I haven’t seen Max, or anyone for that matter, since the morning after I arrived. I’ve even tried waking up at the same time in order to accidentally run into him, but he’s never there. When he gave me the rule to stay out of his way, I guess he meant it. It sucks not having anyone to talk to, but I can’t expect him to drop everything because I’m bored and lonely. The guy already opened up his home to me. Asking him to do that was already asking more than I should’ve.
On my third night here, Max came home with a girl. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover the experience. I could hear her giggling out in the hall, and I remember having to pee so bad, but I refused to go until I heard the sound of Max’s bedroom door shut. I thought I was safe at that point, and quietly tip-toed to the bathroom so the two of them wouldn’t hear me. Just as I reached for the handle, the girl walked out into the hallway, looking like she stepped off the pages of a Victoria Secret’s catalog. Her strawberry blonde hair fell in sexy, tousled waves around her face, and her catlike eyes were glassy from alcohol.
“Oh, excuse me,” she said, swallowing a hiccup. “I dropped my purse out here. Somewhere.”
My face went hot. Even so, I looked around, trying to help her find her purse. I spotted the black bag at the corner of the hall, its contents spilled all over the floor—including one hefty pack of condoms. “Over there.”
She picked it up, shoving all the spilled items back inside. “Thanks. You’re the best,” she says, beaming. Then, using the purse to cover the front of her sheer negligee, she hurried off to retreat back inside Max’s bedroom.
I heard the girl asking Max inside who I was. “Please tell me she isn’t a family member.”
“No, she’s not.”
“Then who is she?”
“Nobody,” he said, their voices fading out.
I placed my hands over my cheeks, shaking my head. He’s got a life, dummy. You can’t step into it just because you left yours behind.
The voice in my head is right.
I need to get out there and find my own life. Staying in and feeling sorry for myself won’t suffice forever. I’ll drive myself crazy. At least I have the internship starting next week. It’s for an online magazine, a thrilling opportunity to finally put my foot in the door somewhere. This is what I busted my ass for through college, and I can’t wait to start. Maybe I can even make some friends while I’m at it.
A few days pass, however, and I’m still stuck in the same routine. Depression sucks on so many levels, the worst being the inability to drag myself out of it.
I fall asleep watching TV, but something wakes me up. Groggily, I open my eyes. Soft amber light shines through the cracks in my curtains. I let out a sigh. The days here seem so long.
There’s a light rap at the door, apparently the source of what woke me up. “Come in,” I call out, sitting up.
“Sorry. Didn’t realize you were sleeping.” It’s Stephanie, the orange-haired girl. She peeks around the door, letting more light spill inside the room.
“It’s okay. What time is it?”
“Almost six.” She steps inside, hesitant. “You hungry? I’m making a food run and could use the company. Since you’re the new roomie, I figured it would be a good chance to meet you. Officially.”
“You live here too?” I ask, covering my mouth as a yawn slips out. I’m not hungry, but it might be nice to get out of the house.
“No, but Trevor does. He’s Max’s cousin,” she explains. “And now that my boyfriend is officially living with another woman, I have to make sure I like you.”
I blink, not sure what to say to that.
“And…what if you don’t?”
She taps a finger over her lips. “Hmm, let’s just hope I do. For your sake,” she says with a playful wink. “Come on, outta bed, girl. The food will be worth it.”
“All right. Give me five minutes.”
Ten minutes later I’m inside Stephanie’s Honda Civic, music blasting, and we’re headed to a place she describes as serving the “best damn Cuban sandwiches you’ll ever try.” She smokes the whole time we’re in the car, but it doesn’t bother me, because she keeps the windows down. By the time we pull into the parking lot of the restaurant, my heart is beating faster, and I realize how much I need to simply get out. To feel some excitement.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling.
“For what? You haven’t tried the food yet.”
“For bringing me here. I was going a little stir-crazy.”
She laughs, and we both get out of the car. “I remember that feeling. Starting out in a brand new city—that can be hard. I moved here almost three years ago from a small town in Pennsylvania. I had Trevor, but adjusting was still a challenge.”
“The two of you moved here together?”
She nods, opening the door. We move aside to let an elderly lady go in before us. “Well, it was more like I followed him. I didn’t want to at first, but I didn’t want to live in PA without him—oh man, that smells good.”
As we step inside, I smell garlic, onions, peppers, and some type of spice I can’t name. My stomach does a little flip, growling. I didn’t even realize I was hungry until now. Matter of fact, I can’t remember the last time I ate. Lunch? No…breakfast? I think I only had a cup of coffee.
Stephanie and I stand in a small line of people waiting to order. She purses her lips as she stares at the menu, making her Monroe piercing sparkle.
“Did that hurt?” I ask, pointing to her lips.
“The piercing? Only a little. There’s a bunch of nerve endings in your lips, so it makes you sneeze a lot. I must’ve sneezed, I don’t know, maybe twenty times after it was over.” She laughs, and then looks at me curiously. “Why? Do you want one?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Too afraid of needles.”
“Ah, it’s not that bad.”
