3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Peyton
A shima wastes no time in organizing our first outing with Max. The next evening, we meet up for happy hour. Our gathering spot is at a rooftop bar in an area called Buckhead, which Ashima assured me is actually trendy despite sounding like a hunting lodge. The midsummer heat is holding strong, remaining in the eighties even as the sun disappears behind the buildings. Despite the muggy night air, a mix of cool young professionals fills the bar, which vibrates with a fake nonchalance that does nothing to cover the underlying desire to be seen.
I spot Nick first, seated at a high-top wooden table. Ashima sits across from him with her back to me. Sitting beside Nick is a man, presumably Max. When Nick waves to me, Ashima jolts from her seat, rushing over to greet me with a hug.
She blocks me from going to the table. “Wait. I need to tell you my plan. See that group of women over by the bar?” Ashima tilts her head toward a half dozen women decked out in colorful short dresses and heels. Their plumage is eye-catching. “You’re going to complain that we’re getting horrible service and that we should move over to the bar. I would suggest it, but then Max would see right through it. When we move, we’ll push him to sit next to the women.”
She shakes her shoulders suggestively. “And that’s when the magic will happen—Max will find love.”
Magic will be necessary. Max looks like he just got off a plane from a year-long jungle study. This highly polished group does not seem like the type to be interested in ragtag Max.
Despite his shagginess, his eyes and nose are symmetrical and properly proportioned and the one ear exposed from a partial hair tuck aligns with his nose and is appropriately sized. As for his lips, it’s impossible to tell if he even has a mouth beneath the shaggy mustache merging into his beard. Though I can’t be certain, his jawline looks strong and well balanced with his forehead. Some might call him ruggedly handsome.
But while I’m able to look beyond his disheveled appearance and appreciate his positive attributes, such as noting that his thick hair indicates good health and has a ne’er-do-well appeal, it’s doubtful Ashima’s targets have this same perspective.
“How did you pick this bar?” I ask. “I’m not sure this is the type of place Max would frequent.”
“One of my friends has met two different boyfriends here. Pretty impressive, right?”
“Is this friend single now? Couldn’t you have set her up with Max?”
“Oh no, Max isn’t her type.”
I remain silent and let that statement sit for a moment. Ashima glances over at a well-groomed man in dress pants and a tailored shirt, the grooming antithesis to Max.
“Oh, right. I see the problem.” She bites her lip as she thinks. “Well, we’re here now.”
Ashima claps her hands together in delight. “Let’s get Max to the bar. I have a good feeling about tonight.”
I follow her to the table. When I approach, Max leans back into his chair, separating himself from the circle. I hug Nick, then Ashima introduces me to Max. I wave for a greeting since otherwise I would have to lie across the table to reach him. Instead of acknowledging me, he remains silent and crinkles his face as though I’m a worrisome pest he wishes to swat away. His pissy attitude combined with the absurdity of Ashima’s bar choice tickles my funny bone and a chuckle escapes.
Max narrows his eyes at me.
“Sorry, my boss told me a funny joke when I was leaving and I can’t get it out of my head.” I smile wider as I pull out my chair, proud of my quick thinking. The seat is covered in crumbs and there’s a blob of ketchup. I grab a napkin from the center of the table and clean my chair. Max watches me with a studiousness that only feeds my image of him as a bedraggled scientist hiding away, studying the practices of the natives. Once seated, my eyes are watering a bit from forcing back my laughter.
Nick leans in closer. “This must be good! What’s the joke?”
I throw up my hands and wave away his suggestion. “Oh, it’s silly, stupid really. Ignore me.”
“No, come on. Tell us.” Max twists the end of his beard.
He rests his arms on the table as he leans forward, eyebrows raised in anticipation. “Let’s hear what’s so funny.”
And then I experience the psychological effect of anxiety blocking my ability to access even a single funny thing that has happened in my life. Somebody at some point must have said something humorous to me—I’ll take even a silly pun at this point.
“Oh, well, it’s not actually funny, more goofy.” I clear my throat. “What did the gorilla call his first wife?”
Max frowns. “I don’t know. What?”
“His prime-mate.”
Ashima overdoes her fake laugh, and Nick gives a polite smile.
“Yep. Just as I thought. Pathetic and desperate for a man,” Max says.
My mouth falls open. “Pardon?”
“You came in here all giggly, trying to flirt. It was a nice attempt, but I’m not on the market.”
