by Noelle Adams
I must have done a better job of faking it this time because his expression relaxes. He gives me one more kiss. “You’re amazing, sweetheart. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Well, that makes it clear that he’s not even going to spend tomorrow morning with me the way he normally does. Our weekend is over right now.
“Okay. Don’t drive too fast in the dark.”
“I won’t. Enjoy the food.”
This time he makes it to the door. I go to the window and look out, and in just a minute I see his car pulling away from the curb where he parked it.
We were going to have a delicious meal together. Then he was going to show me his work on his laptop. Then we would probably have had sex. Then I would fall asleep beside him.
But not now.
Now I’m left with way too much food for one, most of a bottle of wine, and tears that are lurking in my throat and behind my eyes.
I don’t let them fall.
I have nothing to be upset about. I told Max the truth earlier.
This is what I signed up for. This is what it means that I’m not one of his priorities.
This is me being disposable.
But I’m not going to let it bother me. If I do, it will be a clear sign that I’m in this thing too deep, and that means I’ll have to give this up for my own good.
I’m not ready to do that yet.
MAX TEXTS ME AT MIDNIGHT to check in and make sure I’m all right.
I tell him I am and the meal was amazing.
It was really good, but I didn’t enjoy it as much as I should have. I’m feeling better by that point though. I’ve taken a long bath and watched a movie in bed. I ask him how Freddie’s doing, and he says she’s doing fine. They played a board game and ate ice cream, and now she’s asleep.
I hadn’t realized Freddie was almost fourteen. He’s always called her his little girl, so I’d pictured a much younger child. It feels strange to know she’s a teenager. It casts a different view on Max as a father.
I’m not sure what I think of it.
The next morning, I text Beck to see what she’s doing today. I don’t want to mope around all day because my disposable lover deserted me. She says she’s having brunch with Jennifer, but they’d love it if I join them.
After confirming that I’m not intruding on their time together, I agree to go.
It will be a lot better than lying around and feeling lonely.
I meet them at a breakfast place in a larger town about twenty minutes away. They’re both in good moods, and we talk for a while about their upcoming weddings. Jennifer is getting married next month, and Beck’s getting married in August.
When that topic has basically concluded, Beck gives me a mischievous look. “Okay. Now’s the time for you to fess up about that sexy art professor.”
My eyes and mouth go round. I haven’t told anyone about my weekends with Max. It feels like a private indulgence. “How did you know?”
“I knew it!” Beck claps her hands excitedly. “I knew you’d decided to go for it. The last I heard you were debating about just having fun with him, and I guess you took him up on the offer.”
“I did,” I admit, flushed and sheepish. “It’s been... good.”
“This is that Maxwell guy?” Jennifer asks. “The superhot one who did that art exhibit?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“You’re dating him?” Jennifer’s brown eyes are as wide as mine were earlier.
“Not dating. Just... seeing him. No-strings-attached kind of thing.”
“And that’s what you want from him?” Jennifer isn’t as vibrant as Beck, but I like her thoughtfulness and seriousness. It always feels like she’s paying attention and thinking deeply about what I say. “You don’t want more?”
“I don’t really think I’m in a place in life to pursue more right now. And he definitely isn’t. We’re completely open about this, and we’re both agreed.”
“And it isn’t hard?” Beck asks, stirring fruit salad in a small bowl. “Just having sex and not getting any more from him?”
“Oh, he treats me really good.” When I see their faces, I hurry on. “I mean, overall. Not just in bed. He treats me good there too, but... shit.” We all have a giggle as I recover my words. “All I mean is he’s always kind and sensitive. He never makes me feel like I’m not valued. So it’s usually not hard at all. In fact, the only thing that bothered me was last night.”
Since I’ve brought it up and they’re genuinely interested, I tell them the whole story about what happened the night before.
“Oh man, I can see why that bothered you,” Beck says. “That would bother me too. You had a whole evening planned with him, and then he ups and leaves when it’s not really necessary.”
“But it was necessary. His daughter needed him.”
“Maybe. But it wasn’t an emergency. He did have a choice, and he chose to leave you. I would have been upset too.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “That’s how I felt. But I shouldn’t have. I have no good reason to. This is what I agreed to.”
“But still,” Jennifer says, her eyes as understanding as Beck’s. “You’ve got a guy you really like. Even if you’re trying to keep it in perspective, it’s kind of hard to be hit with the fact that you’re not as important to him as you could be.”
I stare down at my half-eaten food on my plate. “Yeah. That’s it exactly. It just made me realize that things could be different between us, and maybe a little part of me wants that.”
“So what are you going to do?” Beck asks.
“I don’t know. What can I do? I can either accept the way things are and enjoy what I can, or I can end it.” I bite my lower lip. “I’m not sure I’m ready to end it yet. Is that weak and silly?”
“Of course it’s not! It’s normal.” Beck reaches out and pats my hand on the table. “Who would want to give it up if they didn’t have to? I think it’s okay to have a little setback. To be unexpectedly disappointed. But if you find it happening a lot, if you keep getting hurt, then that’s the sign that the relationship isn’t good for you.” She looks over at Jennifer. “Don’t you agree?”
