8. Maeve
Chapter 8
Maeve
O n our first anniversary, Callum took me to dinner at a little Italian place near school. He gave me a gold ring with a topaz, my birthstone, and promised that if we stayed together, he’d replace it with an engagement ring one day.
Well, we stayed together, but I’ve lost count of how many times we broke up over the years only to find our way back to each other after a day or a week. Once it took a month. I was heartbroken, but also sick of his shit, so I dated someone else for a while. I never told Callum that, and he never asked. I know he slept with other people during our break-ups, but I couldn’t bring myself to do the same.
Talk about a self-imposed double standard.
At first, I couldn’t do it because I loved him too much. Then I couldn’t do it because I feared he’d never forgive me if he found out and I wasn’t ready for that. But it’s different now. Now I’m glad I never did because he’s shown me what he’s capable of if he gets angry enough and that’s a different problem altogether.
I spin the ring around my finger, watching the topaz sparkle in the light. The sun is setting slowly over the bay, splashing soft oranges across the blue. From up here, I can see choppy water and white caps, the water all riled up from the wind. October in the Bay Area is beautiful, hovering between the fifties at night and the seventies during the day.
Back home, autumn has officially arrived with chilly days and changing leaves. When I spoke to Mom yesterday, she’d just come back from the pumpkin patch with Dad and Liam. She sent a picture of their porch all decked out with pumpkins crowding the steps and a new wreath on the door, and I missed them so much it was hard not to cry.
As nice as it is here, I know where I’d rather be.
Callum comes up behind me, resting his hands on my hips. “You ready, baby? We should go so we don’t miss our reservation.”
“Okay,” I say, blinking away the tears. “I’ll be right in.”
It’s our anniversary, and we’re having dinner at Dia’s, a beloved East Bay classic. It’s hard to get reservations there, but when I told Callum I’d always wanted to go, he found a way. Gestures like that give me a glimpse of the old him. They remind me of why I fell in love with him.
Then again, he hasn’t been home in days. Stuff like that reminds me of why I’m falling out of love. The kid I once loved has grown into an entitled, arrogant man. Even his eyes are harder.
A gale of wind shrieks across the hillside, and I shiver, finally noticing how damn cold it’s gotten. So much for my idyllic fall afternoon. Picking up the empty mug that still smells of bergamot, I turn to go inside, pausing at the scene on the other side of the glass. Callum and Griffin are discussing something over by the window, and Mac is sprawled across the leather sofa, watching TV. Jaime’s on the armchair beside him, but he’s texting, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. His hair has gotten longer, and it curls a little now.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s as ruthless as the thugs he cavorts with. I like to pretend that he’s different from them because of how he acts with me, but I’ve seen firsthand the damage his fists can inflict. Like the brawl the boys got into when we were all in LA over the summer, or the time some perv groped my ass while we were waiting at a crowded crosswalk in the city. Jaime didn’t hesitate to pop him in the face. I know that his weapons are not just for show, that he’s used them and will use them again.
Stepping inside, I cross through the living room and place my mug in the kitchen sink. Callum clears his throat, suddenly at my side. “I left you something on your dresser. Why don’t you go look before we head out.”
I’m not in the mood for games or surprises, but I go, not wanting to ruin the mood. My mind wanders over what he could’ve gotten me this time. I have more jewelry and clothing than I know what to do with, and my phones are upgraded at whimsy. iPads, laptops, fitness watches … he tried to switch out my Honda for a Mercedes like his when I moved to Oakland, but I drew the line. Good thing, too, seeing that I don’t drive at all now.
To this day, I’m not sure if nearly getting run off the road was intentional or not, but it doesn’t matter. Callum’s so paranoid that he’s sure it was a message from one of his many enemies. You’d think he’d do a little self-reflection, examine his life choices, but he just digs his heels in.
Live by the sword, die by the sword.
I flick on the lamp in the bedroom, giving my eyes time to adjust to the dim light. There on my dresser, in a small, felt box, sit a pair of diamond earrings. There’s a tiny pink baggie of coke on the dresser, too. It’s so gaudy and gross next to the earrings that I almost laugh.
But then my stomach twists painfully, and for a second, I almost consider snorting it. It would be so easy, and it would make everything feel light and all right. But the urge passes just as quickly as it arrived. It’s been a month since I promised Jaime I’d stop, since I promised myself . I remind myself of the facts: as good as the high feels, the comedown feels several times worse. I don’t like who I am when I’m strung out, and I definitely don’t like who I am when I’m fiending.
And maybe it shouldn’t matter so much, but Jaime treats me differently when I’m like that, in ways I hate. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend these days, which isn’t saying much. But still. I respected him before I even liked him, and now that I’m beginning to know him more, I like him a lot. I doubt he means to, but he’s chipping away at the ice that’s been building up around my heart for the past year. Maybe longer than that.