“Nor am I. And I’d have to be extremely desperate to consider dating you,” I snap, while Ashima is shouting at Max to behave himself.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed about the giggling and the stupid joke and all that. I can tell it’s been a while for you.” He leans back and steeples his fingers as he studies me. “But can I give you a little advice? Lose the mortician outfit.”
“Maxim Benedict! That is no way to speak to my friend,” Ashima scolds.
I glance down at my clothes. “Excuse me for not changing after work. And where do you come off given your attire? You look like Tarzan after a lion attack.”
“Okay. That was funny. But still not interested.” He leans across the table and jabs at it with his finger in front of Ashima. “I told you a hundred times, leave me alone. Don’t set me up. Don’t meddle in my life. But did you listen? No, because here’s Ms. Button-up. Just because she dresses like she runs a funeral parlor doesn’t mean I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Ashima.”
“Funeral parlor? It’s not even a black top.” I point to one of the navy buttons of my shirt with its pearly reflection clearly being blue. My top is the most basic of business wear, with small buttons and short sleeves that end with no cuff or cut to make them interesting. I’m a postdoc, three weeks out from graduation, doing a summer internship with a stipend that doesn’t even amount to minimum wage. I can’t afford clothes with style because then they might go out of style. But despite being no-nonsense, I’m positive a navy top with black slacks can be worn together outside of funeral homes.
Ashima glares at him. “Max! What has come over you? If you want to be a slob and come here high, that’s one thing. But don’t talk to my friend like that.”
Nick places his hand on Max’s shoulder. “Let’s keep it civil.” His fingers are spread clawlike, pressing into Max’s shirt.
“My outfit is much better than your clothing choice.” I put my hands on my hips and sit straighter. “And you reel in your ego, because I was not flirting with you.”
“My shirt is vintage.” Max dusts off his shoulder. “And sure, you two were whispering away about the weather.”
“Dude, enough,” Nick says, his hand once again on Max’s shoulder.
I slap both my hands on the table. “Fine, Max, do you want to know what we were talking about? Hmm, do you really want to know? Because I’ll tell you.” I stretch out the
“you” as a hint at what I found so amusing.
“Chill.” Max lifts his shoulder to shrug Nick’s hand away, but this time Nick ignores the gesture, his fingers gripping harder. “Whatever. I don’t care.”
“I’ll tell you.” Again, I stretch out the last word.
“It’s okay,” says Ashima. She spreads her arms between Max and me as though we’re fighters being told to return to our corners. “Let’s all pause and take a deep breath. And Max, you owe Peyton an apology.”
He rolls his eyes but says nothing. I’m itching to tell Max that I was laughing at him, that he’s a ridiculous buffoon. Let him say one more rude thing and this time I won’t hold back.
Both of us remain silent. Ashima relaxes and rests against her chair back.
I need a reset. “I’m going to the restroom.”
“Me too.” Ashima bounds up from the table and follows behind me.
Thankfully, we find the whitewashed wooden stalls unoccupied, their slatted doors slung open, and likewise no one’s primping at the marble-topped sinks. I release a huge breath.
“Ashima! Have you lost your mind? How can you stand to live with him?”
“To be fair, that’s the rudest he’s ever been. I had no idea he’d act like that.” She plants her hand on the vanity top and stares at her reflection. “But maybe I am losing it. He’s pushed me over the edge!”
“There’s no way you’re going to fix him up with anyone. I don’t care how many people you recruit.” My anger ebbs and I’m struck again with the absurdity of Ashima trying to hook Max up with one of the slick, fashionable women at the bar. And then his behavior. I can’t help but laugh. “You really thought this would work?”
“I know. It’s bad. I guess I’m the desperate woman.” She gives me a half smile and hugs me. We hold each other, laughter taking away our frustrations.
“I’m desperate. And stubborn. The problem is this place. You’re right—this isn’t Max’s thing. But if we go somewhere more chill, then I think he’ll open up. Please don’t give up on me. We can do this.”
“You need to let this go. You’re taking this to next-level ridiculousness. Tell him to move out!”
“But Max is family. What kind of woman would I be if I came between Nick and his brother?”
If I were going off my own family experience, I’d tell Ashima that her concern is unnecessary—family isn’t all that. I was eight the first time I saw my mother’s father, and he was in a casket, dead from alcohol poisoning. That was also the one time I met my mother’s brother and their mother. I remember little about them, except that they had reminded me of scarecrows with their thin, weathered faces.
