Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
A million questions bloomed in my mind. His chapter was so brutally honest, I really couldn’t tell if he was writing as Aiden or as Hunter. I kept reading.
When I arrived at her apartment, I stopped short at the door to her building. Anger and fear for her bubbled up in me. Her first initial and last name were clearly displayed on the buzzer for apartment 9C, but I didn’t need to buzz myself up. There was a brick holding her door open. One of her neighbors, or an intruder, walked past me into her building without batting an eye. I followed, trying to unclench my fists, my nails pressing crescents into the palm of my hand. The elevator groaned with each movement, and I swear I thought the cables would snap.
I would never admit it to her, but Maxine was the smartest woman I’d ever met. During her first staff meeting, she’d been unafraid. Even new to the team and in a room of strangers, she’d had no problem clearly stating her opinions. She even made the entire room laugh once or twice.
I hesitated as I continued to scroll down. I didn’t want to believe he was referring to our first class together last semester. I’d been so nervous during our first workshop that I kept babbling and raising my hand and … I did make a few people laugh. Surely it was a coincidence. I was just reading into it; there was no way he was actually talking about me.
But I was starting to seriously doubt her intelligence if she lived here.
Okay, maybe he was.
It was reckless, putting her safety in such blatant danger. I knocked on the door in three quick knocks. I could hear her quiet murmurs through the door and although her voice usually soothed me, I couldn’t shake my anger.
She unlocked at least three different locks and answered the door with a smile that was like a constellation in a clear night sky. I didn’t want to look away, I wanted to study it and her. To know who she was outside of the one building we were seemingly confined to. This was the chance I had been waiting for and her smile reminded me why. I wished I could tell her I wasn’t mad at her, but for her.
Instead, I said, “There’s a brick door holding open the door to your building.”
She blinked, her lashes long, fanning against her cheek, and said, “Oh, that? My neighbor, Andy, forgets his keys, so he just leaves it there.”
Rage unfurled in my chest until I was suffocated by it.
“You know about this brick?”
“I have a lock. It’s no big deal.”
I narrowed my eyes at her as my mind worked through a million solutions to solve her problems. I couldn’t buy her an apartment, I couldn’t report the building, but I could convince her to move out.
Eloquently as ever, I said, “Maxine, this is ridiculous. Even for you.”
Immediately, her face flushed in anger. I’d meant to come across as kind or caring, like the type of man she deserved. But as always, I got in my own way.
My eyebrows flew up in surprise. Until now, writing as Max and Hunter had always meant throwing insults we wished we could say in person. It had never crossed the boundary into anything more. But … did Aiden really like my smile that much?
I had figured his comments on the brick were because he was entitled. That he looked down on me for being poor. Not because he was genuinely worried for my safety. He was probably just turning it up for the chapter. Maybe he was better at romance that I had anticipated.
“Let’s just go.” She brushed past me into the tiny hallway, and I had no choice but to follow. After she sent me her address, I did some research on nice restaurants in her area. I wanted to go to a place she would actually like. Or somewhere she’d never treat herself to.
Once we neared the restaurant after an intensely awkward walk over, she asked, “How’d you manage to get us a reservation here?”
I shrugged. “I pulled a few strings.”
Meaning, I’d called my father and promised to have dinner with him soon if he could get us a reservation here. He liked to catch up with me precisely once a year, and he liked to spend that hour and a half berating my life choices. He ensured that I knew he was disappointed and wasting my life. But I’d trade the most excruciating dinners with him for just a few hours with her. If I could keep my foot out of my own damn mouth.
My heart was pounding. He had copied this evening almost verbatim, but the romantic in me couldn’t tell the difference between the lines of reality and fiction.
He was still on the doc when I reached the end of the chapter, and he was still on the doc when I started to write:
Hunter brought me to a blissful Italian restaurant. I had passed this place a million times before. During spring, when it was barely warm enough for people to sit outside, I’d linger on the sidewalks as whiffs of fresh basil and pasta filled the street. When we walked in, the music immediately captured me just as much as the mouthwatering aromas. I was annoyed with Hunter for what he’d said at my apartment, but even though I would never admit it to him, I was looking forward to tonight.
I paused, considering my next words.
Besides, I’m sure I’d misinterpreted his words. He was probably being nice and I was being the asshole by getting mad on a whim.
Almost immediately after I typed that last line, the chat box appeared on the side with a notification.