I’m thawing, and it hurts.
Yet part of me fights to retain some of that protective covering, that numbness—just in case things change. Jaime might take care of me, but his true allegiance is to my boyfriend.
I can’t ever forget that.
I stare at myself in the mirror, at my pale skin and the circles beneath my eyes, masked for now by concealer. I sleep for hours and hours, and yet I never feel rested. Sighing, I put the earrings on and take the cocaine to the bathroom, where I flush it down the toilet.
“Good?” Callum asks, when I join him and Griffin at the front door.
Forcing a smile, I nod. He fingers my ears approvingly, smug and smiling, more interested in the bling in my ears than the dying light in my eyes.
I wonder when he stopped really seeing me. It was probably gradual, but there must’ve been moments.
I remember when sex was exciting. Fulfilling. Now I usually just fake it. It’s not even that Callum disgusts me, because he doesn’t. Not physically, anyway. I just don’t feel connected to him anymore. It always feels like he’s a million miles away, like he’s enjoying himself but not enjoying me .
Tonight, though, he’s particular about making me come. To celebrate our anniversary, I guess. I shut my eyes and then suddenly it’s Jaime I see. His dark, sparkling eyes, his lush mouth. The way he looks at me in the car sometimes when he thinks I don’t notice.
Gasping, I cling to the images, letting them carry me where I need to go. Callum comes right after. He jumps up and disappears inside the bathroom the second he’s finished, and I yank the sheet up, turning onto my side.
Now… now … I feel disgusted. With Callum, but with myself, too. Is it crossing a line if it’s only in your head? It is. I know it is.
“Hey,” he says when he crawls back into bed. “Mae.”
I turn over again, looking at him in the almost dark. “What’s up?”
“You know I love you, right?” He asks me this all the time. The fact that he has to ask should tell him something.
“Yeah.” I chew my lip, wondering if I should tell him what’s on my heart. It used to be so easy. “Why?”
“You seem kinda sad all the time,” he says.
If he’s in a listening mood, then I’m down to talk. “I am kinda sad.”
He frowns, like he wasn’t expecting me to admit to this. “What can I do? ”
Huffing softly, I press my cheek into the pillow. “I don’t think you can do anything, Callum.”
“Why not?” He sits up on his elbow, staring at me. “We’ve always helped each other through shit.”
“Yeah, but we were usually on the same page. These days it’s like we live totally different lives.” I breathe deeply, preparing myself for how he might react to my next words. “I don’t think coming here was a mistake, but staying might be.”
He groans. “Nah, come on. Not this again. I know it’s been a crazy year, but everything I do is for us. To get things set up.”
“But can you understand why I feel the way I do?” I ask. “You keep saying you’re done with selling, but you never stop. And if that’s how you want to live, fine. I can’t stop you. But I don’t have to stick around for it.”
“Is this because I was out of town again last week?” He drops to his back, staring up at the ceiling.
“It’s—”
“Why do you threaten to leave every time you don’t get your way?” he complains. “Didn’t we have a fucking amazing time tonight?”
“Yes, we did,” I say sharply. “But that doesn’t make up for all the other shit!”
“Let me ask you something,” he says, voice dropping in a way I don’t like. “When you say you wanna leave, do you mean leave California? Or me?”
My heart thumps, a warning to choose my words carefully. “California.”
“Because we’ve been together a long time, Maeve.” He runs his hand over my body, pulling me beneath him once more. He’s already hard again. “You don’t just throw something like that away.”
I turn my face, but he brings it back to his, kissing me deeply. Possessively. “I can’t do this on my own,” he whispers. “We’re finally making a life together—same time, same place. I can’t let you go now.”
The next morning, I wake up early. I take a quick shower and change into my tights and leotard, eager to get going. The Oakland Ballet has adult classes ranging from beginner to advanced, so I’m going to try one this morning, before Pilates. See if I can handle it.
Jaime comes over, letting himself in through the French doors while I’m in the kitchen.
“Morning,” I murmur, my face warming as images of last night’s inappropriate fantasy come to mind. I wonder if he’s ever had any about me. Although, it’s not like he’s lonely. Jaime might be busy taking care of me, but I’m sure he finds time to hook up. All Callum’s guys do.
“Morning.”
“Coffee?” It’s kind of a joke between us now. I’m half-tempted to get an espresso machine so I can make that Cuban coffee he loves so much.
“Actually, I brought you some,” he says, sliding a cup toward me as he takes his seat at the counter.
I whirl around, surprised at the sweet gesture. The thought of him thinking of me this morning while he made his cafecito is better than any fantasy I’ve had. “Thank you.” I duck my head, hiding my warm face as I accept the little cup. “Can I get you anything to eat? I’m having toast.”
