Over You (24 page)

Zach turns Max’s head to see Bridget waiting by the entrance.

“A little birdie in a tartan jacket told me you had a big thing here today,” Bridget says.

“I owe you such an apology—”

“Yeah, I was really mad at you. For lying to me.” Bridget ticks off on her fingers. “And having a double standard, and just generally screwing up my life.”

“Totally fair.”

“But then I realized, you didn’t. If you’d never come along, I’d still be crying on my bedroom floor, writing love poems to Taylor in shaving cream on my window, and just generally being a mess. Your program
works
. And I want it to keep working. Taylor and I are back together. And it may be the real deal. And it may just be a big, fat half ass in disguise. But if it is, I’ll be sad, but, ultimately, I’ll be okay. I know that now. I’m not Angie Riverdale.”

“I am,” Max says gravely.

“Duh.” She throws her arms around Max. “Now go get some university cred to take this thing global!”

Buoyed by that hug, Max somehow finds herself in front of Dr. Jane Schmidt, trying to present her findings and sell herself. “So, if you look at page twelve, you’ll see I’ve compiled a graph.”

But Dr. Schmidt only nods halfheartedly, flips a few pages, ends up on one that is
not
twelve, and looks up as if to say, “Continue.”
Oh God, I’m losing her,
Max thinks. This is a disaster. Max starts to sweat. She moves on to talking about the behavioral psychology elements she’s incorporated into the program, but she can tell she still doesn’t have Dr. Schmidt’s attention. “And that’s, I guess, really it, then, so, yeah,” Max winds down with a lackluster finish.

Dr. Schmidt doesn’t say anything.

“Dr. Schmidt?” Max asks.

“Sorry.” She pushes her glasses up into her auburn hair, and Max can see she’s been crying.

“Are you okay?”

“Why don’t you leave your paper with me and I’ll try to find time to look through it over the holidays.” Max grips her chair as she feels her future, local and global, slip away.

“Okay, thank you for your time.” Max gathers up her support materials and hands them off. “I love that watch,” Max says, admiring the same gold Michael Kors one she had borrowed a few weeks ago.

“Thanks. My fiancé gave it to me.” Dr. Schmidt sucks in her lips. Max’s eyes dart to Dr. Schmidt’s ring finger to see that it is barren, with just a faint tan line where the band must have been.

“I’m so sorry,” Max says as she stands with her bag.

“No,
I’m
sorry.” She furiously tries to wipe her cheeks dry. “I should have taken the week off. My fiancé—” The words seem to get stuck in her throat as she tries to stand to see Max out.
“Is leaving me for someone in the French department.”

“Oh, Jane.” Without even realizing what she’s doing, Max lowers Dr. Schmidt back into her chair. She automatically opens her red bag and pulls out her thermos, her pillbox, her chocolate, placing each on the table until she catches herself. “Sorry, I don’t mean to presume.” Max starts to put them back. “I’ve only worked with girls. And obviously being engaged is hardly going out for a few months—”

Dr. Schmidt puts her hand on Max’s to stop her from repacking. “It can’t make it any worse.”

“That’s actually one of our mottos.” Max sheepishly unwraps the candy bar and hands it to her.

“What would you say next?” She takes it from Max. “If I was a teenager.”

“That it hurts,” Max acknowledges and Jane nods gratefully, mouth full of chocolate as Max ventures to continue with building confidence. “Mornings and evenings are the worst. But every day there’s going to be a little window of time where you feel not just ‘barely alive,’ not just ‘okay,’ but positively euphoric. Winning
American Idol
euphoric. And that window, offering you a glimpse in which you discover you’re getting through it, is going to get longer and longer each and every day. Because your body knows that surviving this is going to bring you a level of strength you have not yet known. I promise—” Max takes a breath, feeling with every ounce of her conviction that as she says it she’ll find a way to make it true. “I promise we’re going to get you not a hint, not a glimmer-of-a-pang
over him
.”

