Max nodded woodenly.
Fiona leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table as her eyes sparkled. “Wow, I wish I had a friend like that…I mean, I have some pretty close friends. But none that I’ve known longer than a few years. I grew apart from most of my childhood friends—I kind of thought everyone just did that.”
“Not everyone. We’re like sisters, Max and me,” said Jo, nodding and filling up the gap of silence as Max hurriedly tried to collect her thoughts. She took a sip of the coke that Jo had already ordered for her while they were waiting for her to arrive. It felt good and cool washing down her throat, gave her something to focus on. Come on, she wasn’t a teenager. She’d seen gorgeous women she’d been attracted to before, and she hadn’t hurled herself at them. She wasn’t a raging ball of hormones. She could handle this.
Then why was her heart beating so fast?
“Jo and I met in the second grade,” said Max then, taking another gulp of coke and smiling a little. Yes. Just stick to the facts. The diner was warmer than she’d ever remembered it being… “Jo put a worm down the back of my dress on the first day of school, out on the playground.”
“I won her over with my shining personality,” said Jo with a wink and a chuckle as Fiona laughed, too. When Fiona laughed, she arched her neck back a little, her teeth flashing bright in the light. Max blinked and twisted the napkin in her lap under the table, trying not to look at the cream-colored skin of Fiona’s neck.
“How did you guys meet? I haven’t gotten a chance to talk with Jo much this past week,” said Max, hoping her voice was steady. The other two women didn’t seem to notice anything strange, so she took a bit of a deeper breath. Yes, the diner was definitely too warm.
“Well, I’m a cake decorator,” said Fiona, leaning her elbows on the table surface and leaning toward Max a little. Her eyes were so bright and steady as they gazed at Max, as if they could see right through her. Max felt exposed beneath that glance and tugged at her sweater’s collar a little, trying to loosen the red scarf. “I own my own business, just like Jo…so we both went to this women’s entrepreneur dinner because we’re both part of the Self Employed Women of Greater Bay organization…thing.” Her laughter sounded like bells, a comparison that on any normal day Max would have considered sappy, but as she listened to Fiona laugh, she realized that there was nothing else she could compare the woman’s laughter to. It sounded like bells. “I’d just joined the organization, because I just opened up my shop…” continued Fiona, her head to the side. “It’s been open about a month now, down on Newbury Street, maybe you’ve seen it. Florabella Cupcakes? I do wedding cakes and special occasion cakes, too,” said Fiona, pillowing her chin in her hands then. “Anyway, I walk into this dinner, and I didn’t know it was going to be a formal thing, so I’m wearing what I wore to the shop…jeans covered in flour, and this nice peasant blouse, but I mean, it was a formal dinner. Jo here…” Again, Fiona patted Jo’s thigh with the familiarity of a woman who had already touched it quite a few different times. Max tried not to think about that. “She was dressed to the nines. I mean wearing a suit and everything, right down to the tie. It was scrumptious.” Fiona laughed again and bumped her shoulder with Jo in an intimate way. Max realized her cheeks were getting red and stared down at the now practically shredded napkin on her lap.
“So when Fiona came in—I mean, you haven’t been to the meetings in a while, Max, but let me tell you…you remember snooty Margaret, right? The woman with all of those fake diamond brooches and that laugh like a weasel?” Jo snorted. “She led the charge against Fiona after judging her in an instant, saying snide remarks under her breath, and then everyone else was so stuffy that they all got super quiet and were glaring at Fiona. It was for the stupidest reason, too, I mean seriously. What she was wearing? Give me a break…” Jo chuckled and shook her head. “So I had to save the situation and went up and asked her to sit next to me. The rest is history!”
“I didn’t know you were part of SEWGB, Max,” said Fiona, her eyes widening as she glanced at her. “Jo didn’t tell me you have your own business! What do you do?”
Max shifted uncomfortably in her seat and wished the waitress—one of her favorites, Tess, the frazzled gray-haired lady peering over her spectacles at a family that had just come in with six rowdy, loud kids—would get to them quickly so that she could place her order, get her food, and then spend the rest of the night eating it and be perpetually stuck with a full mouth and unable to answer questions. Questions like this one in particular.
