One Time, Badly Read online

  "Do what?"

  "Whenever you get ready to go somewhere you look at yourself in the mirror like you don't know, like you're not sure if you look ok. But, eventually, you give yourself a little nod and get going. I like the nod. I like when you realize that you look good. Because you always do," he was still smiling at her, but she could see his eyes growing tired again. Seven am wasn't a time that Max Maylor often saw.

  "I don't even know if you're awake right now or if that was all sleep talk, but I really needed it," Cee walked over and kissed Max on the lips, morning breath be damned.

  "Love you, Cee. Have fun at work," he was definitely crossing the border into sleep talk now.

  "Oh I will, Max," Cee laughed. "Love you, too. See you tonight."

  2018

  September

  Cecelia thought of that morning often. Over the years it had come to serve as the marker in her mind for the last time she could look at Max without reservation. It was the last moment that she had been sure they'd get through whatever was happening between them. She'd left for work that morning feeling full, feeling content.

  For a long time, she'd feel this deep envy for the girl that had walked casually to the bus that morning; so secure in the small world she'd built for herself. She was jealous of the happiness, which felt as though it had been hard fought at the time, but she had no clue what it was to fight for anything back then. Her battles had been nothing when compared with all that she'd faced since then.

  Even now, she wasn't sure she'd ever be that content again. It was the kind of bliss that only ignorance could bring. The days and months that followed had shaken her, had exposed her to a side of herself that she would've rather never met. There was no forgetting it. There exists a sadness, strong like death. She knew this now. The fear of its return is all consuming. Each step forward comes with the fear that it will take you back.

  She could feel that fear rising in her now. She was too close, just a few blocks away from the restaurant, just a few minutes away from Max. Her hands were starting to grow warm from their place in the deep pockets of her jacket.

  She didn't know what would be worse, if they spoke or if they didn't. She couldn't risk being close to him again, but it was what she wanted more desperately than she'd cared to admit these past few weeks. She missed Max with the same intensity that had always accompanied her thoughts of him.

  More than the fear, there was hope in her tonight. Hope that maybe she'd made the right decision back then, that creating space between them to become the people they were supposed to be was necessary, and, maybe, their time was now.

  Chapter 10

  2015

  March

  There are only so many times that a person can apologize for the same thing. Max had sent flowers to her four months ago after he'd snapped at her in the bar. He'd hit it out of the ballpark on his very first swing and now he had nothing left to give. Because you can't buy flowers every time you mess up if it happens every day.

  They meant something to her that first time. But now he was jumping down her throat at an almost constant rate. It was over everything, it was mostly over nothing. The TV was too loud, she was moving around too much when they were watching a movie together on the couch, she was taking too damn long to get ready before dinner.

  "Seriously, Max?" she shrieked through the bathroom door. "You know I have to leave for work in 5 minutes. Come on!"

  Maybe she was being overdramatic, maybe she was being too loud for 7am, but the look on his face when he swung the door open wasn't warranted. She couldn't really think of anything that she was capable of doing that would warrant that look.

  It was murderous, full of this insane rage that she hadn't ever seen in him before.

  "Are you fucking kidding me right now? You're going to scream like a 2-year-old and stomp your feet. Grow up and quit being such a bitch, Cecelia. You're embarrassing yourself and annoying the shit out of me."

  "What?" she was dumbfounded. There was no other word for it.

  "You heard me. You're acting like a moron."

  And she couldn't help it, she burst into tears right there, storming past him and slamming the bathroom door shut behind her. She braced her arms against the sink and took a deep breath as she looked into the mirror facing her. Her face was already tear-stained, the light layer of makeup she'd applied wearing away before she'd even stepped foot outside of her apartment.

  There was a slow drip coming from the faucet below her and a light buzz coming from the toilet, which did always seem to take a good 5 minutes to fully flush. The small window in the wall opposite Cecelia was cracked open and she could hear cars and voices carrying themselves up from the street below. There was blood pounding in her ears from the rapid pumping of her heart against her chest. There was no apology. There was no breathing, no words, coming from the other side of the door. He'd simply walked away.

  She'd left for work that morning without saying a single word to him. She wiped her eyes, touched up her makeup and walked out the door.

  Her day had been predictably awful, her stomach in knots over the call that hadn't come, the I'm sorry text that never sent her phone buzzing. Did he not realize how bad that had been? She almost had herself convinced that it hadn’t happened at all. Maybe she'd sat on the couch to put her shoes on and nodded off for a split second. Maybe the whole thing was just a bad dream.

  She always had these weird, vivid nightmares whenever she couldn't get herself up with her alarm. For every morning that she allowed herself just that extra 15 minutes back in dreamland, it was a nightmare that met her instead. And it was always a nightmare just like the one that had taken place this morning; so real, but with a few tips of the hat. There were just one too many things that didn't quite add up. That's what it felt like and, no matter how long she avoided small talk and emails dinging in on her desktop, she couldn't actually believe that he'd spoken to her that way.