B
en backs the van into the space he lucked into and checks to make sure he isn’t too far from the curb. Hard to tell with the mound of snow that’s been congealing since the Christmas storm. He cuts the engine. So not how he wants to be spending New Year’s Eve. Kim thinks they’re meeting up later, but he just doesn’t think he feels—whatever it is he’s supposed to feel at this point. What he felt with Max.

So that means he’ll probably ring in the New Year at Bridget and Taylor’s joint party—which is cool since Taylor’s been back to his old self again. He hops out of the front seat and shuts the door, grabbing the invoice for his final delivery and double-checking the address. Crap, is this a restaurant? Why would they need a changing table? Letting out a sigh, he shoves the paper back into his pocket. The red velvet curtains covering the windows make it look like it’s not even open. Whatever. He’ll just leave the invoice in the door crack and head home. He’s craving KFC again; maybe he’ll swing by there.

Just as he’s wedging the order between the handles the door opens, sending the paper to the icy pavement. Ben bends to get it and when he stands he sees Max, looking maddeningly beautiful in a red dress that seems like it was sewn to her.

Max doesn’t move, her breath held as the frigid wind whips in and around her. This is her last
Teen Vogue
loan and her last hope. She’s ordered about fifty items from Cooper Baby, but he’s never once been the one to ferry them to her door. “Hi,” she says as he stands, his cheeks pink from the cold, his eyes looking uncertain. “Thank you for coming.”

“I wouldn’t have,” he says, “if I’d known …”

“But we’re having a changing-table emergency.”

“Luck with that.” He turns back to the van. She jogs out after him.

“But I ordered it! I paid for assembly! You have to deliver it,” she says gamely.

“I don’t have to like it.”

“Come inside,” she entreats. “Don’t you want to see where the table’s going to be set up first? Come on, it’s freezing out here.”

Ben stares at her, shivering and beautiful.
And evil,
he reminds himself.
Totally freakin’ evil
. “I’m not going in there with you.”

“Why?”

Fuck it. “I don’t trust myself.”

“I’m flattered.”

He goes to open the driver’s door. He’s got to get out of here.

“Ben, wait! You want to talk out here? Fine. I will get pneumonia to tell you this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you about any of it. That guy you saw was my ex. I honestly thought I was going to—”

“Second him?” he scoffs at her.

“What?”

“Isn’t that what you do?”

“Um, Moment, you mean?”

“Whatever.”

“Yes, I was going to do my Moment to clear him out of my system because I want to be with you. And I broke all my own rules and a lot of people’s trust in me—”

“Including mine,” Ben says simply.

Max doesn’t know what to say. She knows how she feels about him, but she didn’t realize he felt that strongly back. Pushing past her shame, she reminds herself there has to be a chance here.

“I mean, at least you have that now,” Ben continues, his eyes hard. “I know what it is to have my heart broken. Can I join your club?”

“I didn’t mean to. I meant to do the opposite.”

Ben sees her lips turning blue as her teeth chatter. But she’s not moving. “Okay, look, this is sick, you’re freezing. I’ll go inside for two minutes. But only two. Then I need to get going.”

“Thank you,” she says, jogging in her thin, red heels to grab the door and hold it open for him. He’s not ready for what he walks into.

Max has called in every favor to pull this off. Candles are lit, music is playing, and a tuxedoed gentleman points them to the lone table set up on the floor. Its linen cloth is littered in lush rose petals. “There was a date you offered me a little while ago and I wanted to return the favor,” she says.

“And then kill me?”

“No!”

He looks down at himself. “I’m in a jumpsuit.”

“I’ve been dreaming about that jumpsuit,” she ventures bravely.

Ben looks from the table to Max, wanting to stay, to admit he’s been dreaming about a lot more than that. But—“How do I know you’re not going to hurt me again?”

“Because that’s what
you
have on me now. I’ve learned that hurting you feels infinitely worse than being hurt myself. Look, have dinner with me. Even just as my friend. Or as a passing acquaintance. Have dinner with me as a stranger. You don’t even have to talk! I’d rather sit and not talk with you than not know you at all anymore.”

He finds himself walking toward the table.

She pulls out his seat, and he lets her drape the napkin in his lap before sitting next to him.

