17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Max
I pick up Tris at her hotel. I’m right on time and arrive moments before she emerges through the outside lobby doors. She’s wearing this orangish-red dress I remember seeing before. And she’s carrying this huge purse that has a loud floral print. All the color looks good on her. She’s rocking a beachy, fun vibe, which I find annoying. Probably because we broke up in Florida, so it sucks that she’s wearing something that reminds me of this.
Whatever. I need to get over it. It’s not a big deal. I let out a deep breath and my anger floats off. Good for Tris that she looks so full of life.
She recognizes my car and gives me a half wave before beelining over. I do the gentlemanly thing and get out to open the door for her. As I come around the car, she does a double take.
“Max? Holy crap! You look so different.”
I run my hand over my hair, which I’ve been maintaining in a buzz. “I may have lost a bet.”
“Oh, wow.” She gives me a hug, then holds onto my arms, leaning back with her lips puckered, checking out my lack of hair. “I don’t know. You may have won. This is a good look on you.”
“Eh, it’s okay. Good for the summer. Cooler.” I jerk the passenger door open.
She slides in and then looks up at me. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too,” I say and there’s some truth to my words, but this also feels anticlimactic. My palms were sweating on the drive over, but now that it’s not some mind-blowing moment, I’m not sure why I was so worked up or why I was ever so mad at her.
I get in the car. She fastens her seatbelt, but then returns to staring at me with her mouth hanging open. “If we had passed in the street, I probably would’ve walked on by. I can’t believe it.” She runs her hand over my cheek and tugs at my now beardless chin. “You look great. Truly. Really great.”
Her gaze takes me all in, and I sense I’m checking off lots of boxes for her. I would take it as a compliment if it wasn’t so fucking insulting.
Okay, maybe the anger isn’t one hundred percent gone.
“I see you’re back to carrying a big purse,” I try to say casually, but it comes out flat.
She pats the top of the huge bag perched on her lap. “Yep. Turns out I can’t do the small purse thing.”
“Right.” I can’t think of anything else to say, so I turn up the music.
I take her to a low-key fusion restaurant on the west side with easy parking and cornhole on the patio. There’s a fifteen-minute wait, so I put our names on the list and Tris and I watch the cornhole players. We chat about her flight, but then fall into an awkward silence.
When a set of boards open, I collect the bags for us. “What color do you want? Red or green?”
“Oh, I’ll just watch you.”
I can see the gears spinning in her head, calculating how many germs are on the bags. “You can wash your hands. There’s a bathroom.”
“Oh, all right.” She takes two red bags from me and picks up the remaining two from the ground. “These go better with my outfit.”
I chuckle. “Should we make a bet? Make things more interesting?”
“Definitely not. I’ve played all of one time. If I can get even one bag to stay on the board, I’ll be happy.”
Her first toss doesn’t even land near the board, but before I can gloat that she was smart to not make a bet, the next bag hits the top with a satisfying thwack and sticks. Her third slides into the hole.
“Sure you only played once?”
“Pure luck.” She beams at me. “But watch—next one will completely miss.”
It doesn’t. Instead, it lands above the hole, slides to teeter on the edge, but manages to stay on the board. She claps her hands.
“Not bad. I should’ve been the one saying no bets.” I leave her side for the rear of the opposite board. “So how’s DC?”
“Okay, I guess. The job is good. I like my coworkers.” She shrugs. “But I haven’t made any real friends yet. And dating is the worst. I thought online dating would be fun. Boy, was I wrong.”
“So that’s why you’re here? I’m better than the alternative?” I chuck one of my bags and shoot right over the top. Should’ve taken a deep breath first.
She picks up the bag and walks it over to me. “Redo?”
I can’t tell if she is intentionally blurring the meaning of her question. Until a couple of days ago, with things going great with Peyton, I wouldn’t have entertained a redo. I definitely wasn’t thinking I should see Tris , not even when hanging out with Shayna. I’d like to say this whole evening is pointless, but then I’m here, and she’s here, so there probably is some point to all of this.