We order our food, and not too much later we find ourselves seated at an outdoor table. There’s a drool-worthy Cuban sandwich in front of me, and it tastes just as good as it looks. Delicious.
“So why don’t you live at the house with Trevor?” I ask Stephanie between bites. “Wouldn’t it be more convenient?”
She wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Yeah, I guess. But I’m kind of old fashioned. I want more of a commitment before we take that step.”
“Like a ring?” I ask, then shake my head at myself. “Sorry. I have a bad habit of asking personal questions. You don’t have to answer that.”
“No, it’s okay,” she says, waving her hand in the air. “And yes, a ring would be amazing. I mean, we practically live together anyway. If I’m not at his place, then he’s at mine. The thing is, Trevor came here because Max needs him. ’Course Max doesn’t think he needs him,” she pauses to roll her eyes, “but he does. Desperately.”
Stephanie looks at me, seeing my confusion, and explains. “I can’t really talk about it; it’s not my place. Max’s life is just…well let’s just say he hasn’t had an easy one handed to him. He doesn’t let many people get close, and if Trevor and I weren’t here, no one would be.”
I stop chewing, watching the way Stephanie’s eyes glaze over. If I’m not mistaken, there’s genuine sadness there. I’m curious to know what she means by that, but the other part of me remembers that I need to respect Max’s wishes. No personal stories, he said. Whether or not it comes from him, I shouldn’t be digging into his business.
“Anyway,” Stephanie continues. “I can’t move forward until I know Trevor is in a place where he can give me a hundred percent, and he just can’t do that right now. Sometimes I wish I knew exactly when that moment was coming, but I’m okay with the way things are between us. For now. One day I’ll get my ring.”
I nod, pretending like I understand, but the truth is that I don’t. Miles and I never had any looming questions; we had everything mapped out in advance. We planned to move into a place of our own after graduation, right after we got engaged. Sometimes I wonder if the missing spontaneity was the reason why
he fell in love with someone else. With me, there were no surprises. No excitement. Nothing to look forward to.
After gulping down some water, I ask Stephanie, “So how do you like living here?”
“It’s a helluva lot warmer than Pennsylvania, that’s for damn sure.” She smiles, and the mood instantly lifts. “Miami has its charms. It’s always sunny. Lots of culture. Beautiful beaches, good food—what more could a girl ask for?” She pauses, giving me a funny look. “Why hasn’t Max taken you out and shown you the city yet?”
I shift in my seat, not sure what to say. “Oh, we’re not friends like that. He’s just helping me out by letting me crash at his house for a while.”
Her brows pinch together thoughtfully. “That’s what I don’t get, how you fit into the picture. I believe you when you say you’re not friends. Max is limited on those. But you must be someone to him.”
“No. Honestly. I just helped him out once, and he’s returning the favor. That’s all.”
“If you say so.” She sips her soda, dropping the subject, but I can tell she still doesn’t believe me. I don’t tell her how Max and I met since I’m not sure how open he is about it. She might not know what happened.
We finish the rest of our food, and then head back to the car. I’m stuffed, but it feels good to be so full. I feel full in more ways too, full of hope for myself, being one of them. Unknowingly, Stephanie has made me feel like I can make it on my own here, that I can do this.
That night I stay up late, working on a paper for my Critical Writing class with a renewed sense of energy. I want to get as much schoolwork done as I can so I can spend the next day job hunting. It’s almost two o’clock in the morning when I hear a noise coming from down stairs. I stop typing, pushing my laptop aside.
There’s another noise, this one sounding like the front door. I get up and cross the room to the window, peeking out the thick curtains.
The motion lights turn on, and I see Max heading for his car. He gets in, and I’m expecting to hear the engine turn over, but it doesn’t. The car slowly rolls in reverse to the end of the driveway. That’s really…strange.
Once he’s outside the gate, far from any possibility of being heard, he starts the car up and drives away. I shake my head at the curious behavior, wondering why he was trying to be so secretive about leaving the house in the middle of the night. He could’ve been trying to be polite, I suppose. Maybe he didn’t want to wake anyone. Somehow though, I get the feeling that’s not the case.
NINE
Char
I sit in the office of Sunset Press, waiting patiently to be called. I’ve gone all out for today’s interview, wearing my brand new pinstriped navy blazer. I also spent an hour in the bathroom straightening my hair. I may be young, but I’m determined to look and act the part of a professional.
While waiting to be called, I wonder about weird, random things, like whether I chose the right font for my résumé, or if I put on enough concealer to cover the circles beneath my eyes. These circles are Max’s fault. The past few nights I’ve stayed up late, watching him leave the house in the same strange way he did the first time. It’s always around 2:00 a.m., and he always pulls the car out in neutral, waiting until he’s on the road to start the engine.
It’s so freaking disturbing.
I wish it didn’t bother me, but I can’t help wondering where he’s going during those late night disappearances. One theory has crossed my mind: that he’s a serial killer. (I know, ridiculous. Even now, I’m rolling my eyes at myself.) My mind always jumps to the worst conclusions—I blame my parents for this. They made me watch way too many crime shows while growing up. None of my brothers got the same treatment. They saved the overprotective, borderline neurotic warnings and horror stories for their only daughter, clearly aiming to scare the living shit out of me. It worked.