  He'd called her a bitch and he'd meant it. He'd called her a moron in just the same way. She could almost laugh at how ridiculous this all was. At how 30 seconds could make her question three years.

  Her palms were sweating when she walked into her apartment that night. She couldn't be sure that Max was still there, but something told her that he hadn't left. She knew he didn't have any shifts at the bar and it had become normal for him to sit around that apartment on days like this, watching TV or, more frequently, not leaving bed at all.

  Sure enough, she could see through the crack in her bedroom door that he was still in there, watching a video on his phone. The nerve it took for him to be casually snuggled up in her bed after the way their morning had gone made her want to grab for a frying pan on her way into the room. Maybe a good whack upside the head would do him some good.

  As she approached the room, Max's shoulders tensed with awareness, but he didn't look up. His face remained passive, his eyes glued to the phone.

  "You've been in bed all day?" She didn't bother to hide her disgust. It was coming out of her in every which way, and she was glad for it. He wasn't worth the effort it would take for her to be civil right now.

  "Nothing gets past you, Cee," her name on his lips had her cringing.

  "Max, look at me," and he did, with the same dazed look that he'd been wearing around for weeks now, maybe months.

  "What the hell is going on with you? You tore me apart this morning and you didn't think that I deserved an apology?"

  She wanted to cry again. She couldn't, she knew that, but the tears were putting up a good fight.

  "I'm sorry, Cecelia," he all but grumbled it, as a 5-year-old would after being reprimanded for throwing sand or pulling her.

  "Not good enough. Not by half," the tears were turning angry, her voice taking on a different tone.

  "You don't get to talk to me like that, ever. No matter what's going on, you don't get to do it. Obviously something's the matter with you and I'm sorry, I really am, that you haven't been able to talk to me about it, but that
falls on you. I'm here. I love you and I always want to help you, no matter what you're going through. But you can't keep it to yourself and then take it out on me. I didn't sign up for it and I won't stick around for it," she hadn't planned on taking it that far, but she found herself meaning every word.

  "Nothing's going on with me, Cecelia. We got into an argument, it happens."

  "That wasn't an argument, Max! This is an argument. Where two people take different sides and hash it out. What happened this morning was… I don't know. I can't even explain it. An outburst? An attack? You looked at me and called me a bitch after I asked you to let me in the bathroom."

  "Asked me? You were pounding on the door!"

  "Oh please! That's how I am in the morning. I'm hyper. I'm always running late."

  "So you can yell, but I can't?"

  "It wasn't the same. Maybe if I'd said 'Max, you stupid bastard, let me in the bathroom' it would've been a different story. But it wasn't the same and you know that."

  "I don't know what you want me to say here. I apologized. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it, I take it back."

  "Can you, for one second, act like you understand that this is serious to me?"

  "I'm right here. I can see that you're taking this very seriously."

  "No, you're not right here, Max. You haven't been right here in a long time. Fix this or get the hell out of my apartment and don't come back until you figure out what the hell you want."

  And, as Cecelia walked to the kitchen and popped the cork on a bottle of red, Max threw on his hoodie, laced up his sneakers, and walked straight out the door.

  Three absolutely miserable days went by before she heard from him again. It felt like three years. It felt like hell.

  Cecelia went to work, went home, and went to bed. She knew she'd be much better off making plans and staying busy, but she didn't seem to have the energy or the focus to so much as maintain a normal conversation. What little she could do, she saved for the hours that she spent in the office.

  Her work, if not perfect, was at least acceptable and she was fine with that. She was a good employee. She completed her assignments quickly and accurately; she went the extra mile whenever she could squeeze it into her schedule. So, if her personal life got in the way for a few days, well that was just the cost of hiring humans instead of robots to work for you.

  She, of course, told Louisiana that she'd had it out with Max, but she kept it to herself otherwise. As someone who'd been on the receiving end of quite a few complaints about friends' boyfriends, she knew that an image was tainted very easily. It could become a slippery slope to go to friends with each and every falling out. Before you knew it, you'd have very few people rooting for your relationship.

  And she wanted people rooting for her and Max. She was rooting for them. But this was completely new territory. The arguing, the not speaking, none of it was familiar to her. She didn't know how to handle it. But she did know that she wasn't going to be the one apologizing. She was giving him the time it took to come to her. It was tough, especially when all she wanted to do was call him every second, but this was an important moment in their relationship.

  This was a chance to keep the scales even, to demand the respect that she wanted to have. She couldn't be the one to apologize. This had all begun because she decided to stand up for herself and that was all the reminder she needed to keep her from reaching for the phone.

  Cecelia's phone rang at 8:25 pm that third night. She'd just finished washing the dishes she'd used for dinner and was headed for the shower when she heard the sound of the buzzing phone against the granite countertop. She was right in that sweet spot, where enough calls and texts had come in and had turned out to not be from Max, that she wasn't really counting on this one being him either.

  But it was his name displaying across the top of his screen, her favorite photo of him beaming at her from behind it. She nearly let it go to voicemail.