But I’ve spent holidays with Ashima’s family and know they’re more tightly knit than most. With her three siblings, parents, and grandmother living together and extended family that drops in often, her family home is always buzzing with people and voices. Her home’s a place where there are no secrets. My mother’s house is filled with nothing but the unspoken.
I have no idea where Max and Nick’s family fits between these two extremes. But this doesn’t matter, since none of the families would condone Max’s behavior.
“What kind of woman would you be, Ashima? Reasonable. You’d be acting like a rational human being by telling Nick how you feel and explaining why you can’t live with Max anymore. And Nick’s family wouldn’t hold it against you.”
“But they don’t see this side of him. And Nick’s all about family. Look, he invited Max to stay with us to help him out. Nick looks out for Max. If I can’t make things work, he’ll lose confidence in our relationship. Things will slowly fall apart. I’ll become that girlfriend that no one in the family likes. They’ll all talk behind my back. I should save us both the torture and break up with him now.” She wrings her hands while turning to me. “But I can’t because I love him.”
I pull her into a hug. “Can we take a step back here?” Ashima often goes to the most extreme conclusion. Max is putting a wedge between her and Nick, so she jumps to the worst-case outcome. “Have you even hinted to Nick how you feel?”
“No, because I don’t want to pressure him. And I do want to help Max. I feel bad for him. Or at least I did before that performance. Maybe I just need space from all of this. I shouldn’t have let my apartment go.”
“I’d love to get you back as my roommate.” We both smile. Our introduction was sharing a horrible dorm room freshman year. The old building lacked air conditioning and our room was the smallest on the floor, but it’s where I met my best friend, making it probably the best place I have ever lived.
“What about Max as your roommate?” She laughs.
“Not funny. But I’ll happily pack up his belongings when you kick him out.” I take her hands in mine. Ashima asked me to help her find a girlfriend for Max, but I think my mission to get him out of the apartment is more direct. I must help Ashima voice her concerns. “Promise me you’ll talk to Nick. If he knew how much all of this was stressing you out, things would change.”
“Let’s try one little party first—a nice, chill event for Max, something more his thing. You can’t quit on me after one minor bump. You still have to prove to me you know things.”
Her eyes plead with me. This is such a bad idea, but she’s right that I’m being a quitter. I must persist. “Let the good times roll.”
Max
Ashima really ticks me off. Nick and I watch her chase after Peyton. As soon as they’re out of earshot, Nick punches my shoulder, dead arming me.
“Ouch! Watch it!” I shake out my arm.
“What the hell was that? Where do you get off? I can’t even wrap my head around how you just acted.”
“Chill. Ashima earned some pushback. I told her to lay off.”
“Don’t blame this on Ashima. Peyton’s here as her friend, that’s all.” His eyes shift. He’s not looking as confident as he sounds. “And even if I’m wrong and Ashima is trying to hook you up with Peyton, then big freaking deal! Poor you, having to get a drink with an attractive woman.”
“If I don’t want to, then I don’t want to.” And I can’t help it if there’s something about Peyton that bugs me. Then it hits me why I found her mere presence irritating.
Tris.
Even though they don’t particularly look alike, there’s something very much Tris about Peyton. It’s not the face. They’re both pretty in their own way, but Tris is all around more done up. Not the body, either. Tris is curvier and definitely dresses better—she wouldn’t have buttoned a shirt all the way to the top like it’s a straitjacket.
But there’s something, and it’s bugging me. “Did Peyton remind you of Tris? You noticed it, right?” I ask Nick.
“No. What the hell?”
“But did you see how she wiped the seat before she sat?”
“So what? My chair was kinda gross too.”
“You’re full of it.” He didn’t even look at his seat. None of us did. He just doesn’t want to cut me any slack. Forget him—there’s something similar. It hit me in the gut as soon as she entered.
That’s it! They both walk the same.
Straight back, tits out, all prim and proper. I’ve always had a thing for the cute librarian look, and both Tris and Peyton carry themselves as though they’re hurrying off to shelve some books.
“They walk the same,” I tell Nick.
His eyes go wide, but he looks at the table while shaking his head. “You gotta let that go.”
Shit, if I had the power, I would’ve erased Tris from my mind right when we broke up. Instead, I find her constantly creeping into my thoughts. “I was kind of an ass to Ashima and Peyton, but at least now Ashima will leave me alone. She had to learn the hard way to not fix me up.”
