Chapter 11 #2
“Wow.” For an instant, his expression seemed almost vacant, as though he was reliving the moment in his mind’s eye. I put my hand over my heart. “I hereby vow never to use the word ‘awesome’ in a trivial manner ever again.” And I meant it.
Muscle by muscle, his face seemed to rearrange itself in slow motion, until there was the half-cocked grin I hadn’t realized I’d been hoping would return for an encore.
It made me nostalgic for Sam and the easy connection we’d developed once I realized he had a ton more going on upstairs than the average jock.
Despite Max’s earlier self-deprecating jokes about needing to do research just to hold a conversation with me, his intelligence shone through.
“I know you said you’re bound by confidentiality agreements, but what can you tell me about your work?” I said, wanting to elicit more of that magic.
“Unfortunately, not much,” he said. “I can’t even tell you which company employs me.”
“Not even which billionaire?” I nudged him. “Like, does his last name rhyme with Busk? Or Maze-ose?”
“Sorry, no hints allowed, either,” he said.
I shot him a sideways glance. Was this guy for real? “Fine. I get the game. No nibbling around the edges of your current job. But how about your past work?”
“What do you want to know?” he asked.
“Was it difficult to become an astronaut?” I asked.
“Unbelievably arduous. It’s been my single-minded pursuit since I was eighteen.
Studied math and engineering in college, which I paid for with an ROTC scholarship.
Then served for four years, which raised my physical fitness to about thirty percent of what it needed to be to qualify for NASA training.
The thing they never tell people is how mentally grueling it all is.
The isolation is almost more challenging than learning how to not pass out in the zero-gravity chamber. ”
“Is it worth it?” I wondered aloud.
“Is awesome worth it?” he responded.
“Point taken.” The way he seamlessly bounced between intense and easygoing was so familiar it almost felt dangerous.
“Your turn. I want to hear more about your work. Oh, and true confessions? I realized I didn’t know your last name.
So I searched new romance novel astronaut on and found your book.
Now, Thea Packer,” he said with a tortured wink that was so reminiscent of Sam my heart skipped a beat.
“What inspired you to write this particular story for your first novel?”
This. I gulped. You.
My decision to use my married name for this new novel was paying off in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
The last thing I needed was for him to discover I’d essentially foretold my late husband’s death.
If he did, this would definitely be our one and only date.
“You know what? If you can’t talk about your career, then mine should be off-limits, too. Fair is fair, right?”
“I like that,” he said with an appreciative nod. “I feel like most get-to-know-you conversations get hijacked by work. Work is only one small part of what makes us who we are. This is good. There’s no rush. We can take our time getting to know each other.”
This was good, but still, it made me a little sad.
There was something adorably boyish—adorably Sam-like—about how his face grew animated when he talked about space.
It reminded me of when Sam would get all enthusiastic talking about some random historical fact.
I didn’t want to lose that side of Max entirely.
“But, I mean, it’s obvious you love your work.
Let’s say you can still talk about space and I can still talk about books.
Only, from this point forward, it will be our personal choice what to share. No questions, only answers.”
“Deal,” he said.
We shook on it. It was the second time we had shaken hands today. Which was nice, it really was. But then it hit me that what I really wanted was to lose myself in another one of those hugs, an urge that was both thrilling and scary.
We continued on, but a few minutes later, Max stopped again.
“Do you play?” I followed his finger, which was pointing at a bank of four tennis courts.
“I love tennis. When I was a little kid, I was obsessed with Roger Federer and wanted to be a professional tennis player like him. Maybe that should be our next date.”
“I’m terrible, you wouldn’t want to play with me,” I said, which was true. But also, What the hell? He loves tennis? He wanted to be a tennis pro? My head was spinning as we rounded the bend and arrived at my car. An awful lot of coincidences seemed to be stacking up.
I steadied myself with a hand on the driver’s-side door and then squinted up at him. He certainly seemed aboveboard. My brain was saying tread carefully—and, as a mom first, I absolutely would—but the rest of me was itching for more. “Well, this is my car,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Good,” he said, tapping a fist on the roof. “Nice and solid. Quality back seat airbags for your daughter.” I was touched at the note of protectiveness in his voice. “I had a great time today, Thea. I’m out of town for a few days, but I’d really love to see you again.”