  She wanted to talk to him, to finally fix whatever had broken between them the other night, but she didn't know what she was going to do if that wasn't what he wanted. He could very easily be calling to tell her that he needed space. With the way he'd been acting, that seemed to be the most likely course of action to take.

  He didn't seem too keen on the idea of her helping him with whatever had been bothering him. She didn't think they'd have gotten to this point if he'd been open to that. And if she couldn't help him, or more importantly, if he didn't think that she could help him, then what was the point of their relationship anyway. If they couldn't weather this one storm, their first serious one, then whatever they had between them amounted to nothing.

  She answered the phone, of course. She couldn't put herself through this anymore, not when he was reaching out. If he wanted to end it, then better for her to know now so that she could start dealing with it. So that she could pack a bag and go stay at her parents' house and hug her mother and cry herself to sleep in her childhood bed, as she'd been tempted to do each night this week.

  "Hello?"

  "Cee, hey. Wasn't sure if you'd pick up," his voice was tentative, unfamiliar.

  "Me neither."

  "I'm glad you did. I just wanted to see if you were home. I think we should talk, in person."

  "Yeah, I'm here. I just finished up with dinner," Cecelia did her best to keep her voice even, his request making her feel suddenly very small.

  "Ok, great. Is it ok if I come over?"

  "Sure, I'm just going to take a quick shower, but I'll be out in 10."

  "Ok, see you in a few."

  "See you," Cecelia clicked off her phone and gently placed it down, bringing her hand up to rub at her mouth, her heart jumping up to her throat.

  Cecelia hurried through her shower, washing her hair and soaping up her body in record time. It probably would've made more sense for her to skip the shower and mentally prepare for what was about to happen, but she needed to feel clean. Her commute home had left that familiar layer of grease and grime on her and she didn't want to have this particular conversation in that state.

  So she lathered her hair in her favorite lavender shampoo and used the vanilla body wash she'd picked up from the drug store the day before. She let the warm water run over her skin and rolled her shoulders back, releasing the tension from the day. She leaned her head back and let the water hit her face, holding her breath and forcing her mind to go blank. She didn't think about Max. She didn't worry that she'd have to start over and find someone else to love.

  By the time she'd dried off, smoothed a generous layer of lotion over her skin and threw on a pair of cozy sweats, there was a light knock coming from her apartment door. She headed for the hallway, tossing her wet towel in the hamper on the way, and took a deep breath as she opened the door.

  "You look about as nervous as I feel," Max joked as he walked through the now open door, pausing to drop a hesitant kiss on her cheek, as if she might turn her face away at the last second.

  He didn't pull his head away though. Instead, he dropped it down onto her shoulder, hands still at his sides and breathed in.

  "I really missed you, Cecelia," this was new, too. This sadness. It must have come with the anger. Max and all these new emotions, who could keep up.

  She still said nothing.

  Instead, she closed the door and guided him to the couch, sitting cross-legged with her body turned towards him, but not as close as she normally would have, not tonight.

  "First, I just want to tell you that I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry for the way I spoke to you. For the things I said to you. I was terrible and you didn't deserve it," He was shaking his head in disbelief, as if he couldn't quite stomach the fact that he'd treated her that way.

  "I've been taking a lot of things out on you and I'm not going to do it anymore. I can't do it anymore," she could hear his voice getting thick and she really hoped he didn't start crying here and now. She needed to get through this with what little strength she had left. If he cried, it would all g
o out the window.

  Cecelia had seen Max cry exactly twice in the past three years. Once, when he'd realized he just wasn't going to be able to pull his calc grade to the point of passing, and the other time when his mom called to tell him that his grandfather had passed away. Both times he'd waited until the two of them were alone. Both times Cecelia had held him close to her and rubbed his back until he calmed down. She was prepared to do the same for him now, but that would take everything in a different direction.

  "I just want to help you, Max," she reached for his hands, wrapping both of her hands around his so they were clasped together in his lap.

  "And I want to let you, but I don't know how to. Not with this. I don't even think I can get the words out."

  "It's ok, Max. You can tell me anything. It's going to be fine, I promise."

  He seemed to steel himself against what was about to happen, pulling his hands from hers and turning to face her fully. And then he spoke and it truly did change the rest of her life.

  2018

  September

  When Cecelia had finally gathered the nerve to log off of her work computer and sign out for the day, it was at the very last moment. She'd spent the afternoon completing small tasks and getting herself in a good position to start next week off. It was a typical Thursday afternoon and she wished she'd had more work piled up to distract her, but she simply didn't.

  She stared at the blank screen for a moment before heading out to tell Kevin that she was done for the day if he wanted to go. He nodded his thanks, grabbed his coat and told her to have a nice weekend. She'd have to talk to him about leaving earlier, rather than waiting until she headed out, especially as the week was coming to a close.

  Cecelia then wandered down the hall to Stan's office, just to be sure that he didn't need anything from her before they headed into the weekend, but the room was empty, his work bag nowhere in sight. Good. Hopefully he was taking Greg out to a nice dinner.