“Yes. I agree. As long as the enjoyment is worth the occasional disappointment, then I’d probably make the same decision. But in my experience, eventually it’s hard for this kind of relationship to last very long. It’s been two months now. Eventually it’s going to fizzle out naturally, or one or both of you is going to get too invested, and then it’s just going to hurt like hell. Maybe try to get out of it before that happens.”
I know what she’s saying is true. I can feel how true it is. But the thought of ending things with Max now causes of surge of resistance to rise inside me, so I decide it’s not time to end it yet.
Six
LATER THAT WEEK ON Friday, I’ve been working at my desk all morning, so I get up to walk around the library at around eleven thirty.
I feel better about things with Max. I’ve settled my emotions and am convinced that I still have enough distance to continue our relationship without losing myself in him.
The library has reduced hours during the summer months, and we’re usually fairly empty at this time of day, so I don’t expect to see anyone except a stray summer school student or a faculty member working on research in their downtime.
Instead I see Rika in her favorite armchair. She hasn’t been coming in on Tuesday evenings like she used to, so it’s been a month since I’ve seen her.
I greet her warmly, and she looks happy to see me. We talk about what she’s been reading and how she’s enjoying the summer.
“Don’t you have better things to do than sit in the library on a Friday in the summer?” I ask her, keeping my voice light so she knows I’m not insulting her. I’ve always been a library person too. I just hope she has things in her life besides reading.
“I’ve been busy all summer! My dad keeps finding things for me to do in town, and we’ve been to the beach one weekend, and I’v
e been working a lot in his office. But I have the day off, and I’m just killing time waiting for my dad. We’re having lunch.”
“Oh that’s good. It sounds like you can use some quiet time after all that. He must be a pretty good dad if he makes so much time for you.”
“He’s a really good dad.” She makes a face. “Although sometimes he makes too much time for me. But I don’t see Mom very often, and he wants to make up for it.”
It’s then—only then—that I get a flicker of recognition.
It’s not enough for me to pin down, but I know there’s something familiar here. A connection I’m on the edge of making.
Rika goes on. “But he’s been acting kind of weird lately.”
“Really? Weird how?” This isn’t my business, but Rika seems to want to talk about it, and I don’t want to shut her down.
“I don’t know. Just distracted or something. Like he has something going on he won’t tell me. I don’t know.”
“Have you asked him about it?”
“Yeah. He just says he has stuff on his mind, and it’s nothing for me to worry about. But he’s doing something on the weekends I’m with my mom. He says he’s not, but I know he is. I think he might have a girlfriend. I think it’s the art exhibit lady he was always talking about. He said he wasn’t into her, but I know he was.”
It’s then.
Right then.
The pieces come together in my mind.
I put a hand on my stomach as a wave of dizziness washes over me. I’m stunned. Frozen.
Maybe it’s not a big deal—that I’ve suddenly realized who Rika’s father is—but it feels like a significant revelation to me.
“There he is,” Rika says, her expression changing as she looks over my shoulder. “Early as usual.”
I turn around instinctively, but I know who I’ll see.
Max. He’s walking down the wide aisle between the shelves with his normal long, lazy stride, but he jerks slightly when he sees me, slowing down as he approaches.
“Hi there,” he says when he’s close enough to speak. He’s wearing khakis and a green shirt. He looks handsome and mature and surprised and slightly bewildered. He’s looking back and forth between his daughter and me.
“Hey, Dad,” Rika says, putting down the book she’s been reading and standing up. “You’re early.”
“I am.” His eyes rest on me with an unspoken question, and then he must have answered it for himself. “You’re the library lady,” he murmurs thickly. “The nice lady who lent her Little Women.”
My stomach is still twisting uncomfortably. I feel weird. Off-balance. Terrified for no good reason. “Yeah. That’s me. I didn’t realize... I didn’t know... Freddie?”
“Oh,” Rika says. “He always calls me that. He’s the only one who does. My name is Frederika. Do you know my dad?” Her brown eyes are big and innocent behind her glasses.
I force a smile. “Oh yeah. I know him from when he taught here in the spring.”
“She’s the one I worked on the art exhibit with,” Max tells her. He looks just as unsettled as I feel. This has been just as much of a surprise for him as it has been for me. That much is obvious.
“Oh.” Rika turns her eyes back to me. “Oh.” The second one is drawn out slowly. Her expression changes.
Shit.
She’s not going to like me now. I’m the art exhibit lady she suspects of taking her father away. She’s going to think I knew who she was all along. She’s going to resent me so much.
It hurts—for so many reasons. But partly because I genuinely like Rika, and I value our bookish interactions.
I don’t want her to hate me.
I don’t want what I have with Max to get complicated.
And now it has.
I swallow hard over pressure that’s rising in my throat. I feel sick. I’m not going to be able to force my smile for much longer. I need to get out of here.
“Okay,” I say with fake cheer. “It’s good to put the two of you together. I didn’t know he was your dad. But I better get going, and I’m sure you guys want to get to lunch. I’ll see you later.”