“I’d like that.” Please say next week. Please say next week.
“Are you free next week?”
Dear universe, thanks. Love, Thea.
“I have some interviews and a couple book events, but other than that I’m around.”
“Excellent,” he said with a broad smile and a hint of a fist-pump in his tone.
“How about I text you later tonight and we can make a plan.” Though it was phrased as a question, his delivery was confident and decisive.
If I’d written the line in a book, I would have skipped the question mark—and then gone to the mat defending that choice with my copyeditor.
Bending forward, he kissed me on the cheek.
His lips were warm and full, and the imprint lingered long after we parted.
After I walked Sam The Dog to get his zoomies out, my solo night stretched out in front of me. It felt like my options for dinner were endless. I wasn’t confined to Lucy-friendly fare. So what did I eat? Obviously scrambled eggs and toast while checking every fifteen seconds for a text from Max.
I cleaned up, then shopped for arts and crafts supplies online for Lucy. At some point, I gave in to the urge to peek again at my rankings. Still solid, respectable, but most likely invisible to the algorithms. Perfect.
Suddenly exhausted even though it was barely 9:00 p.m., I tucked into bed with my laptop and pulled up Trainwreck, a movie Sam and I used to love watching together on nights before his big matches.
But this time, it couldn’t hold my attention.
My mind kept drifting back to Max and the loaded questions our date had raised.
Maybe Frannie could help me sort out my feelings.
I picked up my phone to text her before setting it back down on the pillow.
I wasn’t ready to reach out. Although I loved Frannie to the depths of my soul and knew she always wanted the best for me, sometimes her opinions were so loud that I couldn’t hear my own thoughts.
I curled up in the fetal position and tried to think.
From Max’s verbal tics to his physical traits to his mannerisms, there were so many reminders of Sam.
Even the way he was so nervous at first, though he objectively had no need to be, recalled my first date with Sam.
I’d been the nerdy English major who had never been kissed outside of a closet in middle school, whereas he was the unflappable star athlete.
On the court, pressure seemed to bead up and roll off him.
For our first date, he picked me up from my off-campus house in his black Audi convertible to go out for dinner at a new Thai restaurant downtown.
When I opened the door, he smiled shyly and I thought, This is it, I can die right now.
It was the first time I’d ever seen him wearing something other than athletic gear.
He looked like the picture of confidence in his light-blue button-down, untucked, with the sleeves rolled up, and perfectly broken-in jeans.
So it was shocking that when he backed out of my driveway, he somehow managed to sideswipe the massive trunk of a eucalyptus tree that was, in fairness to the tree, nowhere near the expected path of a car.
For a split second, we were both horrified.
And then he confessed he had never been so nervous.
We spent the next several years laughing about it, and inventing creative ways to blame the tree.
Eighteen months ago, when I decided to take the plunge and write Love You to Mars and Back, I’d wanted to bask in the glory of our love for a few more months without having to apologize for it.
I had wanted to take a risk-free path to writing again, to put my worst fears to the test and hopefully convince myself that it was safe to break out of the mental prison that was holding me back from pursuing my passion.
I’d wanted to feel whole again so I could be a better mom to Lucy.
Only the tiniest, most irrational part of me had thought there was any chance of it bringing Sam back to me.
So now what had changed? I’d met a guy at a park who seemed on the surface to be an awful lot like Sam—or at least an awful lot like the fictional hero I’d created based on him.
Was I now truly entertaining the idea that this guy could be Sam in slightly different packaging?
That was a fairly concerning leap into madness.
Or maybe I was only trying to trick my brain into believing he was some version of Sam in order to absolve myself of the sin of being attracted to another man, of even considering caring about someone else and betraying our love.
Maybe it was stupidity, maybe it was bravery, but the only thing I was sure of at this particular moment was that I needed to see Max again.
Another peek at my phone. Still nothing from Max, but there was a text from Frannie demanding a safety check. I texted her three thumbs-ups, our all-clear code.