“When will you grow up, Max? My whole life I’ve been cleaning up after you. I’m not babysitting you anymore.”
“Get real. You did nothing but beat me up as a kid.” I grab my beer and lean back.
“Whatever, momma’s boy. In fact, what would Mom say if she were here?”
I don’t even want to think about the lecture I’d get, so I ignore him.
He takes the bottle from my hands. “Stop being a jerk. Peyton gets a proper apology when she returns or you can go home and pack. And I don’t care if Ashima thinks I’m an ass for kicking out my little brother. It’s time you get your act together.”
There’s nothing I can say back to that. I was a jerk, and I’m not motivated at the moment to look for my own place, so I eat humble pie while I wait for Ashima and Peyton to return.
When they do, I let them sit before I blurt out, “I want to apologize.”
They both turn to me and stare. I wait for one of them to say they accept my apology, but instead they keep staring. Fine. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
Then they keep staring at me.
“So that’s it,” I say.
“That was very touching.” Peyton puts her hands over her heart.
A snarky response is on the tip of my tongue, but I let it go. Our waiter drops by to check on us. Ashima, Nick, and I ask for refills. Peyton scans a cocktail menu and points at the first drink. “That sounds good.”
Once the waiter leaves, there’s an awkward silence. Nick elbows me. We stare one another down. If he wants me to apologize further, it’s not happening. Time to get this conversation started in another direction.
“So Peyton, Ashima told me you’re a primatologist. What do you do?”
“I’ve been busy putting together a grant proposal.” Her flat tone matches her boring answer. She works with monkeys. There must be something more interesting.
“That’s it? Paperwork. Aren’t you studying them too? I don’t know—hiding in some bushes, watching monkeys jerk off all day or something cool like that.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I do.” She narrows her eyes. “You’re a software developer, right? Do you hide in your little home office and jerk off to porn all day?”
This cracks everyone up and I laugh along. That was a decent burn.
Ashima bobs her head. “Not so far off.”
I throw up a hand. “Hey, nothing wrong with that. And if I could watch porn all day, that’d be the best job ever.”
“Max, come on.” Nick shoots me a look of warning. “You’re on thin ice.”
Crap, the threat to kick me out again. I hate it that he can hang this over my head. “Sorry, Peyton, for my rude comment. I’ve been a bit out of it lately. I guess I don’t know how to act in front of a pretty girl anymore.”
“Woman. I’ve gone through puberty, so I’m a woman. And your compliment won’t work on me. I won’t fall for the age-old bullshit that a guy can be rude, but if he pats you on the head and says you’re pretty, you turn into a gushy puddle. All women are more than their looks.”
I swear the entire bar hushed to hear Peyton tear into my ass.
“Okay…so, what, guys can’t say women are pretty anymore?”
“No, they can’t get away with being an ass in the first place. Pretty is no longer a get out of jail free card. The lesson for you, Max, is don’t be a jerk.”
Nick takes a swig of beer. “This is turning fun. We should do it again.”
“So fun.” Ashima bites back a smile. At least she’s enjoying Peyton ripping me a new one.
The waiter returns with our order, and Peyton lurches sideways in her seat toward the tray as the waiter’s hand swirls around the top of the drinks. He picks out Peyton’s cocktail first. Smart move. She’s looking a bit wild. She clutches the drink to her bosom as though she’s Gollum reunited with Precious.
After I’m handed my beer, I say, “Okay, Peyton. Woman. I take back my compliment, but the apology can still stand? Right?”
“Yes. Fine. Apology accepted.” She stares me down hard. She’s one scary chick in a kinda hot way. “Ashima, I was thinking about how you promised to introduce me to more of your friends.” Though she’s talking to Ashima, she doesn’t take her eyes off me, like she’s aiming to take me out.
“Right, I did,” Ashima says.
“You should throw a party.” Peyton continues to watch me. “Max, you’d come. How could you not? It would be where you’re living.”
“Sorry. Not interested.” I stretch my arms up above me, cracking my back, and then rest them on top of my head.
“That’s a classic dominance move.” She sits up straighter. “Subconsciously, you’re attempting to appear bigger. Are you afraid of me or the prospect of a social gathering?”
“You’re kinda intense, but I’m not scared.” I drop my arms to prove my point.
“Then why won’t you come to a simple party or let Ashima set you up on a date? Perhaps it’s all women that terrify you?”
“If you’re a representation of Ashima’s friends, do I really need to explain why I don’t want her to hook me up?”
