Yield

12. Max

“You think or you are?”

Isn’t that the ongoing question? Will I finally walk away?

Dammit.

Why is this so hard?

“Max? If you can’t make your mind up, you shouldn’t leave.”

“I hate that you’re intelligent.”

I’ve been standing in the freezer section of Roy’s way too long, staring at the ice cream when I already know which one I’m going to choose. The same flavor I always get. I never try anything new.

“You hate that I’m telling you the truth.”

Pulling the door open, I grab a container of raspberry. Raspberry. How’s that for trying new things? As Ryke would say baby steps, peach.

”I need to leave...for my daughter.”

“If you’re leaving for anyone it should be yourself. Your heart and soul. How are you supposed to flourish if you’re stuck in tar?”

I continue pushing my cart down the aisle, looking at the list on my phone blankly.

“I don’t. I won’t flourish. I’ll survive.”

“Is that what you want? To live, but not be alive?”

That’s one way to put it. What was I looking for? Oh, strawberries. When did they become eight dollars for two pounds?

“I need to make more money,” I mutter. “You can’t live in this world now with only one income, unless you’re doing insanely well, like you.”

“I’m a stickler with money. I’m not rich.” His sigh hums through my earbud. “Move in with me, till you get your footing.”

“Move in with you?” I look around the aisle as I stand frozen and lower my voice. “That’s...For argument’s sake let’s say,” I pause, looking again. “Cole and I work out a custody arrangement, do you know how hard it is to raise a child, Ryke? A child that isn’t your responsibility, who is in your personal space all the time? I can’t move in with you.”

“I can deal with it for a few weeks. I’ll help you look for places since I know the area.”

“I don’t even know if I want to move out of Montross. Logically, taking the job you’re offering me and finding a place in that area would be the best financial decision, but I have to think about Riley. I can’t strip her away from everything she knows.” Not to mention, Cole would never let that happen.

“Are you happy?”

I ponder the question, walking aimlessly through the grocery store. “If anyone else asked me that, anyone besides my girlfriends, I’d tell them yes. End of conversation, but it’s not that simple. Sometimes I’m happy and sometimes I’m destroyed...It’s not…” I glance around, vulnerability shutting me up. If anyone hears me…

I sigh. “You...you see the version of me that is free. The original, the before working multiple jobs to get ahead, before dealing with years of pain, before the responsibility of a child...before it mattered what I ate and how much sleep I got. You get the untouchable part of me and he gets everything. The good, the bad, the psycho bitch. Nobody else could handle those parts of me and I have no idea how he does. I want to say he’s a bad guy and he’s a shitty husband, but he’s not. We fuel each other. He pushes me and I push him back. It’s unhealthy. It’s toxic. I can’t move forward in any direction if I’m not content with myself. You’re right, if I leave for anyone, it’s for me. It’s for me to focus on becoming a better version of myself, a better mom, a present friend...God, I’m in the fucking grocery store. Stop making me get all emotional.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re ready to move on,” the disappointment is in his tone.

“I don’t want to move on. I mean, I want to grow, but falling in love again isn’t a priority. Maybe I’m supposed to be on my own. I…” An older woman walks into the aisle quieting my thought. “Hold on.” I walk back to where I started, rethinking the decision to get ice cream, and walk around with it for ten minutes while I complain to Ryke. “I’ve felt alone for a long time, but always had someone to catch me if I fell. I want to stand on my own two feet.”

“You have my support either way.”

“You’re a good friend, Ryke.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Come over,” Amber demands.

Chirping birds outside my truck window normally make me smile, but the words that Cole and I have exchanged in the past twenty-four hours make me want to live in the dark and never breathe in their sweet sound again.

“Why does love hurt so bad?” My breaths become heavier and I become weaker, dropping my phone to my lap and falling face-first into the steering wheel.

“Max, take a breath. You need to calm down, start the truck, and drive to my house. You need to leave now.”

“I have to go back in,” I cry.

“No. Do not do that.”

“I have to get my bag,” I insist.

“You can borrow clothes or whatever you need. I’ll go over there with you tomorrow. Don’t go back in there, Max,” she pleads. I shouldn’t have told her about the screaming battle, but I’m tired of holding it in. I don’t care who knows. We’re both terrible. He’s not worse than I am and I’m not worse than he is. Two storms that mirror worlds of pain and resentment and anger that we only know one way to let out and that’s through pushing each other to the brink.

“I’ll just get my bag and leave.”

“Max!”

“I’ll be at your house in ten minutes.”

“Max.”

“I’ll be okay,” I convince myself.

“Get here as soon as you can and drive carefully.”

“I will. Bye.”

I find a napkin in the console and dab the tears streaming down my cheeks, instead of continuing to wipe my wet fingers on my jeans, and the snot from my nose. Get it together, Max. Go in, get your bag from the bedroom, and leave. Nothing else needs to be said. I already told him everything I needed to.

