33. Max
Journal Entry 106,
18 years ago I met a boy…
and I put everything terrible in my life on his shoulders.
He carried his burdens and held the weight of mine. I pushed his buttons and he began to push mine. Together we created something beautiful and then burned it to the ground hand in hand because we both lived for the pain. That was where we felt at home, under the rocks and rumble of misery. Self-degradation battling pride. Unimaginable expectations that were easier to hide from than speak about.
Over a year of living in North Carolina and eight months on my own in Virginia again. I’m happier. I smile for no reason, dancing around the kitchen of my new apartment to a Taylor song with my mini-me. Every day isn’t perfect. I fight to put a smile on some days. Others, I fight to get out of bed. Then something happens to remind me of how much I have. Riley’s first day of school. Amber face-first in a mud hole. Melody’s weekly Vegas adventure updates. I’m not going back to city life anytime soon. One day I feel whole and the next…someone’s missing. More than one someone is missing.
“Max…” Cole walks in and I smile, turning down the music.
“Hey Cole. Sweet pea, can you go play in your room while Daddy and I have a grown-up conversation?”
She nods, hopping to her room. She loves that she has two bedrooms and got to pick the color. She tells me every week and how what color she wants to paint it next. It’s going to stay purple for the remainder of the year at least.
“I love you.”
What? I almost laugh, shaking my head in shock and confusion. Why is he saying this? Where do begin with this comedy?
“Seeing you every day and being your friend isn’t enough for me. It hasn’t been. Ever.”
I walk backward as he nears me. My heart doubles in beats and I might swallow a golfball-size amount of saliva, miraculously knocking it out of my chest cavity and into the pit of my acidic stomach.
“Cole, we’ve done this already.” It’s there. It’s in my stomach, burning.
“I’m not asking you to date me or marry me again.” He grabs my left hand, flipping it over.
“I don’t understand.”
“It makes me insecure. It’s going to suck to get past. Thinking you’ll leave again…it’s terrifying. And here I am, Max. Scared out of my shorts, prepared to beg because there is a shred, a fucking tiny shred of hope, and I won’t let go of that. Meet me where you wanted me to go, and I never listened. I swear on my life, fuck, on every bike I own, that I’ll show up.”
I glance down at our hands, side-by-side, tattoos that can’t be erased. Something more permanent than a divorce.
“You want to try the couples classes?” Dropping my hand, I blink away. “Can you do that without being a couple?”
“Nobody tells us what we can’t do, lovebird.” That’s the first time in months that he’s called me that and I missed it. How long has he restrained himself? “Please.” His blue eyes are more than that. They’re oceans. Massive bodies of water, begging me to dip my toes in. “All I’m asking for is a second chance.”
“You’re not the only one who needs a redo.” I glance up through blurry eyes. He’s not the only one at fault. He’s not the only one who misses us. The good us. The dancing in a Friday night fields us. The talking all night about nonsense us. The never-growing up while we grow old us. “You had me at my worst. I think it’s time you get me at my best.”
I look down at my black Avenged Sevenfold tee as I bounce the right toe of my crisp new checkered Vans on the carpet. Half my body springs with it.
I don’t know how we got here…well, I do and I don’t like it. This is the start of forever or never. The nerves bounce around my stomach, fighting with the hunger groans. I should’ve eaten more than a granola bar for breakfast.
Emma wants us to do this exercise. Something about acknowledging our growth and will to continue with the couple’s tools. Zoning out to play with the tear in your jeans wasn’t what I planned on doing, but I’m beyond ready to cut back on sessions. It’s time.
“Hi. I’m Maxine, but everyone calls me Max. I’m a graphic designer. I have a beautiful six-year-old daughter, Riley and I was married for seven years.”
“Hi. I’m Colson, but everyone calls me Cole. I’m a pro motocross rider. I have a beautiful daughter, Ri, and I was married for seven years.”
We shake hands, smiling at each other on the tan couch in the therapy office which started my healing journey. Insisting we schedule an in-person session this month was met with agreement. It’s like a participation ribbon from grade school or a praise kink. Talk about age gap. It’s my invisible monument coming full circle.
I haven’t stopped asking myself what if we would had done this years ago. Would we be open to each other or would it have failed because we didn’t have that distance? That self-reflection. It’s something I have to work on. I’m getting there. Plus, I hear Ryke’s voice, telling me everything happens for a reason. I believe him now.
“You’ve made tremendous progress in the past three months, Max and Cole. You are both doing phenomenal with communication and I encourage you to keep up with your individual sessions. I know it’s a big step to cut back from going twice a month to once. I’ll see you two in a month, but don’t hesitate if you need to reach out before then.” She closes her brown eyes with a soft smile taking her lips. “I know Max won’t. Girl, anytime.”
“I’d say I owe you, but you’re already in my wallet.”
“Uh, hi, I’m Colson. I’d love to take you to dinner and then make you my dinner.”
“Shut up.” I laugh out air, walking down the step in the front of the building. “I know it was corny, but you agree it’s worth it?”
“Yes. You were right,” he admits. “And you do know, when I marry you again…” His jeans brush the back of my hand, fingers intertwining with mine. He leans in to whisper, “It’s going to happen on a motorcycle.”
“When you marry me? Three months of couples therapy and you’re ready to jump back in?”
He draws our hands up, pressing his lips to the back of my hand. “I’m never letting you go again. I’ll come here every day and talk about my fucking feelings if it shows you how much I respect you and want to validate your feelings.” We stop at the bottom of the steps before crossing into the parking lot. “I’ll follow you to hell as long as we’re back in time for dinner. Can’t miss Mom’s cooking.”
“Hell probably has your mom’s pies.” He pulls me tight and his laugh vibrates through my chest. “I acknowledge your effort.” My gaze takes in my soft lips…and his soul-devouring, fuck me eyes. “Look at us utilizing the tools.”
“I’ll race you to the truck,” he teases.
“Winner gets to drive,” I counter. “Ready. Get Set.” I take off running toward row three.
“No fair. You jumped the gate.”
“And managed the holeshot.” I jump up and down, cheering. He catches up, running into me. My back is forced to the sleek, defined naked-bodied motorcycle. Cole’s hands hold the lowest part of my waist. He dips down, meeting my lips and tangling around them. Tender pressure and soft nibbles send warm flutters from my chest to my thighs.
“Nothing is hotter than my girl against a motorcycle.”
“Except…” I hold my mouth to his ear. “Colson Warren being his girl’s backpack.” I don’t regret renting it for the day one bit.