Jo saved her. “We both joined SEWGB around the same time…right when the organization opened about fifteen years ago,” she said quickly, closing the menu in front of her, and pushing it a little closer to the center of the table, tapping the surface with her well-groomed fingernails. “But Max doesn’t have her own business. Yet.”
Max sighed and bit her lip, staring down at her hands. Great. When Jo mentioned Max’s mythical business with such enthusiasm, it meant that she was going to launch into the…
“The story begins,” said Jo dramatically, spreading her hands on the top of the table, “when we were both twelve years old. Long past second grade and worms down the back of dresses. We were inseparable at this point, and we had big vision. We were the type of kids who could turn a profit at anything, you know? And we always went into business together. We had lemonade stands during the summer and coffee stands during the winter, and we bought bikes with the money we earned, not candy. So we were doing pretty all right.” Jo’s infectious grin widened across the table, but Max didn’t have the heart to return it. Not when Fiona was watching her carefully from across that self-same table, eyebrows drawn together as she listened to Jo’s story, not exactly certain where it was going. But Jo knew it by heart.
She’d lived it.
“So that summer, when we were twelve, we earned enough money for lumber and nails and built our own tree house in Jo’s backyard,” said Max quietly, folding her hands on the shreds of napkin in her lap. “And that was one of the best summers of my…” Max trailed off, swallowed. “We made a pact with each other one night,” she smiled half-heartedly. “Our parents were nearing their fortieth birthdays, and they kept saying that they’d meant to do all of these great things by the time they were forty and just has never gotten around to it. They said it all the time with this deep regret, and it really struck us. We knew we didn’t want to end up like that. So we told each other that we wouldn’t end up like that. We’d live our dreams, we’d never be stuck…not like they were.” Max bit her lip. “So we made a pact that by our fortieth birthdays we’d each have our own businesses and be desperately successful and millionaires. Because we were twelve,” said Max, voice quiet. “And anything seems possible when you’re twelve.”
Fiona’s mouth had gone flat, like a line. Because it was obvious, sitting at that table, that at least one of the two girls in that far-off summer, in that beautiful, badly-built tree house, had kept her end of the bargain. Jo hadn’t gone to college. Max had. She’d gone to school for business, because she’d wanted to keep her end of the bargain, and Jo had put all of her savings into an auto repair shop, because they were “sure things.” Cars were recession-proof, she’d said. Everyone needed a car. But her head manager, the guy she’d hired and trusted, had run off with all the money and the business had failed. Jo had been destitute after that, but she’d kept trying. Jo hadn’t given up.
And then she’d opened TurnTurn Delivery with her last pennies. A delivery service of people on bikes? People said it was a pipe dream and stupid, but when Jo had told Max the idea, Max had seen the inherent genius behind it. People were going green, wanted to support local businesses and needed their stuff quick and from people they trusted.
TurnTurn Delivery had proven to be a goldmine. And now there were TurnTurn Deliveries opening up all over the country in select cities. But it’d started right here, in Boston, by a woman who’d been too tenacious to ever give up.
An
d now Jo and Max were six months away from their fortieth birthdays. And Jo was getting pretty close to being that mythical millionaire.
And Max, Max who’d tried, who’d gone to school for business, who had graduated at the top of her class…had joined the call center right out of college, because she was going to play it safe, pay off her school loans, and open her business and work on it nights.
And had never done it.
Max cleared her throat. The silence at the table had gone on a beat too long. She didn’t want to be pitied. And it was stupid, anyway, she knew. Who keeps a promise that you make to your best friend when you’re twelve? But sitting across from two successful, bright and smiling women, Max felt shabby. She ran her hands through her lanky brown ponytail and remembered that she’d wanted to get her hair cut. Something short and fresh. Something different.
A change.
