We’re better as friends.
“Sure. It makes sense to let him show me around. Local knowledge and all.”
“Hey, I grew up here, too. I can line up some attractions that will rock your world.”
I couldn’t resist teasing him a bit, offering up a devilish smirk. “So that’s one of your life goals? Rocking my world?”
“Better me than my brother,” he muttered.
“Seriously, you don’t have to worry about that.” I paused just long enough for him to relax before I added, “Now. In two or three years...”
“You are not right, Kaufman. I still think of him as a goony kid.”
“Better not let him hear you say that. You’ll have another fight on your hands.” In a casual motion, I hopped down from the swing, needing to get his hand off me. For some reason, the tingles were stronger than usual.
“Going somewhere?”
“We’re finding something to eat, then you’re hanging out with your family. That’s why we’re here, after all.”
Not to make me feel things. And damn, I wish it would stop.
It can’t, Eli said. Sooner or later, you’ll love somebody else. Or else you might as well have died with me.
I wish I had. Normally, the bitterness didn’t escape unless I’d been drinking. So I stuffed it back where it belonged, crouched in the back of my head like an angry tiger.
Don’t say that, C. Where would this guy be without you?
I had no answer for that, but as I walked through the backyard, the longish grass tickling my bare legs, it felt like falling.
CHAPTER EIGHT
We didn’t get back to Providence until nearly midnight.
I was heartily sick of this black dress—to the point that I might burn it instead of washing it when we got back. Tiredly I trudged up the stairs and keyed the code so we could finally sleep. Damn, it’s been a long day. But the payoff had been worthwhile; Max’s family had made it clear he wasn’t persona non grata to anyone but Charlie, and it was apparent to me that nobody gave two shits about his opinion.
“I’m dying for a shower,” Max groaned.
He dumped the bag containing his blazer and vest on the bed, and I sighed, hanging up his crumpled clothing. Not because I expected him to wear it again, but disorder bothered me. Various shrinks had communicated that I exerted this control over my environment because I hated feeling helpless. I didn’t think it required an advanced degree to work that out.
“You can have the bathroom first.”
Shooting me a grateful look, he went in and shut the door behind him. I didn’t want to put on my relatively clean pj’s while I was all sticky, though, so I wandered into the other room to watch TV. It occurred to me then that I hadn’t checked messages all day. Normally I didn’t make a move without my phone in hand. Braced for the worst, I turned my cell on. As expected, I had, like, five texts from my mother. She was more than Overly Attached Mom; I’d given her reasons to worry about my mental state over the years, and she was protective even before I’d lost it. For peace of mind, she preferred regular check-ins, and I hadn’t been doing that since we left Michigan.
Where are you?
I haven’t heard from you at all today.
What are you doing?
Are you using again? My mother prided herself on digging up the right terminology.
If you don’t call me tonight, I’ll have to tell your father.
Sighing, I glanced at the time. Technically, it was still tonight for a few more minutes. If I knew her, she was reading in bed, staring at her phone, after letting my dad go to sleep undisturbed. In my experience, Ma worried enough for the both of them.
I called her. “Hey, it’s me.”
“What in the world are you doing that you can’t make time to call your mother?”
“My friend’s grandfather died. I’m wearing a black dress and everything. We went to the funeral today. It wouldn’t be respectful to text in the middle of the service, Ma.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday. That wouldn’t last until almost midnight.”
“We spent time with the family afterward. There was a potluck. Do you want me to text you a picture of me in this dress?” It wasn’t like I didn’t appreciate her concern, but sometimes it could be tedious. “I can also send you a link to the obituary. Scan a copy of the—”
“Stop teasing me. I was worried. You shouldn’t be this hard to reach when classes aren’t even in session.”
“I know. Sorry about that. There’s just been a lot going on this week. Things will settle down soon and I’ll get back to my usual schedule.”
“Okay. Be careful. We love you.”
That got me off the hook with my parents, but before I could decide what to watch, Max stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing behind him. The room immediately heated up, despite the air-conditioning, because he only had a towel wrapped around his waist. He seemed fine wandering around, giving me peekaboo glimpses as he prowled the bedroom. I counted his tattoos surreptitiously, coming up with four, unless the towel hid some body art. The black ink I’d noticed curving around his rib cage proved to be a black spiral symbol that looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“Checking out the art?” Max asked.
Startled, I jerked my head up. “Yeah. What is that?”
He came toward me, and I wished he would put on boxers and sweats, but if I said anything, he’d tease the shit out of me. My heart thumped away as he got closer, close enough for me to smell the clean scent of skin, freshly washed with castile soap. Max perched beside me on the love seat, apparently unconcerned by how his towel gapped at the thigh. A drop of water trailed down his chest and I watched it until it dripped onto the white terry cloth over his lap.
“It’s a variation on the symbol for Leo.”
“The zodiac sign? But your birthday’s in November.”
“My mom was born on August 1. This was the first tattoo I ever got.” He touched the ink over his rib cage; it was all I could do not to do the same. “It’s supposed to stand for courage and to remind me of her.”
“That’s sweet. What about the others?”
“This is just a cuff... I liked the pattern.” Max flexed his arm, and the braid expanded in reaction. Then he shifted, presenting his back, along with the only colorful ink on his body. “This is obviously a Chinese dragon. It’s supposed to represent power and good fortune to the worthy, so I guess you could say it’s aspirational. The last is an old symbol for strength.” He indicated a black symbol on his arm that resembled a tree, only more stylized.