I nod numbly.
“Isn’t that where this Travis guy who’s been stalking you is from?”
Stalking? I bite my tongue and try to avert the Travis issue. “Yes. See, now we know why he was asking about me.”
“Right,” he grumbles as he narrows his eyes. “Is there something else you aren’t telling me about this job?”
I may have a relationship death wish, but I just want all the ugly out on the table at once.
“Well, it’s a heavy shooting schedule—long hours and many days working straight.”
“Of course it is. They probably want you to give up your life here in L.A. and move to New York so you can be a devoted host—completely available.” His tone is bitter and sarcastic.
I’m silent, wanting to be anywhere but here.
His eyes flash and it all computes in his head. “They want you to relocate.” He says it as if he’s just read a verdict from a harrowing trial. His voice is dark and dangerously detached.
I take a deep breath. “Yes.”
“So, there you go.” He slams his glass down, and the champagne slops over the side. I’m amazed it didn’t shatter.
His angry expression makes any hope I had slip through my fingers. He pushes his chair back violently as he gets up and leans over the balcony. “We are so fucked.”
“Don’t say that, Max. We can work around this; it’s only a year.”
He turns back and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Only a year? Do I need to remind you who you’re talking to? I get unsettled when I go three days in a row without you. Goddamn . . . I just asked you to move in, Ava . . . not move away.”
“Max—” I jump up and step toward him.
“No.” He raises his hand and stops me. “Don’t . . . I don’t want to hear it. Fuck it all!”
He furiously paces across the balcony and stops at the door.
“I need some fucking time alone. I’m going to the studio. Don’t follow me, Ava . . . I mean it. I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He turns sharply away, and it feels like a slap in the face.
“I’ll wait up here.”
After an hour of roaming around cable channels, I decide to sneak a peek into the studio to see what state he’s in. I tiptoe across the area beyond the front door so I can see in the studio window. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but my heart falls. He’s sitting on a stool in front of his canvas with a brush in his hand, but instead of painting, his head has fallen forward into his free hand. He sits motionless, but even from this distance, I feel the agony rolling off him. I want so much to go to him, but I’m reminded of his warning. He needs this time alone, and I have to respect that. He’ll come to me when he’s ready.
Later that night, I wake when the TV shuts off and the bed rocks as he climbs in. I must have fallen asleep while waiting. It’s almost two.
He’s silent as he stretches out under the covers. I curl up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder.
“Max?” I whisper sleepily.
He turns toward me, and from the faint light of the bedside lamp, I can see the sadness has colored his eyes dark.
I press against him, trying to warm him up. “I want you to know that I haven’t made my mind up about anything. We need to figure it out together.”
He tenses up and the silence is agonizing.
“I love you, and you have to be part of this decision too.”
He doesn’t say anything as he pulls me tighter in his arms. I run my fingers across his chest and gently kiss his neck. I hitch my leg over his hip and show him with my body just how much I need him, but he doesn’t respond.
As he holds me close, I realize he isn’t present . . . not really. It’s so painful because I know what it is to have all of him, and I can’t find it in my heart to accept anything less. I swallow my frustration, and I settle into his arms, hoping to connect however I can.
A seed of fear festers in my gut in the dark of sleep so that when I wake up without his arms around me and his side of the bed empty, the fear drops roots and breaks through the soil’s surface to face the harsh light of day.
I lie still for a moment, feeling the loss, even though I assume he hasn’t strayed far. I’m tentative as I slowly rise out of bed and put my clothes on. As I step into the hallway, I listen carefully for his sounds from the kitchen, but there’s only an echo of silence.
I figure he’s either gone for a run or he’s in the studio. I stop to get some coffee and am surprised to see he hasn’t made any. Everything seems different, and for a moment, I feel like a stranger in this place that had almost become like home to me. If he intends to make me pay for my impending decision, his plan is working only too well.
When I look toward the studio, the door is wide open, but I don’t hear the usual music pumping out of his sound system. I warily cross the grass and step into the studio without hesitation. Whatever I’m going to face, I want to get it over with.
My eyes scan the room until I see him. He’s hunched over his desk working on a smaller drawing pad and making notes next to a sketch. He’s wearing earbuds and the wire snakes into his pocket.
“Max.”
I see his body freeze for a second, and then he slowly turns toward me. His expression is blank as he pulls his earbuds out.
“What?”
“Do you want breakfast or something?”
“No, I need to work.”
Our eyes lock for a moment, and then he puts his earbuds back in, looks down, and continues to write.
I return to the kitchen with tears in my eyes. I get the coffee started and toast some bread, and then I sit out on the balcony, watching the waves move in and out while I eat. I sit there for a long time, hoping he’ll come join me, but by the time I get up to refill my coffee mug, I realize that isn’t going to happen.
Feeling stubborn, I make him some toast with jam and coffee prepared the way he likes it and force myself to cross the lawn again.
“I brought you a snack,” I announce from the doorway.
He looks up impassively. “Okay, you can set it over here.”