He shakes his head. “I ate.”
“Oh, wow. This is good.” I sip the deliciously sweet coffee, spreading my toast with butter and blackberry jam. We’re almost out of both, as well as a couple of other things. “Can we stop by the grocery store today? After my classes?”
He nods, sipping his coffee. “You know you don’t have to ask.”
“Well, I’m not going to demand,” I joke.
“I mean, you could,” he says, mouth twitching with a smile. “Anything else on the agenda?”
I pause to nibble on my toast. “Hiking.”
“Hiking?” He puts his paper down and leans back, hands folded over his belly. “Where, exactly?”
“Tilden,” I say, navigating to a local parks and rec page on my phone. “There are so many trails around there. I checked out a few when I first moved here, but it’s been a while.”
He nods thoughtfully, impossible to read. As usual. Is it weird to ask him to take me hiking? It would require more alone time together than usual. Callum probably wouldn’t like it, but I don’t care. If he wants me to stay, I need more of a life beyond this house.
“I’ll go change,” he says, standing.
After breakfast, I pull on sneakers, sweatpants, and a hoodie over my dance clothes. I’m noodling around my phone, checking my socials and messaging Bria, when I notice the time. We’re running behind, and Jaime hasn’t come back yet.
Normally I’d just wait, but I hate being late for class, so I walk over to his place. He answers as soon as I knock, holding up a finger because he’s on the phone. I start to step away, but he gestures for me to hold on.
Leaving the door wide open, he walks back toward the bedroom. I wait awkwardly on the step, not wanting to intrude, but I can see all the way inside. Sunlight fills the space, from the neat living room to the messy bedroom, where he’s sorting clothes on an unmade bed.
It feels intimate, seeing his bedroom, and I turn around, grateful for the crisp air on my face.
I should just go back to the house and give Jaime his privacy. But part of me is drawn to this glimpse of his life, curious about the man I spend so much time with yet barely know. Jaime’s voice drifts out from the bedroom, muffled and indistinct. I wonder if he has a girlfriend.
But then he appears at the door again, off the phone and ready to go. “Sorry about that. Family stuff.”
Ballet class goes well, way better than I expected. It felt so incredibly good not only to be back on the floor, but to be surrounded by my people. No competition either, just good vibes. My muscles feel that delicious ache from a good workout, and my heart feels lighter than it has in months.
When I moved here, the Oakland Ballet was the first place I sought an audition at. While they didn’t need anyone right then, a few members of their corps would be moving overseas soon, and I was welcome to come back in a few months to see if I’d be a good fit. Soon after, I auditioned at Michel’s, and the rest was, unfortunately, history.
“That must’ve been some class,” Jaime says afterward, pulling away from the curb as I fasten my seat belt.
“It was,” I say, tossing my bag into the back seat. “It was fantastic.”
“It must’ve been. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”
I sideeye him with a grin. “Because you’ve never seen me dance. ”
Jaime’s eyes momentarily flick away from the road to catch my gaze. “Guess this is more of the real Maeve, huh?” A call comes through the car’s Bluetooth, and he switches quickly to his phone, pressing it to his ear.
The warmth in his voice makes my heart flutter. It’s like the more I let Jaime know about me, the realer he gets with me. He doesn’t change; he just seems to be more himself. He’s been such a constant presence these past few months, and emotionally I’ve grown to depend on him more than I expected.
“I think we should get some more cafecito and then go for that hike,” I blurt the second he finishes his brief, cryptic conversation with someone named Wolf.
“Right now?” Jaime looks between me and the street, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah.” I tap the screen of my phone. “I looked it up. There’s a little cafe near campus that serves Cuban coffee.”
“What about your other class?” he asks, swinging into a different lane so he can turn at the next intersection. “Your boy Florian’s gonna miss you.”
“Ballet’s enough of a workout, trust me. And don’t worry about Florian.” I laugh, loosening my bun. This isn’t the first time Jaime’s made a snarky comment about my handsome but infinitely cheesy Pilates instructor. “He’s got all the female energy he needs over there.”
After grabbing two cups of cafecito, which Jaime complains is shit compared to what he makes at home, we head to Tilden. Parking in the half empty lot, I open the hiking app I downloaded and choose the Seaview Trail, which promises a “short, but enjoyable hike.”
Tilden’s terrain is different, of course, but it reminds me of the trails we used to hike at Edenbrook. Bria really loved those trails. I think about her a lot, wonder what she’s up to these days. I ended up visiting for Lucky’s birthday last spring, a quick, two-day trip where I spent more time on the plane than with Bria, but it was worth it.
