“I’m not sure you’d be quite this upset—so upset you handed in your notice—if it were just ‘fucking’. You say it’s not serious but it sounds like it is from your perspective. Do you have feelings for him?”
I scraped my hair back from my face as if it would help me see more clearly. Did I have feelings for him? “I feel like I want to punch him in the face; does that count?” I asked as Grace rubbed my back.
But I didn’t want to punch Max, not really. I wasn’t angry. I felt broken, as if I’d taken a right hook to my stomach. Somewhere along the road, I’d let him in, enjoyed being with him—I’d been happy, and not just when we had sex. I couldn’t remember a time when that had been true of any of my other relationships. My father had ensured I grew up heartbroken, the scars of our relationship creating a barrier between me and other men. No one had ever broken through. No one except Max. It had just been sex—amazing sex—and then somewhere along the line, as he’d revealed himself to me, I’d been forced to do the same. He’d opened me up and I’d let myself care.
“I think maybe you feel more for him than you’re admitting to yourself,” Grace said.
Of course I had feelings for him.
Max was the only experience I’d had of being with a man where I’d not worked out how or when we would end before anything started. I knew I would leave my college boyfriend when we graduated. I knew the guy I saw occasionally at Berkeley would never leave Northern California and I’d never stay. I always saw the end before anything began. And that suited me. It meant I didn’t get attached, didn’t have any false expectations. With Max, I’d never seen the end and so I felt cheated of all the time we could have had together in the future. My expectations of him, of us, had been too high because they hadn’t had limits.
I wanted so desperately for Max to have told my father if he didn’t want me working on the account, Max didn’t want his business. Finally, I wanted a man to put me first. Ahead of money, ahead of business. I wanted Max to stand up and claim me as my father never had.
I understood now my heart was closed to any happy futures. Shut down. Every man who came after this would always have limits.
* * * * *
I stood in Grace’s closet, surrounded by her designer wardrobe I’d been pilfering since I arrived a little over a week ago. She might not wear them often, but she sure had a lot of beautiful clothes. I couldn’t avoid going back to Manhattan any longer. I figured there was no running into Max if I went back on a Saturday. I needed to go back to my apartment.
“This is Gucci,” I yelled from her bedroom, pulling out a black pencil skirt.
“Jesus, your voice carries three blocks. I think I prefer you mute.”
I hadn’t had much to say for the first few days of my stay at Grace’s. It was as if the pain of walking away from my life had stolen my words. But after my third day in bed Grace had literally pulled me into the sitting room and forced me to watch TV and join in commentary on episode after episode of Real Housewives. Things got a little better after that and I was able to contain my gloom. But it was still there, lurking, waiting for me to be on my own so it could take over.
“Yeah, that skirt looks great with the YSL gray silk cami.”
“I can’t wear Gucci anything when I’m just packing up a few things and dragging a suitcase around on the subway.” I wasn’t sure how I was going to pay my rent, but something had stopped me giving notice on my apartment. I’d waited a long time to live in Manhattan and work at King & Associates—I just wasn’t ready to let it all go yet. Reluctantly, I put the skirt back in the closet.
Grace appeared at the door to her closet and rested against the door frame. “You love me, right?”
I snapped my head around at her. When Grace started a sentence with that preface, I knew the follow-up wasn’t something I wanted to hear.
I turned back to the racks of clothes. “I don’t know, it depends what you’re going to say next,” I replied.
“Well, I was thinking that while you’re in Manhattan, maybe you’d want to call your father.”
I turned to look at her, completely confused. “And why would I want to do that?”
“To get some answers. Hear what he has to say.”
“Why would I give him any of my time or energy?” Just because Grace seemed to be reconsidering her relationship with her parents and their money, didn’t mean I had to.
“Honestly?” she asked. “Because I think you spend far too much of your time and energy on him. Everything you do seems to be a reaction to your father.”