Fiona did a surprising thing, just then. She reached across the space between them with her long fingers, and she grasped up Max’s hand from where she’d set it on the none-too-clean table. Fiona gave her a little squeeze, pressing her warm, soft fingertips into Max’s palm, and again Max’s heart began to beat faster.
“You know what?” said Fiona then, her head to the side a little as the smile spread slowly across her face. “I only opened up my bakery this past month, right? I’d wanted to do it my whole life. I know you can’t tell because of all that great wrinkle cream I use,” she said, chuckling, with a little wink, the wrinkles around her face deep, but lovely, “but I’m forty-two. I opened up my first business when I turned forty-two, because I told myself that I was tired of waiting for it to happen, so I made it happen. You can open up your business whenever you want to, Max. Entrepreneurs have it in their blood. It’ll happen in the right time and place.” She squeezed Max’s hand and then let it go, Max’s heart beating so quickly, she was having trouble seeing straight. “It’s never too late. I have faith in you,” Fiona said, then.
Faith.
In her.
Fiona was practically a perfect stranger. But her exuberance and absolute serious conviction were not something she was joking with. She’d meant what she’d said. Max blinked and then shook her head, trying to form a somewhat coherent response that didn’t start with “um.”
Funny, warm, attractive, sexy-as-hell. And nice.
Jo had hit the ball out of the park with this one.
“Hi, ladies…I’m sorry about the wait,” said Tess, the waitress, bustling over in her bright pink apron as she turned over the paper on her order pad and tapped the pen against it. “Separate checks?”
“No,” said Max and Jo at the same time. Jo’s eyebrow raised as Max shook her head emphatically.
“No, Tess…I’ll be taking care of this one,” Max said quietly, licking her lips. Jo shook her head with emphasis.
“No, I’ll be taking care of it.”
“This is a celebratory dinner,” said Max, surprised at the little bit of edge in her voice. Jo always paid for dinners when they went out together. She’d snatch up the bill and hand it to the waitress with her shiny black credit card and an even shinier smile. Max usually appreciated the gesture—Jo knew very well that Max didn’t have much money, and it was in her nature to enjoy paying for things for other people. Jo had always been generous. But today, for some reason, it stung, that insistence. “I just want to treat you both. I’m glad you found each other, and that should be celebrated,” she said then, voice softer, quieter.
Jo’s eyebrows remained high, and she shrugged. “Sure. Thanks, Max—that’s sweet of you.”
Fiona’s smile across the table lit up the room, and she leaned forward, her shoulders under the light blue fabric curving toward Max. “Thank you very much—that’s lovely,” she echoed, her sincerity making the words weighty.
“It’s nothing,” said Max, her grin wavering as she glanced up at Tess with a nod. She ordered in a haze, her usual—chicken parmesan, garlic toast, fries covered in gravy—and Jo ordered her usual—steak, medium-well, baked potato and broccoli—and Fiona ordered a julienne salad. Tess didn’t write down anything but the salad, and bustled away as one of the kids from a few booths down began complaining loudly about the lack of fries on his plate.
“How was work?” asked Jo, eyebrows still high as she glanced at Max appraisingly. She knew something was up. Of course she knew something was up--she knew Max better than she knew herself. Max was just tired, that was all. It had nothing to do with the fact that Max couldn’t stop looking at Fiona, though she tried hard to. Fiona wasn’t hers to look at.
She let that truth sink in for a moment, taking another long sip of coke before she replied. “Oh, you know…” she trailed off and gave Jo a wan smile. “It was work.”
“Where do you work?” asked Fiona, stirring her straw in her water, glancing from Max to Jo, back to Max again as Max sighed and rolled her shoulders, then tried for a genuine smile this time. There was no shame in working at a call center. She told herself that every morning when she woke up, and every night when she went to sleep. There was no shame in working at a call center.
But there was shame in denying your dreams so wholeheartedly. She knew that.
“I work at Wellworth Marketing Center,” said Max, propping her own elbow on the table, and placing her chin in her hands as she glanced at her best friend and her girlfriend across the table. God, they looked so good together. They looked like a real couple, not just two women who’d met a week ago. “It’s a call center,” Max explained, when Fiona’s expression was blank. Max had preferred the blankness. When Fiona realized, her mouth became a thin line, then a frown as sympathy filled her eyes.
