Faking It (24 page)

She asked, “This is how it starts isn’t it? We’re getting old.”

“Oh yeah, you’re already past your prime. Life only goes downhill from here.”

She swatted my chest, and then pressed a kiss to the place where she hit me.

“I’m glad you fought for me,” she said.

“I’m glad you let me.”

 

It was around sunset when we returned to her parents’ house. I’d told her that we could get a hotel, maybe rent a car and go on to Texas, but she insisted that she could face her parents again. When we pulled into the driveway, her mother was out the door and sobbing into Max’s hair before we even closed the car doors.

“Your father tried to follow you, but he lost you in the subdivisions. We tried calling you, but you left your phone here. Don’t you ever scare us like that again.”

Max’s expression looked like she was being hugged by one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, but she was hugging her mother back.

“Your father has been torn to pieces. He’s out there looking for you now.”

“I’m okay, Mom. I just needed to deal with some things.”

Her mother pulled back and held Max’s face in her hands. She brushed her hair back tenderly from her forehead.

“I’m sorry about the things I said . . . Max.” Max did the constant swallowing thing, which I knew meant she was about to cry. “Your father and I are just scared. We lost your sister, and now everything terrifies us.” Max made a noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. “If it had been up to me, you never would have driven a car or left the house or done anything that took you out of my sight. We just want you to have the best life possible, and we tend to forget that it’s not our wants that matter. You’re an adult now, and it’s time for your father and I to stop trying to control your life.”

Max hugged her mother, probably the first hug she’d initiated in a decade, and Mrs. Miller burst into a second round of sobs.

It wouldn’t be easy. Max was too hurt and her parents too upset for a cry session to fix everything, but it was the beginning, and that’s all we can ask for in life—for a beginning to follow every end.

Max fingernails scrapeU4owlmy’s father came home, and after close to an hour of the three of them talking and crying, Max looked like she needed a break.

“Why don’t we go get you a dress for that gala?” I asked. “It’s tomorrow, right? I bet the mall is open for a couple more hours still.”

Mrs. Miller looked distressed at the mention of something as mundane as the mall, but she said, “They’re open late for last-minute holiday shopping, I think. But we don’t have to go to the gala, dear.”

“Of course we do,” Max said. “You’ve put a lot of work into this.”

Her mom smiled, and I could almost see the broken thread between them being repaired. A thread was a long way from a bridge, but it was something.

Her mother tried to give Max her credit card to pay for the clothing.

“No, Mom. It’s okay, I’ll find something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know you hate these things and are only doing it for me. So, let me pay. And get Cade something, too. Bethany was talking about putting him in one of Michael’s old suits that’s still in his closet. I’m sure he’d rather not look like he’s going to the junior prom.”

Max took the credit card but made quite clear to everyone (especially Bethany, who was eavesdropping from the dining room) that she was buying something cheap. Nothing fancy.

As it turned out though, even Max couldn’t stomach the dresses she found at the department store, and we wound up at a vintage shop a few blocks away. The owner was getting ready to close when we walked in, but she offered to stay open a little bit longer. Holiday spirit and all that. Max looked like she was in hNow opeaen your eyes,

Epilogue

Max

T
HREE
M
ONTHS
L
ATER

I
hadn’t told him that I loved him yet, even though he said it to me a few weeks ago. We’d just passed the mark of my longest relationship, and even though I wouldn’t admit it to him, I was still afraid that I was going to screw this up somehow. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’d almost told him a dozen times, but those three words are the kind of thing you can’t take back. Once they’re out there in the universe, everything changes.

So, I was waiting for the right moment to make that change. Cade called them “beats,” an acting term he’d taught me when we’d been working on some of my music together.

I brushed more blush across my cheeks and smoothed on my signature red lipstick. Cade knocked on the bathroom door and said, “You ready, babe? We’re up next.”

Cade fingernails scrape to lookowI wondered if and I were singing at an opening mic tonight . . . together.

There was a song, the first song I ever wrote actually, that I was finally ready to sing, but I didn’t think I could do it without him. He hadn’t been comfortable singing at one of the band’s gigs, and I wasn’t sure this was a song I wanted associated with the band. This song wasn’t about getting a break or making money.

This song was just for me.

He asked, “Are you nervous?”

I smiled and said, “Only enough to throw up.”

He laughed and said, “You’ll be fine then.”

The bar was about half full as we took the stage. It was a big enough crowd that I didn’t feel like our singing was pointless, but not so big that I was overwhelmed. Cade pressed a kiss to my hand, and then took up the bass guitar. In true Golden Boy fashion, he’d learned to play in about a month so that he could play with me while I was writing. I took my guitar up, too, and adjusted the microphone.

The lights were just bright enough to cast the bar in darkness. I leaned into the mic and said, “My name is Max, and this is Cade. Tonight we’re singing an original song that I wrote a long time ago. I’ve never played it in public, and I finally decided it was time.” I took a deep breath. “It’s called ‘Ten Years.’ ”

I started with the familiar opening cords, and immediately all the old emotions rushed up under my skin. I took a deep breath, and thought about why I was doing this. The song had haunted me since I wrote it, and it was time to move past it.