Everyone was so surprised I’d made it. It kind of got on my nerves at first, but then I realized I couldn’t blame them. I’m the one who chose this distance between us, not just physically but emotionally. I don’t always realize I’m doing it, but it’s easier to be here, on the West Coast, when I’m here . Thinking about who or what I’m constantly missing sucks.
But also, part of me wants to protect Bria. She’s living this beautiful life, madly in love with my brother while they raise my nephew. They’ve been through enough, so dragging her down with my shit is the last thing I feel like doing. Especially since she’d probably tell Lucky and then he and Tristan would be on the warpath.
Damn, I miss her though. Our text thread has been looking a little anemic lately, and that makes me sad. Pausing on the trail, I snap a few photos of the scenery we’re traversing in all its tree-lush glory and send them to Bria with a text.
Miss you.
It’s still early on the East Coast, but she responds right away.
Aww, reminds me of our hiking adventures at Edenbrook!
And I miss you too
Chat soon?
Smiling, I promise her we will and pocket my phone.
Warmed up, I peel my hoodie off and tie it around my waist. We pass people every once in a while, but other than that, it’s quiet.
Jaime and I are quiet, too. He keeps pace with me, although I know he could go much faster. I’m far from out of shape, but I still tend to baby my ankle, especially on uneven surfaces. Also, he goes running sometimes in the mornings. The only time you’d ever see me running is if someone was chasing me.
Eventually, we end up at Lake Anza and plop down on the ground, sweaty. It feels good to exercise outside in the sun and fresh air. A couple tosses a frisbee back and forth, their voices drifting over on the wind.
“How was your dinner?” Jaime asks, leaning back on his elbows .
I wish I’d thought to bring an extra water bottle. I’m parched. “The food was great.”
“Nice earrings, by the way.”
“Thanks.” There are a lot of things I could say about these earrings, but they’d all sound ungrateful so I keep my mouth shut. Instead, I lie back and stare up at the clouds. There are lots today, big, fat, puffy towers of fluff. The last time I spent time outside like this was probably during our trip to Grand Cayman. I spent a lot of time staring at the sky then, too.
“When’s your birthday?” I ask.
“June.”
“Oh, we missed it then.”
“I didn’t miss it,” he jokes.
“What did you do?”
He’s quiet for so long that I look over at him, shading my eyes against the glare. His eyes are closed, his face tilted toward the sun. “Went on a date.”
“Oh.” This shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. It’s like glimpsing behind the curtain or something. “Where’d you guys go?”
“Place in Claremont.”
“Cool.”
“Mhm.”
“You bring her back to your place?” I tease, wincing at my utter lack of chill. Why would I ask that, even as a joke? Especially when this conversation already feels so stilted?
“Kind of personal, don’t you think?” he says dryly.
He’s right, but being called out makes me feel defensive and petty. “Sorry. Seems like you know everything about me, so.”
“Not really,” he counters calmly.
“You know a lot more about me than I know about you.”
“Knowing me is not part of the job,” he says softly.
Somehow, his gentle tone makes it worse, and I sit up, stung. “You’re right. I’m sorry I asked. It was inappropriate.”
He doesn’t say a word, shredding grass into piles by his side. No matter how much I want to walk away, I won’t. We don’t have that kind of relationship. We barely have any kind of relationship. Some of the conversations we’ve had over the past month might make me feel like we’ve gotten closer, but honestly, we haven’t. Most of our interactions are superficially pleasant.
Jaime’s phone rings, giving me an out. Climbing to my feet, I brush myself off and start back toward the car. I feel sick inside, like I crossed a line. He’s not my friend; he’s Callum’s employee. I forget sometimes because he’s classy and nice and there seems to be mutual respect between us, but that just means he’s professional.
By the time Jaime joins me, he’s finished with his call. “You wanted to go to the supermarket, right?” he asks, unlocking the doors.
“Yeah. I won’t be long,” I say.
“No problem,” he says, reversing. We meander out of the park and onto the main road, the silence between us so thick it’s maddening.
“I took her home,” he blurts. “My date. On my birthday.”
“Oh.” My face flames. “Okay."
“Her home, I mean. Didn’t feel like bringing her back to the guest house.”
I nod, staring out the window. I don’t know if that means he hooked up with her, but either way … “It’s none of my business.”
“No, it …” He pauses as we pull up to a light, and I can tell he’s been thinking about this. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. We’re obviously closer than we were, and we should be. We see each other every day. I mean, this arrangement could last awhile."
I stare at my lap, listening to his very uncharacteristic rambling. “It sounds so mechanical when you say it like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like you’re being paid to be my friend.”
“I'm paid to take care of you. Being your friend is free.” He touches my arm, and I glance up. “Okay?”
It’s one thing to trust him with my life, quite another with my feelings. But, against my better judgment, I do. He didn’t have to backtrack just now. He doesn’t have to play nice.
But he does.