I slowly open the door, walking into the kitchen. Good, he’s not in here. Shuffling to the bedroom for my suitcase, I grab the packed bag from our bed and turn to leave. Cole stands in the doorway like a wolf with heavy shoulders, dead eyes, and a tongue that releases words laced with cyanide.

“Get your shit and get out,” he growls.

I suck up the snot running from my nose. My lip quivers and I fight desperately to hold myself together. I grab the handle on my bag and walk to the door. He’s stuck in place and I can’t get by him without touching him. I’ve taken a lot of harsh words from Cole’s mouth, yet when he tells me to leave, it’s the worst gut-wrenching pain. It’s not because I want to stay anymore. It’s knowing that his actions are fueled by heartbreak and he doesn’t know any other way to handle it.

“Can you move?” I mutter, avoiding his face. My sight is lost in his charcoal tee but the image on it doesn’t register.

“No,” he snarls. “I’ve always been your brace, Max. If you walk out that door, nobody is going to help you.”

“You’re wrong. If I need help, I have friends, but I won’t need it for long.”

“Some of your friends are married to mine. Do you think they would pick your side?”

“There are no sides, Cole. We can’t be together and be healthy.”

“You’re really doing this? This is what you want? To break my heart? To throw this life away?” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“I’m not doing this to hurt you.” My arms swing and my knees buckle.

Stop. I can’t get swept into the flames.

Brushing the messy pieces of hair from my cheeks, I lift my bag again.

“I’ll always be here for you, Cole.”

“I don’t need you. Leave.” He moves out of the doorway, stepping to the side.

I stop in front of him, falling into the pit that consumes his blue eyes. I wanted forever.

Tears collect in my eyes and I walk away before he sees the gloss. Pictures of my beautiful family on the colorful walls next to framed handprints and artwork Riley created — memories manufactured in a cardboard box that we turned into a home — force gasps of air between my lips. I try to choke back the sound but I can’t. I rush out the door, running to my truck.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry.” Amber wraps her arms around me.

This is where I’m at now; crying in my best friend’s arms in the guest room of her house where she lives with my husband’s best friend. A knock on the door pulls my face from her shoulder. Andy peers in; his usual straight lips, and concerned green eyes. He’s wearing the same hat that Cole has in gray. He tucks his hands into his jeans, brush a beaded bracelet against his blue single-pocket t-shirt.

His eyes connect with Amber’s. “Are you hungry? I made chicken on the grill.”

“I’m going to run to the bathroom first. Then I’ll be out.” Amber stands, holding my hand for a moment with a pity smile, and then walks out of the room.

“Max…” Andy hesitates. “He’s hurting.”

My shallow nods are all I can manage. The shake takes my lips again and I’m making that ugly face.

“Don’t cry.” And just like that, it’s as if he told me to cry. I bury my face in my hands, the shame of falling to pieces makes it worse. Andy walks to the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around me. “I’m not good with words of encouragement and shit. Amber is the one that makes me talk everything out.”

I hold onto him, not caring if he says a word. This is all I need right now and he has no idea how he’s helping. Pulling away, I dry my mouth from the sultry drops with the corner of my sleeve.

“Go eat.” I pull the band from my hair, using my fingers to comb the knots out.

“You don’t want anything?”

“Not right now.”

“Okay.”

“Andy,” I call and he steps back into the doorway. “Never mind.”

“You sure?”

I suck my bottom lip in, nodding.

A rocky exhale drains my lungs. I pull the blanket back, slipping underneath, and curling to one corner of the mattress. I have to fall asleep every night without him next to me and wake every morning without his hums in my ear. Nothing could prepare me for how much this hurts. I won’t know where he’s at or what he’s thinking or...who he’s with. Looking at his socials will be a death sentence, reminding me of what I left. If this is what’s for the best then why is it the worst heart-slaughtering destruction since...my parents.

I wish I could call Mom. I’d beg her to come back and she’d tell me I’m going to be fine. It’s just a scraped knee. It will bleed and scab, but in time it will heal and if it leaves a scar, it’s a reminder that I made it through.

I pick Riley up at Colleen’s every morning, go back to the house, and we live out our day as usual. An hour before Cole gets home, I take her back to Colleen’s and he picks her up. She’s confused but thinks it’s a game.

“Hello?” I open the door and walk into the kitchen. The table has a few notebooks and pens, along with a calendar. I slip out of my shoes and take a seat, hanging my purse from the back of a chair.

This was my home. The lines on the wall are where I measured my sweet pea. The picture that hangs in a thick wood frame is from the day we brought her home. I look so happy. Cole looked so proud. Now he glares at me with the blankness he would give the man at the DMV who gave him the run-around.

He walks into the kitchen from outside, turning his backward hat around. It does the same thing it did to me when I was sixteen. It makes me want to smile. The thought washes away as my eyes fall to the floor. I untuck the corner of my muted purple top, along my hip, leaving the front portion go while the back hangs loosely along my straight-legged jeans. Cole kicks his boots off and goes to the sink to scrub his forearms and hands. I guess he was in the garage.