I bring it to the table, set it down, and wait. He pushes it to the back of the table and keeps making notes. I look down to try to decipher what he’s working on, and he sits up and closes the book. His gesture makes me feel like he’s closed the door on me.
“What’s up, Max? I feel like I’m intruding.”
“Well, to be honest, this whole New York thing has opened my eyes. You deciding to make work your top priority helped me realize I need to do the same. I’ve been so focused on you that my work has suffered for it. That’s all going to change now.”
“Oh, I see. So you’re going to punish me because I was offered a job.”
“I’m not punishing you, Ava. I’m working. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to work now.”
“You don’t even want me here, do you?”
“Well, I’m going to be working all day, so maybe it’d be better if you don’t stay.”
I can’t believe this is happening. I’m looking at a stranger. Where did Max go? I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. More tears well up, so I quickly turn away and head out the door.
I barely make it to the guest bathroom before my breakfast comes up. Along with the vomit and tears come up fragments of my shattered heart. My worst nightmare has come to fruition. He thinks I’m abandoning him, and he’s going to leave me first by shutting me out. It’s as if everything has changed overnight. We’re terribly broken, and I’m not sure how to repair the damage.
After I’ve calmed down enough to drive, I go upstairs and gather my things. I cross the lawn with my bag, but it feels wrong not to say anything before I leave, so I face the studio once more.
I stick my head in the door. “I’m leaving, Max.”
“All right.” He doesn’t turn around, but his hand tightens over his pencil.
�
�I have one question; are you breaking up with me? Is that what this is?”
“No, you’re the one leaving, remember?”
“So, you aren’t even going to talk to me about it? Help me talk out the decision?”
“You’ve already made your decision. What’s there to talk about?”
“How to work out a year of being bi-coastal. We could discuss the fact that we love each other and nothing, not even a period of separation, can change that. But if you can’t even talk about it, then what type of relationship do we have?”
“I don’t know what to say, Ava. I don’t know what to think anymore. One day you’re mine and we’re planning our future, and the next day you’re leaving me and everything’s changed. I don’t know how to wrap my head around that. It’s going to take time, I guess.”
“If you push me away, it’s going to ruin us. I’m in love with you, Max, and I know you love me. Don’t I deserve to be treated better than this? I didn’t go looking for this job, they came to me, and I’m still in shock and trying to figure out what to do. I need you to help me work this out.”
He turns and looks at me. The unending silence is a slap in the face.
“Okay, I get the message . . . never mind. I’m out of here. You can have more time to process all of this, but I’m not giving up. I’ll always fight for us, even if you can’t.”
He looks at me with an empty expression.
“When you’re done with your work, call me. I’ll be waiting.”
I tear across the lawn, and once I’m in the car, I speed up the driveway, almost taking out the security gate. I don’t know if I’m being melodramatic or if this is a true deal-breaking crisis. I just need to get to a safe place and hide from the idea that Max is falling away from me.
I’ve crossed a large minefield littered with hidden explosives. And even though I’ve been able to keep my limbs intact, my heart has been blown apart, and I fear nothing will ever be the same.
Chapter Nine / The Deal Breaker
All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.
~Anatole France
I pick up my phone and check to make sure the battery hasn’t died. Then I look for new messages and finally check to make sure the ringer is turned all the way up. I have probably gone through this pattern a hundred times today. One hundred reminders that he still hasn’t called.
Jess convinced me after I called her in hysterics on Saturday to give him a few days. Max has a tendency to be dramatic at first and then settle back down to some sense of reason. I try to put my faith in her advice, since I don’t have much else to hang my hat on right now. She promised to try to talk to him and report back. Now, I anxiously wait for her call.
Luckily, Riley returns home late Sunday afternoon and provides a great distraction from my emotional fallout.
“So, how was your surfing lesson with Dylan?”
“Awesome. He says I’m a natural.”
I smile as she goes into detail, relieved not to have to tell my story yet, but I’m frustrated too. Part of me just wants to get it over with.
Her phone chimes and she glances at it. “Dylan can’t find parking downstairs. I’m going to meet him down there.” She grabs her jacket, purse, and the salad she made for the barbeque they’re going to tonight.
She gives me a hug. “Are you feeling all right, babe? You aren’t looking so good.”
“I’m okay,” I respond, knowing we don’t have time to get into it.
“Okay, we’ll catch up later,” she says, as she heads out the door.
I curl up on the couch and study the angel painting Max did for me only months ago. I could’ve never imagined when he gave that to me how our lives would end up woven together. No matter what happens, being with Max has changed me in every way, and I’ve changed him as well. My phone goes off. It’s a text from Max, and I anxiously open it.
Jess just left. She told me I needed to contact you.
He contacted me because Jess told him to? I feel kicked in the stomach, but I’m hesitant to tell him I wish that he wanted to contact me on his own. I need to get this dialogue open, not shut it down. So, instead, I keep it simple.
Jess is right. I’ve been waiting by the phone.
She said she can’t stand to watch me fall apart again—that this time I’m going to destroy both of us.
