “Pimberly?” he questioned.

  Now I knew he was messing with me. Why did he always have to act like such an asshole? “Yes, Max,” I replied, my words clipped. “Our daughter. Pimberly. Remember? The little girl you didn’t want?”

  Oh shit. Max had a daughter.

  I stared at her dumbfounded, my mouth hanging open, as I tried to digest the fun fact she’d just dropped on me. Max was a father. As if this situation couldn’t get any worse, now this. I’d have given anything to switch with him right then and there, no matter what that meant. This guy had a kid, and I was in his body. That was just so messed up I didn’t even know how to process it.

  “I just need your signature,” Waverly continued after clenching her eyes closed as if she were frustrated and using every bit of her strength to keep her composure. “Just sign them, and we’re done.”

  When she slid the paperwork toward me, the waiter just happened to be placing our drinks on the table. Mutely, unsure of what to do or say, I dropped my gaze to the folder and opened it. At first glance, my eyes caught on one line amidst the massive amount of verbiage, leaving me unable to thank him.

  Voluntary Termination of Parental Rights

  My heart froze in my chest when I read it. She wanted Max to sign over rights to his daughter? Was she serious? What kind of dickless asshole would just give up his kid?

  “Shall I bring menus?” The waiter asked.

  “We won’t be eating,” Waverly informed him. “In fact, go ahead and settle the check please.” When I glanced up, she was handing him her credit card. Man, this woman didn’t waste any time. This was a full-on assault; a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Max, wherever the bastard was, didn’t stand a chance and I sure as hell didn’t either. From the moment she walked in, I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. I’d immediately recognized her as soon as I saw her. She was the woman from the picture I found in the junk drawer at Max’s apartment; the one where she was smiling at him while he was smiling at the camera. Looks wise, she was a beautiful woman; curvy and petite. Her hair was dirty blonde, tied up in a ponytail, and although she was dressed in sleek business looking attire, her makeup had said something different. Her makeup wasn’t heavy or bad, it just gave her a pin-up girl look, which was hot as hell. Let me just say, it’s not easy finding a woman attractive while in another man’s body; the effect felt similar to what I would’ve experienced in my body, but unnatural because I was in Max’s. I momentarily wondered if my attraction to her was solely my own or if maybe some of it was Max; maybe somehow because I was in his body I was drawn to her more because he was. At least, he had been at some point.

  “I can pay,” I blurted, fumbling for the cash I took from Max’s nightstand in my pocket, but stopped. I didn’t want to pay yet. For starters, I needed to buy myself some more time to figure this out. More so, though, I was going to need a hell of a lot more whiskey. “Hold off on the check,” I informed the waiter, yanking her card from his hand and sliding it back to her. “We have a lot to discuss.”

  He drifted away as Waverly glared at me. Judging by how quickly her brown eyes turned murderous, I could tell she didn’t like my stalling, but I needed time. Maybe Max wouldn’t want this, right? What if I signed this and he lost all chances of seeing his kid, and it was all my fault? While I was busy contemplating the enormous decision before me, I didn’t realize just how angry Waverly was.

  “You lying sack of shit,” she gritted. Whoa. She had a wicked little mouth on her. My mouth dropped open with her words. My reaction didn’t faze her because she continued. “You said you’d sign them. These papers are what you wanted.”

  My stomach dropped.

  Max had told her he’d sign them?

  Shit.

  I was fucking this up.

  Or rather, Max had fucked it up, and I was left to deal with the consequences.

  He was going to give up his kid? How . . . just how could a real man do that? Maybe Max really was a total loss. Maybe he really was a dickless asshole. I mean, he left me for dead after I saved his life. That pretty much screams dickless asshole. After seeing that with my own eyes, was it really that far of a stretch to think he’d sign over rights to his daughter?

  “I just . . .” What the fuck could I say? Maybe Max would have signed them. And a large part of me felt like I should do my best to abide by his wishes as this was his body and all, but the other part of me . . . the part that knew even though I was in Max’s body, I was still me. And that part of me wasn’t sure I could fulfill Max’s wishes. I couldn’t be the man to give up rights to a child; a man who’d let a little girl go through life wondering why her father didn’t want her; wondering why her father gave her up. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t mine. I wasn’t a dickless asshole.