Aiden: Rosalinda.
Rosie: what?? it’s the truth!
I couldn’t take my eye off Aiden’s icon in the corner as I wrote. I closed my eyes, and I could see the same intense look he gave me every session of workshop. Doubt blossomed.
Rosie: you’re making me nervous
Aiden: How so?
Rosie: you’re just watching me write. i feel shy
Aiden: Pretend I’m not here.
An idea popped in my head, and before I could stop myself, I quickly typed to him.
Rosie: or you could write it with me
I sucked in a breath, gnawing on my bottom lip as I watched the bubbles of the chat appear and disappear.
Aiden: Okay.
Rosie: just jump in whenever!!
Aiden: Okay.
I smiled triumphantly and continued to type.
“The reason I asked you to dinner was because I wanted to call a truce,” I said, tilting my chin up, feigning confidence. Underneath the table, I wiped my palms on my skirt.
His brow furrowed, lines appearing across his forehead. “A truce?”
“I want this presentation to be as painless as possible. There’s no way out of working together.” He nodded, conceding. “And frankly, I’m exhausted by hating you and working so hard at the same time. So, I thought I’d eliminate one of the factors.”
I waited for Aiden to jump in, but he didn’t.
“A truce,” he said as if he was tasting the word on his tongue.
Aiden finally jumped in.
“What would this truce entail?
I straightened, beaming at him. “I’ve decided I don’t hate you anymore. Once we’re done, however, feel free to hate me.”
I paused, unsure if I was writing solely as Maxine now, and he was writing as Hunter. He started to type.
“All it took to get you to stop hating me was taking you out? I should’ve done this years ago.”
I ignored him. “Truce?” I held my hand out across the table.
He shook it once . “Does this truce mean we have to be friends now, or is it more of a ceasefire?”
I pondered this for a moment, my nose scrunching. “Well, if we were friends, you’d have to give up valuable information about yourself.”
He rolled his eyes, sipping his water. “Oh really, like what?”
“I don’t know. I sit five feet away from you every day, but I hardly know anything about you. I don’t even know where you’re from.”
He frowned. “I’m from here. I thought you knew that.”
I waved him off. “I know you’re from New York, but where? I bet you went to some prep school on the Upper East Side.”
“Upper West Side,” he corrected. “From kindergarten to high school.”
I placed my elbows on the table in an unladylike manner and held my chin in my hands. “What was it like growing up in New York?”
“What was it like growing up in Tennessee?” he countered.
I watched the shield in his eyes go up to protect himself. I didn’t want to push him too far, but I was so desperate for even the smallest tidbit about him to satiate my curiosity.
“It was okay,” I said thoughtfully. “It wasn’t always easy being a Hispanic kid in school in the south.”
“You’re Peruvian, right?”
My chin jerked back, surprised. “Yeah. I am. How’d you know that?”
“You came in one day with a bag that had a pin with a red flag,” he said, sheepishly. “I looked it up after class.”
Aiden’s cursor quickly backed up, deleting class and replacing it with work . My heart leaped a little in my chest.
It was true. I had a tote bag decorated with pins, and, pinned right next to the Tennessee flag, was a small Peruvian flag. I hadn’t known Aiden had even noticed it.
“Half-Peruvian,” I said. “My dad’s from good ol’ Rocky Top and my mom’s from Peru. It’s made for some weird family reunions.”
He laughed softly. “I’ll bet.”
“What about you?” I snatched a roll from the breadbasket between us. “Were family gatherings also unbearable for you?”
Hunter paused, not meeting my eyes. He cleared his throat and said, “I didn’t really have a lot of those.”
“What about for the holidays? Thanksgiving was always confusing—we’d have sweet potato pie on one end of the table and ceviche on the other.”
He paused again. “I didn’t really have holidays either.” Just as I was about to press for details, he said, “I’m sure your family has some Christmas traditions.”
It was obvious that Aiden was staying away from the topic of his own family. Not everyone was as lucky as I was to have such a loving support system. But this was the kind of conversation I’d been hoping to have at dinner, and he knew me well enough to know I did want to press for details. I wanted to know more about his lonely Thanksgivings and why it had been so hard to call his father for a reservation today. And why he was avoiding a dinner with him. But how could I be certain this was all true? Aiden crafted his words so carefully that there was no reason to believe this was all real, but I still knew it was.
