Over You (23 page)

“Zach, I had no idea.”

“Exactly.” He pulls back, wiping under his eyes. “Because you were busy at boarding school. I felt like I couldn’t talk to you.”

“You should have called me!”

“And say what? Obviously you’ve dropped me, but I’m dealing with some ignorant fuckwads and could use a pep talk?”

“But I
didn’t
drop you! I think I didn’t tell you about Hugo because … because deep down I always knew something was a little off about the whole thing. It was too good—or as it turned out, too bad—to be true. He wasn’t really into me, he was into the fact that I could say what I thought when he couldn’t. You’d have picked up on that right away. But I was so lonely, Zach. I felt like I couldn’t risk you pricking my Hugo bubble. Seriously, I would have taken attention from a mass murderer at that point. God, I’m so sorry. What happened after the formal? Did it get worse? Did they find who did it?”

“I didn’t report it—”

“Zach—”

“But then you showed up.” He stares at her, shrugging. “I got my swagger back, and it stopped. I don’t know. Maybe they moved on to tormenting someone else.”

“I should have been there for you,” Max says.

He pulls off the shades. “You look like shit. Not worried you’re going to run into Hugo?”

“I’ve told you I don’t care anymore. You guys got me over him, you know, with an untraditional detour through my Moment. But there’s no way I would’ve arrived on the other side without you. Making it right with you and Phoebe is all I care about.”

“As I recall you left a larger body count.”

“I know,” Max acknowledges, holding up her phone to show him she actually made a list.

Zach looks down at the screen. “He’s next. Good.” Zach nods, satisfied. “Oh my God, Dr. Schmidt is tomorrow?!” His eyes bug as he sees the last item.

“I’m so screwed. Zach,” Max says, so relieved to be talking to him again, but so unsure of the future. “Are we okay?”

Zach stares at a mannequin in a poncho for a full minute. Finally, as Max reaches out to take his hand, he turns back. “I appreciate you coming by here and all, but I need some time to think,” Zach says seriously. “I still don’t really know if you get it or this is just a big, fat half ass in disguise.”

At that moment, Phoebe rounds the corner with an armful of things for Zach to try on. The very sight of Max makes her look like someone just slapped her.

“Phoebe?” Max entreats. “Zach?”

“I need time,” he answers. Phoebe nods in agreement. “We need time.”

Needing to keep moving until it feels like
something
in this shit mess has been put right, Max knocks. “I’m coming,” an exasperated voice says on the other side. Girded, Max digs her fingernails into her palms to keep from running down the block.

A little girl opens the door.

“Hi, I’m looking for Taylor?” Max says.

“Did he win something?” She holds on to the doorknob with both hands.

“No.”

“Is he in trouble?”

“How old do you think I am?” Max asks.

“I don’t know.” The girl tilts her head and appraises her subject. “Thirty?”

“That does it, I need to start moisturizing. No, he isn’t a millionaire and, no, he isn’t headed to jail, I just need to talk to him.”

“Taylor, get out of bed!” She turns to the stairs and shouts up. “There’s a pretty lady here to see you!”

Having come straight from Bergdorf’s, Max thinks that’s a generous assessment. She bites her lip as she waits. Even now, weeks after The Moment, Taylor is still showing up to pursue Bridget. And, now that Max finally sees Hugo for who he really is or—more to the point—isn’t, she has to admit he never even came close to showing up for her, not even once. Which means because of her own baggage, Max gave Bridget the wrong advice.

Taylor walks heavily down the stairs in his sweats. She barely recognizes him from that night at the Cabin. His eyes are hollowed and he could use a shave.

“Yeah?” He hunches his shoulders, pushing his hands into his pockets as he comes to the door.

“Taylor, hi. I’m Max Scott.”

“Why do I know your name?”

“Um, well, you probably heard about me from Ben. I’m here because—”

“The mystery chick who messed with Bridget and cheated on my best friend?” He glares at her. “What, are you here to kill my cat, too?”

“Okay, first, I’m not here to talk about Ben. I’m here to talk about Bridget. Who I did not mess with. Yes, I stopped her from listening to your apologies. And I feel really bad about that, but you have to see it from my perspective. You dumped her. Cruelly and out of nowhere.”

“He did,” Daisy agrees.

Taylor cringes. “I was losing my nerve when she started to cry. I harshed on her to keep from changing my mind. It wasn’t cool.”

Daisy shakes her head.

“My gig was to take care of her after you broke her heart,” Max continues. “Would you really have advised her, in my shoes, to give you a second chance?”

Embarrassed, he can’t look at her.

“But you persevered. And at a certain point I should’ve allowed that maybe you genuinely regretted your decision.”

“I did! I do,” he says earnestly, and then clams up. “I’m not going into this.”

Daisy elbows him.

“Look, here’s the thing,” Max says, feeling so bad about all of it, just needing to get to the point already. “Bridget really likes you. I think you should give it one more try.”

“Thanks for the endorsement, but she won’t even talk to me. I’ve emailed and texted, I sent her a song, I got Daisy to follow her on Twitter—”

“Taylor, I’ve gotten out of the way.” Max opens her red bag and pulls out a small bunch of wildflowers tied at the base with a silk ribbon. “Here. Walk across the street. Ring the doorbell. Talk to her. Be honest. It’s really that simple. Trust me. I’m a girl.”

And as she says it she prays the same holds true for boys.

Max swings by the deli on her way home, but Ben isn’t there. It was a long shot, she says to herself as she squints down Court Street. But even from this far away she can see the lights of Cooper Baby are off on this late Sunday afternoon. She knows she should just walk down there, pound the window, make him talk to her. But she doesn’t think she can take one more person looking at her today like she’s stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

Max descends the stairs, ready with cereal to tackle the next name on her list. Dr. Schmidt. Whose socks Max needs to knock off first thing tomorrow morning. “Okay!” Max says out loud to galvanize herself as she fires up the laptop, pretending her team is there with her. “I’m going to just put the finishing touches on this presentation, maybe kill a goat in the backyard for good luck, and I am good to go.”