  “I’d like to take some time to read over the papers. Can I have a few days?” I managed after a beat.

  Picking up her wine glass, she threw it back, gulping down the contents. Leaning forward, she clutched her purse to her chest. “You never wanted her,” she seethed. “You’ve made that very clear. I’ll be in touch.” With that, she stood and looped her arm through her purse strap and walked out.

  I sat back, my hand holding my whiskey glass as I watched her hail a cab through the front window. With her left arm in the air, watching the traffic, she nearly jumped when a short man tapped her shoulder. His clothes were dirty and riddled with holes, and he wore a beanie pulled down over his long greasy hair. He said something to her, and she smiled, attempting to hide her frustration as she opened her purse and pulled a few dollar bills out, handing them to him. He bowed his head in thanks, and she nodded, waving it off before he scurried away.

  When a cab stopped, she climbed in, and it drove her away. I don’t think I moved for a solid five minutes as I continued to stare out of the window wondering what in the hell I’d done to deserve this?

  “That fucking cock sucker,” my brother Matt, bellowed from where he sat at the kitchen table.

  “Matty,” I hissed, scolding him. “Language.”

  “Oh, Jesus, Pim’s been down for hours,” he brushed me off before taking a long swig from his beer. He wasn’t happy about the news, and I couldn’t blame him. His brow was wrinkled, and his mouth was ticked up on one side—his famous, ‘I’m pissed’ look. Our biggest fear for so long had been that Max might wake up one day and change his mind about wanting to be in her life; about wanting to be a dad. But more so, what happened to Pim if something happened to me? Max would have first rights to her, and that was something that terrified Matt and me.

  Slipping my heels off my feet one at a time while I sat across from him, I chucked them at the community shoe pile by the back door. They thunked against the wall before landing on pairs of Matt’s giant Nike’s and work boots and Pim’s toddler-sized Disney-themed shoes.

  “Why the hell did you wear those to meet with that douche anyway?”

  I rolled my eyes. Not because his question annoyed me or that he was being ridiculous, but because I was ridiculous. Why did I wear heels to meet with Max? “It was stupid,” I admitted. “I guess I just wanted to look good, ya know? Make him suffer . . . if that’s even possible.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up, but he was fighting the smile. When Matt was angry, he wanted to stay
angry. “You look like the most successful social worker in New York,” he joked. He’d never been a fan of my career choice, but he’d always been supportive. He was the best that way; he only wanted me to be happy. He also knew, deep down, my desire to help others came from our childhood, a time when our mother had bailed and left is with our father who, try as he did, could never make ends meet. There were times when we didn’t have heat or shoes that fit. I wanted to help people like that; good people that didn’t just want a handout but needed a hand up. I was the modern day Ronald Reagan.

  I smiled even though Matt was teasing me. I must have been insane to think becoming a social worker was a great career path, but one more year of college and I’d have my degree. I may never be successful financially, but I’d be a successful human being and that meant something to me.

  Probably worried he’d hurt my feelings when I didn’t respond, he quickly added, “You were the best thing to happen to that asshole.”

  I snorted and smirked a little. My brother thought that about every guy I’d ever dated. Growing up, our father had worked two jobs which kept him away from home a lot. With two absent parents, Matt took it upon himself to look out for me, protect me. So, of course he thought any guy I’d dated was an ‘asshole.’ It just happened to be true when it came to Max. “Not just look hot,” I clarified. “I wanted to look like I was doing well; that my life is good.”

  “Did it work?” he asked.

  I twisted my mouth in thought. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “He definitely isn’t the Max I remember. He seemed . . . different. But I’m not sure if that was a reflection of him seeing me or if he was messing with me.”

  “Doesn’t sound so different to me,” Matt snuffed. “He didn’t sign the papers even though he said he would. Sounds like the same lame shit he always pulled.”