“We have a few Christmas Eve traditions,” I said. “My mom usually makes a big feast and everyone from my mom’s side comes. We open presents right when midnight hits, and we dance until everyone gets tired and goes home. Afterward, my dad makes us watch It’s a Wonderful Life. On New Year’s, though, we have a big party.” I couldn’t stop the joy from radiating from me as I remembered those cold December nights. “There’s a small Peruvian community in my hometown, and for New Year’s they always came to our house, and we do all the traditions we can.”
“Like what?”
“Well, the color you wear represents what you want for the New Year. Yellow for luck, green for money, red for love …” I trailed off.
“Ah.” He leaned back, his head nodding in understanding. “And you always wear red?”
“Not at our last party,” I confessed. “I wore yellow. I just … really needed some luck. I figured I’d start with that then move onto red when I felt like I was ready.”
The conversation fell so easily between us throughout the meal that I forgot that only a few hours earlier, I’d hated him.
In these few pages, I was learning more about Aiden than I had in the past year of workshop. He was funny and sometimes even flirty. I had to keep my head on straight and remember that he was creating a romance hero, not charming me.
“Tell me what it was like growing up in New York,” I begged. “Just one thing.”
Hunter sighed, as if he didn’t really want to answer.
“Wow, okay, message received,” I murmured. I waited anxiously for the words to appear before me on the doc. I’d given up memories, real ones, to Aiden. All I wanted was one of his own.
When he saw the hope in my eyes, he relented.
“There,” I said triumphantly, and waited.
Finally, after what felt like an endless moment, Aiden typed, “I did go to a prep school on the Upper West Side, but I lived with my mom in Alphabet City after she and my dad split. So, as a nine-year-old, I took a forty-minute subway ride by myself to school and back every day.”
My jaw dropped slightly. “I’m not too proud to admit that at twenty-six I get a little nervous taking my ten-minute train ride.”
He shrugged and picked his fork back up, moving his food around. “You get used to it. You know which train cars will be safe and which ones won’t be. I always got on one with a mom and her kids so I knew she’d look out for me.”
My heart broke a little for Aiden. I had always dreamed of growing up in New York, but the image of Aiden in his little prep uniform and backpack, sitting alone, nearly brought tears to my eyes.
He gulped down his water, avoiding my eyes. “It’s no big deal. By the time high school started, my mom and I had moved to the West Village, and I transferred to a school around there.”
“So you didn’t see your dad at all?”
“Not really, no.”
“Your mom must be the best.”
Suddenly, our words started to erase from the doc. I sat up, panicked there was some glitch, before I realized it was Aiden removing our last few lines of dialogue.
I quickly moved to the chat box to the side:
Rosie: what’re you doing??? this is so good, don’t erase!!
Aiden: It’s not. It’s your chapter anyway. Write it yourself, Rosalinda.
Just as I was about to beg him to stay, his icon left the doc.
“Fuck,” I groaned, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands. Part of me knew I was pushing Aiden too far. He had walls built so tightly around him, it was near impossible to break through. I’d gone too hard too fast, and now I’d ruined the little progress we’d made.
“Whatever,” I muttered, angrily closing out of our shared doc. If Aiden didn’t even want to try to be friendly, I wouldn’t force him. I had my own stuff to do.
Ida and I had been emailing back and forth about my piece for the fellowship. I was over the word count for the submission guidelines by four hundred words. I’d thought it wouldn’t be a big deal, but Ida emphasized how strict they were on it. Apparently, they would disqualify me if I submitted even a word more than the five-thousand-word limit.
I’d come to New York for me. I wasn’t going to let Aiden derail my dreams just because he was throwing a little hissy fit.
So instead of letting my mind wander to Aiden and our conversation, I spent the night cutting words and rephrasing sentences in my fellowship submission.
“Why do you always call me Maxine?” she asked as we split dessert. Our spoons clinked together as we battled for the last bit of brownie.
I won, scooping the last bite into my mouth. “I know everyone else calls you Max, but when Ivy introduced you the first day, she called you Maxine before you corrected her.”
She stabbed her spoon at me, her dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. “That doesn’t explain why you call me Maxine.”
I shrugged, like it was inconsequential, but my gaze locked with hers hoping she could see what I felt. “I don’t want to be everyone else to you.”
— Excerpt from Untitled by Rosie Maxwell and Aiden Huntington