“Hey, my friends are awesome,” Ashima says.
“Don’t worry, none of Ashima’s friends would be interested.” Peyton crosses her arms over her chest.
“What kind of body language is that? Huh?” I point at her arms. “You’re shielding yourself. I get it. The party is an excuse to get with me, and now you’re hurt that I’ve turned you down? I’m sorry if I’m breaking your heart.”
For the first time, she gives me a genuine smile. Okay, that was nice.
“No, my heart is perfectly fine. With everything that’s transpired, it’s clear there’s nothing between us.” She picks up her drink and takes a sip through the straw. “And I still think you’re chicken. Bok. Bok.”
I’m able to see what she’s doing from a mile away. “Nice try, but no.”
“A party could be fun.” Nick winks at Ashima.
“Oh! Yay!” Ashima dances in her seat. “And I could invite some eligible bachelors for you, Peyton.”
Boom—in one snap, Peyton’s face drops. “Please don’t invite anyone for me. You know I’m not looking for a STIMP this summer.”
“Still not over Lawrence?” Ashima asks.
Who cares about this Lawrence guy? What the hell is a STIMP? That sounds like some kind of S&M bondage thing.
“No. I’m okay. I do miss Lawrence. It’s a shame he ended things, but I’m okay.”
“You were with Lawrence for quite a while. What happened?” Ashima asks.
“Turns out he didn’t like being called a STIMP. This revealed other structural issues in our relationship that ultimately proved to be insurmountable.”
That word again! “STIMP?” I ask.
Peyton straightens her collar. “Short-Term Intercourse Monogamy Partner, or ‘STIMP’ for short. It’s an acronym I coined.”
That’s way less cool than I hoped. I drag my hand down my face. “Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but that’s the worst acronym ever.”
“Ah, but you’re not appreciating the transparency the term brings. Marriage is an outdated institution and boyfriend has an expectation of leading to marriage. Calling each other STIMPs clarifies the temporal nature of the relationship.”
“Still no to marriage? I thought you wanted something more too,” Ashima says. She spins the ice in her drink with a straw. “What about BAE?”
“Eek. Worse than boyfriend.” Peyton leans away from Ashima as though she has cooties. “Before Anyone Else? Come on.”
“I can’t believe I’m asking this, but why include ‘intercourse’ in the acronym?” I ask. “Doesn’t monogamy already cover that sex is involved?”
“I needed a vowel. I could have used anal or oral or erotic…”
“Anal, always go with anal. Then Larry would’ve stayed around,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “ Lawrence was fine with STIMP. At first. But when I introduced him as my STIMP at a party, he said with noticeable hostility that I should just call him my sperm donor.” She pauses. “But despite his protest, I believed STIMP was still negotiable. The deal breaker was later when I made the mistake of telling Lawrence I wouldn’t use his sperm because he has a fair amount of alcoholism in his family. I thought it was clear that since I also have alcoholism in my family, that we wouldn’t make a good reproductive match, but instead he took it personally.”
I give her a thumbs-up. “Good thing he’s an ex-STIMP.” But I feel for this guy. What a kick to the balls having the woman you love say she doesn’t want to be with you long-term and doesn’t think you should ever have kids.
“Peyton, love.” Ashima puts her hand on Peyton’s. “Stick with boyfriend. Everybody knows boyfriend means temporary. Either they’ll become an ex or a fiancé.”
“True, but a STIMP never becomes a fiancé. I think that distinction is important. I don’t know. Maybe it’s not worth the hassle.”
“Definitely not worth the hassle. And who knows?” Ashima waves her hand, showing off her empty ring finger. “One day you might decide to waste your time on a pointless marriage.”
“That’s about as likely as you adopting my acronym.”
“Except I’m more persistent.” Ashima looks at Peyton and then at me. “Just you wait. I’ll find you both love matches yet!”
Peyton hangs her head and shakes it in response. I have to hand it to Ashima, this is fun. I can’t resist the opportunity to toy with someone. “Okay, let’s have that party, a little something for Peyton to welcome her to the city.”
This perks up Peyton. Her mouth opens as if to shout out no , but she stops and folds her arms on the table. “If that’s what’s required, then let’s do this.”
Ashima claps her hands and gives Peyton a big hug. I have a feeling I’m going to regret giving Ashima the green-light to start up her parade of friends. But with Peyton as the grand marshal, it might turn out to be an entertaining show.