The next thing I knew it was 5:40 a.m., and my phone was pinned between my pillow and the right side of my face. I peeled it from my clammy skin. I’d missed eight messages starting at 11:55 p.m. All from Max. I bolted to sitting.
Hey Thea sorry to text so late
Work emergency
Hoping to make a plan to see u
Are u still speaking to me?
I had the best time today
Hope ur sleeping and not ghosting me
Slipping into a minor shame spiral here
U there?
The last text was at 2:34 a.m. It was mean of me to think this, but I couldn’t help feeling relieved that I hadn’t been the only one to waste hours last night worrying about being blown off.
After a quick trip to the bathroom in which the mirror revealed a phone-size indentation on my cheek, I decided to respond and put Max out of his misery.
Hiiii. I fell asleep watching a movie. Hope you didn’t spiral all night.
Bubbles immediately waved. He was not only awake but also waiting, which sent a little pulse of electricity down my spine as I anticipated his response.
I was worried you were mad at me for not texting earlier
Haha no, I responded, and then quickly added: It takes a little more than that to make me mad. Life has thrown a shit ton of “perspective” at me
Like what? Max asked.
I hesitated for a moment. Should I tell him? Then I thought, Why not? I typed: For starters I’m a widow
My phone vibrated, flashing Max’s name. When I answered he said, “This felt too heavy for text. You mentioned you had a daughter, but I had no idea you lost your husband. I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you for that. I won’t lie,” I said. “It’s been incredibly tough, but it’s been several years.”
“How old was your daughter?” Max asked.
“She wasn’t born yet,” I said. “It happened the day we heard her heartbeat for the first time.”
“Wow, he never got to meet his kid. That sucks,” Max said, and we sat in silence for a moment. “How did you go on after that?”
“I had a lot of support from my best friend, Frannie, and my late husband’s parents have been amazing. We lived with them through the pandemic. They helped me take care of her and get back on my feet.” I prudently omitted that the same living arrangement persisted today.
“I know it’s not the same thing, but I lost my best friend two years ago,” Max shared.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Can I ask what happened? Was it work related?”
“I wish. I feel like it might have been easier to get my head around if it had been a botched rocket launch or something with a quantifiable risk. But what happened was so senseless. He was driving to Palm Springs to visit his parents and some dipshit teenagers dropped a rock from a highway overpass and it crashed through his windshield. He died instantly.”
“That’s awful,” I said. “What was his name?”
“Drew. We grew up in Seattle and had been friends since seventh grade. He was an incredible guitar player. He played in a couple bands, did some studio work. He hadn’t gotten his big break yet, but I felt like it was really going to happen for him, you know?
” He paused and then asked, “So what happened to your husband?”
This was not a road I wanted to go down. “I’m sorry, even though it happened a while ago, it’s still difficult for me to talk about.”
“No need to apologize,” Max said.
I yawned and stretched. “I think I need some coffee before this conversation goes any further.”
“I’m going to need a whole pot after you kept me up all night worrying.”
“Hey, that’s on you, buddy.”
“So, any chance you’re free Monday?”
“You are in luck,” I kidded. “My daughter is out of town with her grandparents, and all I have are a few meetings before noon.”
“Cool. Can you leave your dog with someone until maybe early evening?”
“I think I can swing that,” I said.
“You’re going to love what I have planned. Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Weirdly, yes?”
“Great, then I will pick you up at noon on Monday. Text me your address?”
I cleared my throat. “I guess I should clarify. No offense, but that was not a blanket ‘I trust you.’ It was contextual. As in, I trust you to plan a date, but not yet with my home address.”
“No offense taken. Boundaries are important,” Max said. “It sounds like you’re a coffee lover, so how about we meet at Peet’s on Montana?”
“Sure,” I said. “Are you going to give me a hint about where we’re going?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Are we going to Mars?” I asked.
“Um, I think we might need to work on lowering our expectations,” he said.
“Where’s the fun in that?” I quipped.
Max guffawed. “That’s basically my life’s motto. This is going to be great.”