“I don’t need a redo. Your first toss wasn’t so hot, either. Watch and learn as I sink the next three.” The burlap sack of my next bag is worn soft and thinning at the edges, threatening to come apart. I give this one a softer toss, which seems to be the ticket. It stays in place in the middle of the board where it landed. “See. And I’ll sink the next two.”
I swing my arm back and forth, testing the weight of the bag. “Online dating, huh?” I told myself I wouldn’t ask about her love life, and especially Richard, but now that she’s confirmed she’s not with him, I can’t think of anything else. I release the bag and it lands with a slide toward the hole, but stops short. “What about Richard?”
She squeezes the bag in her hand as though it’s a stress ball. “Ugh, don’t even remind me. I’m so over him. I didn’t even call him back.”
And that catches my full attention. I turn toward her. “What do you mean? We broke up because you wanted to get back together with him and then you didn’t even call?”
“No, we broke up because you didn’t want me to talk to him.” She shifts back and forth over her feet. Then she tosses my bag that she’s been holding and again it lands short of the board.
“That wouldn’t have counted,” I say.
“We’re not keeping score.”
The hell we aren’t. “Then if you didn’t even talk to him, why’d you leave things the way they were between us?”
“I realized I needed time to get my shit straight. Things got so weird and jumbled with Richard and you and…and I needed time.” She shrugs. “But I’m in a better place now. And when you texted, I thought since things aren’t so weird now, I should see. You know?”
“Huh.” So, she’s here for a redo. If Peyton was here, she’d be throwing this in my face. Well, not so fast, Peyton. Who says I want a redo? The night is still young. This is no slam dunk.
“So, tell me about the losers you’ve been dating,” I say.
Tris points at my bag. “You’re holding up the game.”
I aim to knock the third bag in while also sinking the fourth and succeed in getting the third through the hole. The fourth stays stubbornly on the board.
We tied. I point at our boards, a bit surprised at how similar our tosses ended, but Tris is already moving off toward the bathroom. When she returns, the table is ready.
We order our drinks and then silently study the menu. She asks about Nick, but I notice she doesn’t ask about me. Things are off between us, but I don’t know how to make it feel right, and I’m done trying to force things to work.
I order a salad for a starter and this gets an eyebrow raise from Tris. We both know I’m not much of a veggie guy, but the thing is I love ginger dressing. I could share this tidbit to get the conversation rolling, or she could make a jab at how mature I am now with my bald head and eating greens to help with constipation or heart disease or whatever. But neither of us jests and instead I ask whether she’s flying home on Sunday or Monday. I smile smugly at the Peyton in my head—see how horrible this is going.
By the time my salad arrives along with Tris’s pot stickers, we still haven’t gotten into a good conversation groove. I dive right into my food, glad for a break from the conversation.
Tris points at the side of her mouth. “You have a little dressing there.”
I pick up my napkin, but pause before wiping. “Unless you want to come lick it off?”
“Gross.” Her response and face scrunch are instantaneous. There’s no way she would eat a chip out of my beard. Or my old beard.
Tris frowns at me, waiting for me to clean myself up, instead of acting like an ape and licking me clean, which is what I’d definitely prefer. But it’s only a little food on my face, nothing to get all analytical about.
“What are we doing, Tris?”
“Eating dinner.”
“No. You. Me. Here we are again.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing. You’re the one who texted me.” She cuts a pot sticker into four tiny sections even though a kindergartener could eat it in one bite. I’m not sure if she’s feeding herself or a goldfish. “I don’t know. I thought things happen for a reason. Like Shayna staying with you could be oneness in action?”
“Oh Lord, not your oneness crap.”
“Geez, tell me what you really think.”
“Sorry.” I go to tug my beard, but nothing is there. I scratch under my chin, but it’s not as satisfying. I should go easier on her. She is being pretty open with me. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s more than a coincidence that Shayna was staying with me.”
“You don’t think so.” Her tone is a flat statement. “I guess things aren’t the same between us.”
“No, but who knows? There are ups and downs. This could be a down point.”