“Where does the changing table go?” He glances around.

“In the kitchen. The sous chef is having twins.”

“I should have brought two.”

The waiter places the basket on the tablecloth and fills their water glasses. She goes to take a piece of bread and then doesn’t. She’s suddenly not sure what to do with her hands. Where do you put your hands at a restaurant?! “So, how was your Christmas?”

He takes the menu the waiter offers him before answering. “Um, shitty.”

“Ditto.” She nods.

“And your—” “I went—” They start speaking at the same time and then smile.

“You first.” She motions. “Please.”

But he forgot what he was going to say. Maybe this thing between them can’t be fixed.

She starts again. “Christmas?”

“My mom has a new boyfriend. And, like, six siblings. At Christmas our house is like … an Italian chicken coop. And I look over at my dad and I see how much he misses it all. How quiet his life is. He just seems, I don’t know, stuck.” Ben reaches for his water, realizing his trembling hand is audibly shaking the ice. “But I realize if I pay for school myself I’ll feel better about taking the time to figure out what I really want to do with my life. So I’ve applied for loans and a bunch of merit scholarships.”

“Wow! That’s huge,” Max exclaims. “Good for you.”

“Thanks. He was pretty surprised that I wasn’t going to Kenyon after talking his ear off about it all these years.”

“You’re not?”

“Nah.”

“So where?” Max says, praying it’s at least in this country.

“Don’t know yet. Somewhere on the East Coast for sure. Somewhere I can get back home from. But I kind of needed something totally new. It’s going to be really hard on my dad to have me go, no matter where I’m heading.” He looks at her, an idea occurring. “Hey, this might be totally weird, but do you think you could do what you do for him, but without, like, leaving my mom shitcanned?”

“Oh! Well, we’ve never treated a guy, but—”

“You should consider it. Hearts are hearts.”

“I’m working with my new mentor and, fingers crossed, future advisor, on an adult application of the program.”

“So, you’ll do it?”

She nods. “And we are reevaluating the shitcanned aspect of the program.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiles, reminding himself to look down and figure out his order. He thinks he’ll take a plate of right now followed by a dessert of more. They sit side by side in front of the flickering candelabra, the edges of their hands almost touching as they lift their menus.

Her phone starts buzzing in her clutch. “Sorry.” She lunges to silence it.

“Work?” he asks, and she thinks she’s lost him again. She finally fumbles it out to see a bunch of texts from her stepfather, Peter, and several missed calls.

“Something went wrong at the checkup—” Max reads hastily. “‘They rushed her in for an emergency delivery. Mom and baby are fine’—oh my God! My mom had the baby!”

“What?” Ben drops his menu.

“It’s a girl! A sister.” She smiles at the thought for the first time. “I’m going to have a little lady to look out for!”

“Shit, I’ll drive you!”

“No.” Max tries to focus. “No, we’re having a date. Or a stranger dinner or whatever you’re up for.”

“Max, let’s go. We’ll have our date at the hospital vending machine.”

“Really?”

He takes her hand and pulls her to him, kissing her as he has been wanting to, with abandon—no longer caring about college, or his dad, or even getting hurt again.

And he needn’t worry. Because just like that, she’s totally and completely … under him.

We are eternally grateful to our own Ex, Inc. team:

Farrin Jacobs, Catherine Wallace, and the entire Harper Collins staff. Suzanne Gluck, Kaye Dyja, Eve Atterman, Claudia Webb, Josh Bider, Melody Carter, Alicia Gordon, and Erin Conroy, and everyone at WMEE. Sara Bottfeld and Mahzad Babayan at Industry. Zoe Fairbourn and OpenSky. Ken Weinrib and Eric Brown. Marcy Engelman and Dana Gidney Fetayama. Claudia Ancalmo and Blair Patterson at Estée Lauder. Judy Sage, Jamie Jaffe, and Gillian Avertick at
Teen Vogue
. Tiffany Bartok. Heather, Jordana, Catherine, and everyone at Carroll Gardens All Day Preschool. Our families, especially Joel, David, Sophie, and Theo.