I shut my eyes, fighting the despair.
I wish I knew how to stop this pain, Max, both yours and mine.
Me too. I’m in bad shape, Ava.
What can I do to make this better?
I don’t know. My crazy thoughts won’t stop spinning long enough for me to calm down and think straight.
Can I call you?
No, I’m sorry, but I’m not ready.
Please . . . I need to talk, not text.
Ava, if I hear your voice, I think I’ll go mad.
But I just desperately need to hear you. I need to talk to you.
I’m sorry. I can’t handle this. I’ve got to go.
Please, don’t go yet.
As I wait, I curl inward, fearing I’ve lost the connection. I wait even longer, but he doesn’t reply, so I text him again.
Please, Max, please.
I’m sorry I’m not handling this better. Maybe I just need time.
But we can help each other figure this out.
Cara says I wrapped all my happiness up in you. That not being together will give me a chance to be healthier.
Fuck Cara.
No, she meant so we could be a better couple.
But we were the best, I type with trembling fingers.
That’s what I thought too until Friday night. Now I don’t know anything.
You have to know that I love you with all my heart.
I’m sorry, I can’t.
And that is it. I can’t. I wait and wait, but there’s nothing else. What did he mean by I can’t? The reality that my boyfriend is not a normal guy who deals with issues in more typical ways has never been more apparent. Perhaps I’d taken for granted how much better he’d become and that led me to believe he was stable enough to handle something like this. I also realize his emotional dependence on me must be more precarious than I thought. I let the phone slip between my fingers as I curl up and cry.
I’m almost in the exact same position when Riley returns from the barbeque. As soon as I see her, I start to cry again, and she grabs a box of tissues and makes me a cup of tea before settling into the couch to hear my story.
“What happened? Dylan said Max has gone completely off the deep end.”
“I think he’s done with me.”
“What? That’s impossible! You came back from Barcelona floating in a love bubble. He told Dylan last week he thought he’d finally convinced you to move in . . . he was over the moon about it.”
“Well, that was before I got a new complicated job offer, and now everything has changed.”
I recount it all, the good the bad and the ugly, starting with the amazing opportunity for my dream job. Riley is thrilled for me and doesn’t even bring up our roommate situation, as I explain that I would have to relocate for a year. Instead, we talk about how exiting it’ll be to live and work in New York.
“As much as I will miss having you here, Ava, now I’ll have even more reason to go to New York. Just think . . . finally the two of us will taste the New York night life together!”
I smile at my Riley, who can make the most difficult situation sound like fun.
“Will you come visit me?”
“Hell yes! Besides, I’m there on business fairly often, so you’ll see me more than you think.”
Her promise of visiting me reminds me how I’ll be away from my entire support system while I’m there, and for the first time, I question whether I’ll be able to handle the relative isolation. But as I begin to spiral into my thoughts, Riley pulls me out.
�
�As for Max, why don’t you ignore his theatrics and pretend that everything’s normal? Just get some takeout food after work tomorrow and show up at his house. Don’t feed into the drama. He has more than enough for the two of you.”
I have to admit, it never occurred to me to use that tactic. Maybe I should just pretend everything’s fine and that I’m just going on a business trip, but instead of being gone a week, I’ll be gone a year. If I’m calm and reassuring, it may stop him from spiraling further down. The idea is crazy enough that I think it’s worth a try.
Monday morning, I ask Adam if I can speak to him and Brian alone. They both patiently wait as I gather my courage.
“Adam, remember how you talked to me about spreading my wings a couple of weeks ago?”
He smiles warmly and nods.
“Well, it looks like I have the opportunity to take a grand flight much sooner than I ever would’ve imagined.”
“Grand flight?” asks Brian. “Are you leaving us?” He’s composed, and if he’s disappointed, I can’t tell.
“I’ve been offered something unbelievable. It’s so crazy I’m not sure I would have even dreamed it could happen. I’ve been asked to be a host for a new television show called The Artist Revealed. It’s for that new cable channel ArtOneWorld.”
There’s a moment of silence where they both looked stunned. Adam is the first to speak as he rises out of his chair to hug me.
“Ava, that’s just wonderful! I’m so proud of you.”
I take a deep breath, realizing that in my nervousness I’d stopped breathing.
“Thanks, Adam.” His hug and support is just what I need.
Brian stands next to us, waiting. When Adam releases me, I fall into his son’s arms.
“Can you believe it, Brian?”
“Sure, I believe it! Oh, Ava, isn’t it wonderful when great things happen to great people!”
The three of us sit down and talk about the job. Neither Adam nor Brian is surprised about the New York move. Perhaps with the shock of the announcement of the host offer and the fact that I’ll be leaving the gallery, that detail is just one more in the list of dramatic changes.
Instead, they focus on the opportunity this presents for me. Adam is especially excited to talk about the different artists I’ll meet and amazing experiences I’ll have. He knows better than anyone that with the world changing so quickly, there are all kinds of possibilities, not just the traditional path, to make a strong career in the art world.
Work of Art ~ the Collection Page 59