Max didn’t want Fiona’s sympathy. Normally, sympathy stung worse than anything. But for some reason, when Fiona reached across the table again to gather Max’s hand in her own, squeezing her fingers around it gently, but with strength, Max knew this was genuine.
“You need to open your own business. That’s just all there is to it,” she said then, straightening a little and shaking her head, her bright eyes flashing.
“It’s what I’ve been saying for years,” said Jo, leaning back a little in the booth, her smile edging more towards triumphant than simply agreeing. Max bit her lip. They were right, of course. But it was something Max herself knew pretty well. She didn’t need Jo telling her what to do, or prompting or goading her. Max had tried for years to get up the gumption, energy and enthusiasm to open her own business, and most of the time Jo’s prompting was a very supportive gesture. But sometimes, it came off as superior.
Like right now.
“Have you given any thought on what type of business you’d like to open up?” asked Fiona, her head to the side as she tapped her lip with a finger. “No, no, let me guess!” she said, as Max opened her mouth to reply. In spite of herself, Max realized she was grinning. “You want to open up a doggie daycare,” said Fiona, laughing a little.
“Not exactly,” said Max, spreading her hands on the table. “Don’t get me wrong—I love dogs! Just not for one hundred percent of my day.”
“A restaurant?” said Fiona, glancing up to indicate the little diner they were sitting in. “You want to open up a cute little themed restaurant, where everyone wears hats or matching aprons and sings when they bring out slices of birthday cake covered in candles.” Her eyes were sparkling as she spoke and leaned forward, Max in her sights. She was teasing, Max knew, but a little thrill ran through her as Fiona laughed again, shaking her head.
There was an ache in Max’s heart that had begun the moment they’d shaken hands with this extraordinary woman, but it was now growing bigger and bigger. It was similar and probably related to the weight she got when she was at work. But harder. More intense.
More painful.
It was a simple wish. A stupid wish, and a very hurtful one, if Jo, sitting across the table, only with eyes for Fiona, could know what Max was thinking. And it was this:
Max wished, with all her heart, that she
’d met Fiona first.
It was an almost impossible wish, but not quite. She’d gone down Newbury Street just a few weeks ago, but hadn’t noticed the new cupcake shop. If she’d only noticed it, only stopped in, she would have met Fiona first. And then…
And then…
What? Max would have swept Fiona off her feet? That happened in movies, and if Max was any judge of her own life, it was most certainly not a movie. More like a dull, sad smattering of days and unfulfilled dreams. Her head was beginning to swim, and she wished with all of her heart that this diner served alcohol.
The dull headache behind her eyes was beginning to intensify.
“It’s silly,” she said then, surprising herself at how vehement her words sounded. “And those are really good guesses, Fiona. But I don’t even know what business I’d open. That’s just it…nothing has ever really struck me as what I was supposed to do. And that’s the silly thing. I know I could have opened up a franchise or tried for something that was lucrative, but nothing ever really struck me as what I was supposed to do…” Max trailed off, risked a glance at Fiona. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes wide as she studied Max across the table. “God, that probably sounds all airy fairy to you,” said Max miserably. “But I wanted to do something I was passionate about. And I’ve never figured out exactly what that is.”
“No, no--I completely understand,” said Fiona then, her voice soft, quiet. “You have to do what you feel is right. If you never knew the business you were meant to have…I understood why you wouldn’t open one.”
Jo shifted uncomfortably in the booth, biting her lip. That’s not the way it had been with Jo. She’d followed the money. That’s why she’d opened up her auto repair business. And then she’d had the idea for the delivery business, and while it was an inspired idea, Jo wasn’t a passionate cyclist, and she wasn’t a particularly green person--she’d simply had a hunch that it was going to make money. Neither of these things had ever been her passion, but she’d known that, theoretically, they could make her rich, and that’s why she’d pursued them.
Don't Say Goodbye Page 2