Max being a serial killer is a long shot, but it is a possibility. And if I’m right, that leaves me with three options.
Keep living in the same house with him, and potentially wind up decapitated.
Live on the streets with no food or shelter.
Return home to Mommy and Daddy, where I will forever be living in the shadow of the person I used to be.
I don’t have to think about it for long. I’ll take my chances with option A, thank you very much.
“Miss Hart?”
My body jerks a little. I’d been in my own little world, thinking about Max. I look up to see a petite Hispanic woman frowning at me. There’s an ID card attached to her belt, which has the name Minerva Rodriguez on it.
“Yes, that’s me,” I say, standing up. Hoping to radiate enthusiasm, I smile widely and hold out my hand. “I’m Charlotte Hart.”
She doesn’t shake my hand. Instead she looks down at a clipboard she’s holding, and rifles through various papers. “I’m a little confused. You see, I’m the hiring manager, and you’re not on my schedule.”
“I’m here for the internship,” I explain. “I was approved three weeks ago. I can show you the email I was sent.”
“Oh,” she says, still frowning. “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake, Miss Hart. There is no internship available at the moment.”
Even as I feel my stomach begin to sink, I keep smiling. She’s wrong, I tell myself. There is an internship, and she’s the one making a mistake.
“Of course there is,” I assure her. “For the newsroom staff…I received an approval letter. When I called to confirm, they gave me this appointment slot.”
“No, I’m sorry. That position has already been filled.”
I stare at the woman with wide, unblinking eyes. “But I moved here from Gainesville,” I say, my voice sounding as incredulous as I feel.
“Someone should’ve called to let you know. I apologize.”
Her apology is anything but sincere. She looks annoyed that she’s the one dealing with me. Turning her back, she walks away, leaving me standing there in shock. I look around at the room, noticing the front desk receptionist looking at me over the rim of her glasses with pity in her eyes. This can’t be happening.
I hurry to catch up with the hiring manager, tapping her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, um, Minerva. I don’t think you heard me correctly. I said I moved in order to work here—”
She spins around, huffily. “Miss Hart, I have other appointments. You’ll need to leave now—”
“—and I committed myself to this company because we made an agreement. When you make an agreement with someone, and that person drops everything in order to be here, you can’t just tell them that you made a mistake.”
“This is extremely inappropriate—”
“You can’t just tell them that you chose someone else either. Dammit, I packed up my life, and I left everything behind! The least you can do is give me a trial period to prove myself.”
Minerva Rodriguez waves a hand at the receptionist. “Patty, call security please.”
“Are you freaking serious?” I’m acutely aware that I’m yelling, but I don’t care.
“I know your type,” Minerva points a finger in my face, sharpening her eyes. “Little miss perfect, right? I bet everything has been handed to you since the day you were born, but let me fill you in on a secret. Not anymore. This is the real world, princess, and in the real world you don’t get to demand your place in life. You earn it—Freddy, Eric, thank God you’re both here. Please escort this crazy woman out of here.”
“Crazy?”
Someone’s hand nudges my elbow. “Come on, miss. Don’t make this difficult.”
Minerva crosses her arms, leveling me with a smug look as she watches security escort me out of the building. I wish I could think of a good comeback or at least a vile name to call her, but I’m speechless. I can’t believe this is happening.
Once we’re outside, one of the security guards offers me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, honey, but I have to let you know that you’ve been banned from the property. If you come back, you’ll be arrested.�
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“Believe me,” I snap, sounding like a bratty child. “I won’t ever come back here,”
“Okay. Just giving you warning. I don’t want to see you in trouble.” He winks at me.
Is he actually flirting with me? Right now, of all times? Jesus, he’s got to be kidding me.
“Go back to your job,” I say, waving him on. “I’m leaving.”
I walk away, on the verge of tears, but I refuse to cry. This is beyond humiliating, but I can’t let what happened back there bring me down.
Everything happens for a reason, right? Or is that just something people say to make you feel better?
The hiring manager was wrong about one thing. Everything hasn’t been handed to me. My parents were well off, but I worked my ass off through high school and college at everything I did. Mediocre was never enough. When I put effort into something, I do it with my whole being. Yet that sour-faced lady took one look at me and made a snap judgment. I’m still so pissed off just thinking about it that I could scream right here outside the Sunset Press building.
“Charlotte, wait!”
I turn around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. There’s a young girl running toward me. It’s Patty, the receptionist.
“I’m so sorry about what happened,” she says, breathless. “Some higher-up wanted their nephew to get the internship, and they pulled some strings.”
“Figures,” I mutter angrily.
Patty hands me a piece of paper with several names and phone numbers scribbled on it. “My advice would be to go to one of the trendier, up-and-coming online news sources. I’ve listed several for you located here in Miami. The one I like best is the Gritty Voice. They’re a huge success with the millennial crowd, and they’ve been nominated for several awards. If I were you, I’d check to see if they’re hiring.”
I nod, looking over the list. “Thanks, Patty. That’s really kind.”
Rebounding Page 5