Neither of us speaks. I don’t know what to say and he holds his tongue. I take a seat at the table, glancing at the packet of stable sheets in front of me. None of the words register besides divorce settlement agreement. Cole sits across from me and the silence continues.

I clear my throat. “Is Riley at your mom’s?”

“Yeah.” If Colleen was here, she would give him hell for his greasy jeans.

“Good. I want to make this transition as easy as possible for her.”

“Sure,” he replies flatly.

“Okay...I guess I’ll start.” I twirl a pen between my fingers, not planning to actually use it. “I’ve been thinking of how we can do this in a way that will work out for both of us. For now, we can continue with what we’re doing and you can have her on the weekend. I’m looking for an apartment and I might be getting a second job. It would depend on the hours where we go from there, but we’ll talk about it after that happens. And we should agree on a sitter for backup when your mom can’t keep her.”

“Who’s paying for that?” He leans into the back of the chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’ll give what I can, but I know I’m not going to be able to afford much right now. I’ll try for half once I figure out work.”

“Fifty-fifty custody? That’s what you want?” He’s stiff and I don’t like how cold his replies are. It could be worse, though.

“I want to work together on this. If you need a day off or a day with her, we can work it out. I don’t want her to suffer because we can’t get along. She comes first.”

“I don’t want her yo-yo-ing around. She needs consistency.”

I thought what I suggested was consistent, but he’s not understanding it.

I drop the pen and cross my legs, sitting back. “What do you want to do?”

“You keep her Monday to Thursday and I’ll keep her Friday, Saturday till Sunday afternoon.”

“That doesn’t work.” I shake my head. “You have races on the weekend.”

“Mom will keep her.” He doesn’t move.

“She’s not spending time with you then.”

“After races and in between.”

“I think my plan is more logical,” I insist. “I have her during the day as long as I can manage and you have her in the evening. Weekends, we’ll figure it out. It’s not a permanent solution, but for now, this is the best way for both of us to see her and keep some consistency.” I move around, trying to find another comfortable position as my body starts to heat.

Cole presses his elbows to the table, squaring his cold eyes on me. “What’s this other job? When will it start?”

“The job Ryke offered me.” I’d like to believe I’m telling him this is to be transparent. Yet, a part of me is dousing us in gasoline and holding a match.

“The one in North Carolina?” His mouth hangs slightly, furrowed brows of both shock and anger.

“Yeah.”

“You plan on driving there every day?”

“We haven’t stapled the details down.” I shy away.

“Do you seriously want me to believe that you’re going to take a job in a different state and not move there?”

“I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet.”

His hands fall to the table. “You’re not moving out of state with my daughter.”

I knew he was going to make a fuss over this. Something I haven’t decided or planned or put enough thought into to argue with him.

“Cole, you just said that you wanted me to keep her all week. You wouldn’t see her for four days, but I’m not allowed to live a few hours away?”

“I know what’s going to happen.” He points. “You’re going to make me drive to get her or something is going to come up and you can’t bring her here.”

“I would not do that.” Is he fucking for real? “I would never keep her from you.”

“This is a fucking nightmare.” He sits back, peeling his hat off and rubbing his head.

“I have to make money. I don’t want you to pay for everything for her.”

“I’d gladly pay for her,” he snaps, replacing his hat. “She’s my responsibility. I’d rather pay for everything she needs than have her move three or four hours away. I can’t stop by at night to see her or anything.”

“You’re confusing.” I cross my arms in frustration. “I don’t know what you want to do.”

“Fine. Let’s keep swapping her off at my Mom’s.” Oh god, like it’s such a big deal.

“We don’t have to. I can come here in the morning before you leave.”

“Well, I really don’t want to see your face for a while, Max.”

“My face is in half the photos hanging on these walls.” I point to the picture behind him. Fucking idiot. “So what’s seeing it two more times throughout the day.”

He stands up, slamming his chair under the table. Tearing the frame from the wall, he turns around, holding it up.

“Oh, this picture?” He walks toward the living room, plucking another. “This one?” Cole tilts his head to the side arrogantly. I get up to follow as he heads into the living room. “This one too, Max?” What the fuck is he doing? I chase him back into the kitchen. He roughly sets the stack on the table. “They’re gone.”

“Cole, don’t do this. I know you hate me, but think about Ri.”

“I’ll fill the frames with her drawings and put them back up. She’ll love it.”

“Fine. If that’s what’s going to make you feel better, do it.” I walk around the table, picking up my bag.

“It’s not going to, but at least I won’t see your face.”

“Fine. We’ll keep swapping her at your mom’s. When you stop acting like a fifteen-year-old, let me know.” I walk to the door, trying to get my shoes on without unlacing them.

“Where are you going?”

“I think we’re done.”

“Max…”