“Or maybe Shayna stayed with you for some completely different reason, like you’re supposed to get her and Grace back together. Maybe oneness is pushing you to fix them up.”
“That’s hilarious. Me play matchmaker?” I leave out that I’m probably part of the reason they broke up in the first place.
“Why not? If the four of us hung out, it would be the entire crew again.” Her gaze drops to my salad. “Except Andy…of course. How is he?”
She stabs her fork into one of her micro-bite pot stickers while staring at her plate. She shrugs her shoulders to act like she doesn’t care whether I answer, but it’s as though she’s digging her fork into my heart rather than her food.
This is a standard catching-up question, but it’s the history behind it that pushes the tines deeper. I pull out the fork and test it in my hand, pretending my shirt isn’t soaked with blood. “Good. Loving Chicago.”
“That’s great.”
“And he’s seeing that girl he met before he left here.” I don’t know where that lie came from, but damn, it’s a good one.
“Val?”
“That’s it. Valentina and Andrés. Goes together, doesn’t it? If they get married, she’d be Valentina Pe?a. That has a nice ring to it.”
Whappow! Her eyebrows rise and her breath catches. Damn, my ninja-like reflexes are spot-on.
“Good for them.” She can barely get out this weak response.
“Now that’s some oneness in action. Am I right?” I push my empty salad bowl to the side. Neither of us says anything. “Enough about the past. Tell me the truth—you’re here with the National Cornhole team. You’re here scouting me, aren’t you?”
“You know me—cornhole pro.”
We smile at each other. Then we muddle through the rest of dinner. Neither of us wants dessert.
Tris and I cuddle up on the couch at Shayna’s eating pretzels. Shayna’s new place is decorated pretty nice for a college apartment. They have flowery throw pillows and a fuzzy blanket on the couch, plus two sturdy floor lamps. I didn’t buy even a bedside lamp until after undergrad.
The how of Tris and me sitting side by side is that I came inside to say hi to Shayna, but she wasn’t home yet. Tris and I got into a heated debate on whether National Treasure is the best movie from our youth. None of Shayna’s roommates were home, so we pulled it up and got comfortable while we waited. But I don’t think either of us knows why we’re doing this. The whole date thing, not the movie. Redo, closure, none of the above—we’re still struggling to figure out the point of the night.
With the pic rolling, snuggling time gets cuddlier, which is a dilemma. This has been a nice evening. Fine, it’s been a mostly blah evening with a few painful points. Now that we’re here, this could definitely lead to sexy time, but genius me is conflicted because of Peyton, a woman who isn’t even interested in me.
Tris and I make a good team. Maybe this should be a redo. But Peyton and I make a better team. Or at least I thought we did, but I can’t be completely sure any longer.
I gotta stop thinking and go with wherever things take me. I pick up a pretzel, toss it up, and miss my mouth. It lands on the couch arm, so I try again and it lands on my shirt. I nail attempt three. Tris’s lips pinch together as she watches. I know she’s grossed out, but it’s not like I picked it up off the ground and ate it after the expiration of the three-second rule. Who am I kidding? There is no such thing as a three-second rule for Tris. And for me, it’s more like a ten, twenty, or thirty-second rule. If it can be brushed off, it’s good.
Snuggle session is over. We both stare at each other. The movie continues in the background with Nicolas Cage, unaware that no one is interested any longer. Okay, so this is a talking moment.
Tris bites her lip. “We should talk.”
Nailed it.
“We’re doing it again. We’re falling back into a couple, but I’m not so sure we should,” she says.
“That’s wild, because that’s what I was thinking.”
“I guess it’s a good thing we’re on the same page.” She presses her hands together between her knees. “Remember how you said we’re like oil and vinegar and that we make a great dressing, but that whole thing you were doing with the pretzel made me realize that maybe actually I’m wine.”
“And is wine good with oil or bad?”
“That’s not the point.” She rocks a bit as she continues. “Me as a wine—no arguments that I’d be a strong wine, probably not to everyone’s taste, but definitely wine.”
“I like strong wines.”
“But you turn me into vinegar. With you, we’re oil and vinegar.”