I took a deep breath and started to sing. Cade sang with me, low and solid. His voice was an anchor to the song and an anchor to me.

“In one second, I see ten years

I picture a future of all my fears

One blink, and I think

Losing you is like losing me.”

I met Cade’s eyes and thought that in a few ways this song spoke to our situation as well. It had been three months, and we’d insinuated ourselves into each other’s lives so completely. Even associating hims="x1B wM" aid="19087C

ith a song about loss made me have to blink back tears. I was in danger of saying all the cheesy things about better halves and soul mates that I’d always laughed at in movies.

“Lights flash, the car spins

Broken skin, my life stretched thin

Every time I close my eyes I see

Broken skin and broken kin

The end of you feels like the end of me.

“There’s a scream in my soul

’Cause I’ll never feel whole

I’m stuck in the moment. My mind’s on repeat fingernails scrapeCCowlmy

Trapped in an instant I can’t delete

“Time unravels, my life unspools

The future has made us all into fools

You’re lying there, and I’m stuck in my chair

All I’m allowed to do is stare.”

I got so choked up on the verse that my voice broke, and I had to take a break and repeat some of the guitar part before I was able to come in for the next verse. Cade was so in tune and perceptive that he followed me easily.

“We’re all slaves to the grave

Helpless to save

So we close our eyes to shut it out

Instead it becomes what we’re all about.”

I closed my eyes, and I did see it all as I sang. I remembered the images that had flashed through my mind of a life without Alex. I’d thought of all the moments in my life that she would miss, and how nothing would ever be the same without her. I was at nine years now, and though nothing was the same without her, life also wasn’t as bad as I had pictured it would be.

I glanced at Cade. Life wasn’t bad at all.

“In " aid="19UOP5"

1

I
couldn’t keep their names straight, and I wasn’t even drunk yet.

I kept calling Tamás István. Or was that András? Oh, well. What did it matter? They were all hot with dark hair and eyes, and they knew only four words in English as far as I could tell.

American. Beautiful. Drink.
And
dance.

As far as I was concerned, those were the only words they needed to know. At least I remembered Katalin’s name. I’d met her a few days ago, and we’d hung out almost every night since. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. She showed me around Budapest, and I got generous with Daddy’s credit card on occasion. Not like he would notice or care. And if he did, he’d always said that if money didn’t buy happiness, then people were spending it wrong.

“Kelsey,” Katalin said, her accent thick and exotic. “Welcome to the ruin bars.”

I paused in ruffling István’s hair (or the one I called István, anyway). We stood on an empty street filled with dilapidated buildings. I knew the whole don’t-judge-a-book-by-its-cover thing, but this place was straight out of a zombie apocalypse. I wondered how to say “brains” in Hungarian.

The old Jewish quarter—that’s where Katalin said we were going.

Oy vey.

It sure as hell didn’t look to me like there were any bars around here. I looked at the abandoned neighborhood, and thought,
At least I got laid last night.
If I was going to get chopped into tiny pieces, at least I went out with a bang. Literally.

I laughed, and almost recounted my thoughts to my companions, but I was pretty sure it would get lost in translation. Especially because I was starting to question even Katalin’s grip on the English language, if this was what “bar” meant to her. I pointed a crumbling stone building and said, “Drink?” Then mimed the action, just to be safe.

One of the guys said, “Igen. Drink.” The word sounded like
ee-gan,
and I’d picked up just enough to know it mean, “yes.”

I was practically fluent already.

I cautiously followed Katalin toward one of the derelict buildings. She stepped into a darkened doorway that gave me the heebiest of jeebies. The tallest of my Hungarian hotties slipped an arm around my shoulder. I took a guess and said, “Tamás?” His teeth were pearly white when he smiled. I would take that as a yes. Tamás equaled tall. And drop-dead sexy.

One of his hands came up and brushed back the blond hair from my face. I tilted my head back to look at him fingernails scrape of her ”. His extst, and excitement sparked in my belly. What did language matter when dark eyes locked on mine, strong hands pressed into my skin, and heat filled the space between us?

Not a whole hell of a lot.

We followed the rest of the group into the building, and I felt the low thrum of techno music vibrating the floor beneath my feet.

Interesting.

We travelled deeper into the building and came out into a large room. Walls had been knocked down, and no one had bothered to move the pieces of concrete. Christmas lights and lanterns lighted the building. Mismatched furniture was scattered around the space. There was even an old car that had been repurposed into a dining booth. It was easily the weirdest, most confusing place I’d ever been in.

“You like?” Katalin asked.

I pressed myself closer to Tamás and said, “I love.”

Tamás led me into the bar, where drinks were amazingly cheap. Maybe I should stay in Eastern Europe forever. I pulled out a two thousand forint note. For less than the equivalent of ten U.S. dollars I bought all five of us shots.

Amazing.

The downside to Europe? For some reason this made no sense to me—they gave lemon slices with tequila instead of lime. The bartenders always looked at me like I’d just ordered elephant sweat in a glass.

They just didn’t understand the magical properties of my favorite drink. If my accent didn’t give me away as American, my drink of choice always did.