In a short while, the goat thing is seeming like it might be her best bet. Zach has all the files organized according to Zach logic. Which don’t seem to match Phoebe’s statistics. The data is, to Max’s eyes, a mess. And Max’s accompanying presentation paper needs
serious
work. This is a week away from being done, at best. How could she have wasted this last weekend?!

“Max!” her mother shouts down the stairs. “Is that you? Why weren’t you answering your phone? I didn’t know where you were!”

“What?” Max asks, struggling to absorb her mother’s anger.

“You missed my office Christmas party!” Anne comes puffing down the sagging steps. “You should have told me you weren’t going to come by.”

Max points at her computer. “Fine.”

“You should have called.”

“Fine.”

“We’re having dinner tonight at the table.”

“Fine.”

“Please don’t keep ‘fine-ing’ me,” Anne levels at her.

Max slams her pen down. “You’re ready to play house. I get it. But don’t expect me to pretend to be a kid again.”

“Except you
are
still a kid, Max. And I won’t have you abusing my confidence.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you didn’t come home Friday night.”

“How?”

“Because I checked on you.”

“
Now
you’re checking on me?” Max’s head pounds.

“Max?”

“
I’ve
abused your confidence?” Max is incredulous, her anger breaking. “How about you’ve abused
mine
. Throwing me all over the country. I know, you were young, you did the best you could. But it sucked, Mom, it sucked. I always told myself this was the best you and Dad are capable of, but it isn’t!” She points at her mom’s stomach. “You
could
settle down, make a life, I just wasn’t important enough to do it for.” The force of her tears surprises them both.

“Oh, Max, of course you were important.” Anne shakes her head as she takes this in, her tone softening. “You’re the most important thing in my life.”

“Not anymore.”

“You will always be my number one. You amaze me! You’re so independent. You seemed to settle in everywhere so well. I never worried about you.”

“I know!”

“That’s not what I mean. Well, maybe it is,” she concedes.

“I want someone to worry about me!”

Max’s mom just stands there with her hands over her mouth.

“I want someone to do for me what I do for my clients.”

“Your
who
?” her mother asks.

“My clients,” Max says simply.

“What are you talking about?”

“Okay, I’m not an escort. But you might want to sit down for this.”

By the time Max has filled her mother in on every last detail, Anne is stunned, embarrassed, concerned—and impressed. “So this Dr. Schmidt has agreed to meet with you tomorrow?” she asks from where she’s curled on the chaise.

“Yes. But I’m so not ready.” Max blows her nose, realizing this may all have been for nothing. She may still end up busing tables at the Newark airport Chili’s. “I’m
nowhere
near ready.”

Just then, they both hear a key in the lock and see Zach and Phoebe standing in the doorway. Zach looks over at Anne.

“Go ahead,” Max says. “She knows.”

“Okay, then, here are our terms,” Zach begins.

“Anything,” Max says, restraining herself from running to throw herself at their sneakers.

“No more skeletons in the closet. You know I detest a closet.”

“Done.”

“Seriously. You spring another car accident on this business you’re on your own, professionally. You disappear again, you’re on your own, period.” Zach points a finger at her to show he’s not joking.

“Of course.”

“And I want a promotion.” Phoebe crosses her arms.

“Oh—”

“I ran your recovery, Max. I’m ready.”

“Hmm … is there room in this room for two firsts?”

By way of an answer, Phoebe blows past Max and Anne to the laptop, opening her bag and pulling out a box of Mallomars, her preferred late-night stimulant.

“We’re on Christmas break,” Zach announces as he tosses off his coat. “And we’re prepared to work on this till dawn if we need to.”

“What did you do to the data?” Phoebe asks, horrified.

“I was trying to put the charts in an order—”

“No, you messed it all up. Give me five minutes, I can have this back together.”

“Well, I can see you’re in good hands.” Anne stands, and Max gets up to walk her to the stairs. “And after that pitch I’d sure as hell want you at my school.”

“You’re biased.” Max smiles.

“I am. Max, you have twelve more hours to shine this thing. We thrive under deadline. I’ll bring you guys dinner. You’re due a little coddling.” She pulls Max into her arms and gives her a reassuring hug.

As Anne walks back up the stairs, Max looks from Phoebe to Zach, tears of gratitude springing to her eyes. “Thank you, guys.”

Zach pulls out the memory stick with the latest version of her presentation. “And I will concede that, yes,
maybe
I would have pricked your bubble.”

“Zachary,” Max gushes, throwing her arms around him. “I love the prick in you.”

If Zach was just being gallant by offering to stay, he never shows it as midnight meets the wee hours meets the sun. On her second back-to-school all-nighter, Max is past the point where caffeine can sharpen her, past the point where Corn Pops can adrenalize her. As she gets out of the subway station to walk over to the psychology department with Zach and Phoebe, Max is giggling—stoned on fear.

“Don’t focus on the lack of recidivism,” Zach coaches her as Phoebe smoothes Max’s hair. “Focus on the overall success rate. Keep coming back to the numbers on page twelve and make sure she sees the graphs.”

Max nods, no longer hearing any of it.

“Okay,” Phoebe says, “this is the place.”

Max turns to them. “I can’t do this.”

“You can.”

“What if I snow this doctor into thinking I know what I’m talking about, and I take this program national, and it’s like that cholesterol medication they just recalled? What if I do more harm than good? What if I
don’t
know what I’m doing? What about Bridget?” She finally says the name out loud. “I got that
so
wrong. That was, like, breakup malpractice.”