I think they return my farewell, but I don’t actually hear what they say. I’m already making my escape, striding across the room and down the stairs so I can hide out in my office and recover myself.
I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. This isn’t a big deal. Yes, it’s awkward with Rika, but even that’s not a major problem. It’s not like Rika and I were close. We were just friendly. We just talked a little bit about books.
And Max and I aren’t really close either. We have a disposable relationship.
I sit in my desk chair, stare at my computer screen, and shake helplessly.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I haven’t even come close to pulling myself together when there’s a knock on my office door.
I can’t be a trembling mess with my boss or coworkers, so I stand up, smooth down my hair, and clear my throat before I walk over to unlock and open the office door.
It’s not Martha. It’s not anyone I work with.
It’s Max. Standing there with a sober expression and windblown hair.
I look behind him quickly but don’t see Rika with him.
“She’s waiting in the car,” he says, clearly reading my expression.
“You shouldn’t have left her. She’ll be upset.”
“She’s not upset. You’re upset.” He glances down the hall when the sound of voices drift toward us. “Can I please come in and talk to you for a minute?”
I nod mutely and then close the door behind him when he steps in. “I’m not upset. I’m just surprised. I had no idea Rika was your daughter.”
“I know that. I didn’t know either. I feel stupid now since I really should have realized it. But I was picturing an older lady from how she talked about you.”
“She probably thought I was old.” I sniff and take a deep breath. “Anyway. I can see the resemblance now. She has the same smile as you.”
“Yeah. She does.” He reaches out and cups my face with one of his big hands. “Sweetheart, I know you’re upset. We can talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not upset. I just feel... weird.”
“Why? It’s not a big deal, is it? That you know Freddie. She likes you.”
“She did. She won’t like me now. She was starting to tell me about how she suspects you have a girlfriend, and she was upset you weren’t telling her.”
“Shit,” he mutters. “She said that?”
“Yes, and now she’s going to know for sure it’s me. She already thought it was the art exhibit woman. And if I was really your girlfriend, I’m sure we could work it out, but I’m not your girlfriend. I’m your... your dispos—”
“Don’t say that,” he interrupts gruffly.
“I know you don’t like the word, but it’s true. That’s what I am. That’s what we are. And don’t you think it’s weird—if Rika is involved?”
He takes a step back from me and looks away, rubbing his jaw likes he’s thinking hard. “I don’t know. I can talk to her. But I don’t think it’s a deal breaker. Haven’t you had a good time with me?”
“Of course I’ve had a good time with you.” My voice breaks, and I have to pause to control it. “But we both know this was temporary, so maybe this is... this is the best time to...”
He snarls. There’s no other word for it. He’s not angry with me, but he’s feeling something deep. “This doesn’t feel to me like the best time to end it.”
“Me either,” I admit.
We stare at each other for a long time, both of us breathing deeply.
“Okay,” I finally say. “We’re not going to figure out anything right now. Why don’t you go back to Rika? You can talk to her and see how she’s feeling. She’s your priority, so her happiness is most important. Then we can both... both think about things.”
He doesn’t answer immediately. “You’re
going to end things, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know! I really don’t. I need some time to think about it. We’ve got a whole week before our next weekend, so we might as well take that time to figure things out. Let’s take a break for this week, and then we can decide what to do next weekend.”
“A break?”
“Yes. A break. Just to think about things.”
“So you don’t want me to call or text you?” This seems to bother him as much as anything else.
But I’m not sure what else he expects from me. He’s the one who told me from the beginning that Rika is the most important thing to him. So he shouldn’t make me feel bad for trying to follow through on that. “I think it’s best if you don’t. That way we can really think.”
He works his lower lip with his teeth. It’s a fidgety gesture that’s not at all like him. He’s usually so relaxed and laid-back. “Okay,” he says at last. “We’ll do that. We’ll talk next Friday after Freddie’s gone to her mother’s.”
“That sounds good.” I manage a smile. “Have a good week.”
“You too.”
I wait, standing with my arms crossed over my chest, until he’s left my office.
Then I close the door and release a few tight sobs.
It’s a necessary release, but it doesn’t last very long. Pretty soon I get back to work.
I have a job to do after all and a life I want to build for myself. A disposable relationship simply can’t get in the way of that.
THE NEXT WEEK IS TERRIBLE.
I hadn’t realized how much I’ve come to rely on interacting with Max during the week. He’d been texting me several times during the day and calling me most evenings to chat. And I never realized how often we communicated and how much it meant to me until the interaction stopped.
I miss him.
Even though I’ve been in the habit of only spending real time with him every other weekend, I still miss him horribly.
It’s very upsetting.
On Friday morning, I’m in an emotional flurry. I still have no idea what’s going to happen with Max, but I’m desperately excited about at least talking to him again. I figure he won’t give me a call until he’s taken Rika up to her mother’s, which doesn’t happen until after five. But by seven or eight this evening, hopefully he’ll give me a call and we can decide whether we’ll get together or not.