My mouth drops open, and I don’t even care if I look stupid. Damn, that hurt, even if this is a mutual “breakup.”
“Being with you sours me. Part of me feels so comfortable with you and part of me cringes a bit every time you do something Max-like. There’s nothing wrong with the whole toss-catch food thing. For you. For me, there are so many things wrong with it. I’m sorry.” Her eyes are watery and she wipes at them with her free hand. Why is she crying? I’m the one that was just sucker punched. “I enjoy being with you because we know each other so well, but also you make me a little batty.”
“But that’s the fun of our relationship.”
“In small doses, definitely.” She takes my hands in hers. “But it’s probably more fun for you and more stressful for me. And probably comfortable together isn’t enough, right? A ratty old T-shirt is comfortable, but it’s not the most flattering.”
“Everything looks good on me.” I wink, but I’m also pulling my hands free from hers.
She grips tighter and jerks them closer to her. “Don’t get mad. I do have fun with you. It’s just I’m not being a hundred percent true to myself. And I think you’re not being true to yourself, either. Of all the girls you’ve dated, I can’t be the best fit for you.”
This is true. Peyton eating a chip from my beard ranks weirdly as one of the sexiest things a woman has ever done. I scooch away from Tris.
“So this is why you broke up with me?” I ask.
“Part of it, yes.”
I shouldn’t even care what the rest of it was. We’re breaking up again, or whatever this is, but I can’t keep my big mouth shut. “So what then?”
“It was nothing.”
“Andy?”
She looks surprised and honestly, I’m surprised I said his name too. Andy just popped out of my mouth. Pop. Andy. Where the hell did that come from?
She says nothing. Damn, I’m right!
“You ended it because of Andy?”
“Trust me, there’s nothing between Andy and me. But you know that because he’s with Valentina.” She stretches out the name so it becomes Valentinuh. “Plus, he’s dead to me.”
“What does that mean?”
“He won’t even talk to me. I called him a bunch of times and he didn’t return the call. I never want to talk to him again.”
“Because he didn’t call back? Did you even leave a voicemail?” And why don’t I grab another fork and ask Tris to really stab me this time?
“Yes.” She pauses and bobbles her head, hemming and hawing. “Eventually. I didn’t the first couple of times. I just tried to catch him in the evening. But I kept calling and texting and nothing, so then I did leave a voicemail. He never responded. A couple of days later, I called him from my work number and he answered. Can you believe that? He was screening my calls! Then he totally blew me off, saying he was busy. I practically begged him to call me back that night. He said he’d try, but he was really busy. And then he never called. Ever.”
Her words rush past me, and by the time she reaches the end of her long explanation, I don’t care. Closure. This is where Tris and I are. This is the point of tonight. I might as well get it all over with. “What was so important?”
“It was nothing. I don’t even know why I was bothering to call.” She brushes her hands together. “But something could have really been wrong. He didn’t know. I don’t need a friend like that. So sorry, Max, I’m done with your friend.”
This conversation has taken a weird turn, but I’m committed now. I grab a handful of pretzels and get comfortable to ride out the end. “Can you really blame Andy for not calling? You probably wanted to talk about Richard. Do you know how frustrating you were about the whole Richard thing?”
She covers her face with her hands before dropping them in her lap. “I’m so sorry about all of that, Max. I shouldn’t have jerked you around like that. Can you forgive me? Come on, seven years is a long time. Richard was such a big part of my life. I should have given myself more time before…you know.”
“I do.” I swallow the pretzel in my mouth with the little remaining saliva. “I probably should’ve given you more space. I guess we both screwed it up.”
I grab my beer and stare at her. Now’s the time to say it all. “But it crushed me thinking that you’d rather go back to Richard than to date me, especially with how he jerked you around.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you think that. It just seemed easier to let you break up with me over Richard.”
“Versus what?”
“ Me breaking up with you ”—her volume drops and I barely make out the end—"over Andy.”
That odd WTF feeling returns, the same one I got on vacation with Tris when she said Andy texted her. But then it turned out it wasn’t Andy who texted. It was Richard, which was then its own different WTF moment.
And then it all falls in place why Tris and I didn’t last—she wasn’t ever mine. I got in between Tris and Andy. If she was thinking of him while she was on vacation with me, then there’s no chance that we would’ve worked out.
I’m a keeper—there’s no tossing this catch back in the sea on a whim. She must’ve been feeling it pretty bad for Andy if she let this awesome catch of a man go. Admitting that sucks, but I guess it is better than her picking Richard over me.
Andy. Loser. Can’t believe he didn’t call back.
Eh, actually sounds about right. He’s a softy, all caring about what other people think. Plus, my venting to him that Tris went back to Richard probably had something to do with it. He’s principled like that. He’d be the type to be like, I must defend Max’s honor, Tris is dead to me . Shit, he’s probably wearing a strand of my hair around his finger right now in unity of Tris breaking our hearts. What a mess.
“Want me to talk to Andy?” I ask.
“No, definitely not. That’s over. I’ve met someone in DC.”
“But you’re on a date with me.”
“Okay, fine. It’s still early, but I have a good feeling about this guy. We really hit it off on our first date and we’ve been texting daily since. I was supposed to go out with him before I flew here this weekend, but I postponed because I felt like I needed to be sure about you and me.” She stares at the sofa cushion and begins picking up the teeny-tiny, microscopic pretzel crumbs between us. “And with how things are going right now, I’m thinking I should go on that second date.”
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“But we’re good, right?” she asks.
“We are.”
We settle back into watching the movie, but my mind wanders off to Peyton. Clearing the air between Tris and me has the odd side effect that I’m suddenly seeing things with Peyton a lot clearer. Like Peyton genuinely enjoys hanging out with me, whereas Tris seems to only somewhat enjoy it. And while there’s a comfort in being with Tris because we’ve known each other for so long, Peyton and I have a better energy. All the way around, we’re a better match.
Then Shayna comes home with Ashima tagging along behind her. I introduce Ashima and Tris. Ashima looks horrified during the entire thing, but luckily Tris doesn’t seem to notice.
Come to think of it, Ashima looks way too awkward. I mean, this is a weird situation, but she looks like she could puke. Actually, why is Ashima here?
“You two went out tonight?” I ask. “Seems rather suspicious.”
Ashima flaps her hands around. “Don’t be silly. Just a girls’ night. Nick was out with the boys, so I called up Shayna.”
“Whatever, we were dishing about your love life.” Shayna elbows me as she passes and then she goes over and wraps an arm around Tris. “Now give me the scoop. Are you two back together?”
Gotta love Shayna for keeping it real. Not sure Ashima appreciates it so much—she’s back to looking rather pained, but when I laugh, she relaxes.
Tris laughs with me. “We decided we’re best as friends.” She looks at me and smiles.
Ashima puts her hands over her heart. I already know her mind is spinning off to what this means for Peyton and me, and somehow this doesn’t annoy me. In fact, I’m in for Ashima to meddle a little.
I move closer to Ashima and whisper, “Are you going to tell Peyton that I passed the test?”
“If you want me to. You know I love playing cupid.” A big grin spreads across her face. “Though maybe it should come from you.”
Ashima realizes that Tris and Shayna are eavesdropping on us and her face turns bright pink. “Nothing against you, Tris. I don’t know you, so it’s nothing personal. It’s just that Max and my best friend, Peyton, make a pretty awesome couple. So if you need any help, Max…”
“I got this covered.”
With her eyebrows raised, Ashima gives me full-on sass. “And what’s your plan?”
“No plan. I’m just going to call her.”
“Come on, Max. You need to do a grand romantic gesture,” Tris says and they all nod in agreement.
Then Shayna adds her two cents. “With the bald head you’d make a pretty hot cupid. Show up at her house in a toga.”
“Thank you, peanut gallery. No toga. I don’t need to wear some weird costume to win her back.” Or I really hope I don’t need to. They all look like they’re about to jump in with more torturous ideas. I hold up a hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this. I’ll figure it out. I’m not screwing this round up.”