by Gina Azzi
“How’s it going?” I ask Philips.
He shrugs. “All good.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Hey, you mind taking a walk around the corner with me? I forgot to pick up ice. And as much as Marissa wants this to be all about wine and cheese, I’m sure the guys will want real drinks.”
I nod. Of course the guys will want real drinks. We officially go dry in the spring semester so the fall is our only chance to really enjoy college. “Let’s go.” I place the beer bottle down on an end table and try not to wince as Philips slips a coaster beneath it. Really?
“Marissa, we’re going to grab ice,” he calls out.
“Okay.” Her voice is slightly shrill.
Philips’ shoulders tighten imperceptibly as I follow him out of the brownstone and down the stairs leading to the street.
“How’re things with Lauren going?” he asks as we hit the pavement.
“Good. I mean, she’s a great girl. Things between us, they’re never complicated, you know?”
“There’s a lot of history there.”
“Exactly.”
We cross the street, passing by the Rittenhouse Hotel. A girl turns in front of the hotel, her long dark hair fluttering in the wind before settling around her shoulders. She laughs, her palms sliding up her boyfriend’s arms, her fingers locking behind his neck. And the gesture is shockingly familiar. As is the girl.
“Is that Maura Rodriguez?” Philips asks, his chin tipping up to motion in Maura’s direction.
Shit.
“Uh, I don’t know. Doesn’t really look like her.”
“Yeah, man. That’s totally her. Who is she with?” Philips asks, veering off the sidewalk and closer to the hotel. “Shit, that guy’s old.”
Fuck.
“Maura!” he calls out.
She jumps back from the guy as if she’s been electrocuted. Noticing Philips, she smiles weakly, letting her arms drop to her sides. “Hi, Marcus.”
“What are you doing here?” Philips keeps at it, walking up to the hotel entrance.
“Just catching up with a friend.” She gestures toward the guy standing next to her.
He shuffles back a few steps. His eyes cut to Maura before he extends a hand to Marcus. “Hey,” he says casually.
Marcus tries and fails to keep his face blank as he shakes hands with Maura’s “friend.”
I step up behind Philips.
“Hi, Maura.” I smile at her.
“Hey.”
“Who’s your friend?” I ask.
“Uh, this is …” She trails off, her eyes darting up to his face.
“Sorry, Maura. I have to go,” the guy says suddenly, his eyes cutting to his watch. “Good, uh, you know, good seeing you.” He raises a hand in a half-wave and turns around quickly, but not quick enough as I catch the wedding band on his left hand.
Maura shrugs. “See ya,” she says to his retreating back before turning toward Philips and me. “Good to see you guys. I got to head back to campus. Have a good night.” She begins to walk away, her tight black skirt sliding up her thighs with each step she takes.
She was going out with a married man?
“Maura, wait,” Philips calls out. I seriously want to slug him at this point. Why is he making this situation so much worse than is has to be?
She stops in her tracks, pausing for a moment before turning again. She stares at Philips expectantly.
“Marissa and I are having some friends over. Wine and cheese. Come with us.” He walks toward Maura and rests his arm around her shoulders. “We miss seeing you.” He smiles down at her.
Fucking Philips.
I can sense the discomfort rolling off Maura, detect it radiating from her pores. The protective urge I feel to ease her discomfort surprises me but has me reacting nonetheless. “If you have other plans, I can walk you home.” I give her the out.
“Nah, man. Maura’s coming with us.” Philips decides for her, walking a few steps and dragging Maura along.
Philips sucks.
Chapter Twelve
Maura
I feel Zack’s eyes watching me as I shuffle along next to Marcus.
Busted.
After earlier this week, tangling up in the sheets with the DILF from the Rittenhouse Hotel seemed like a good idea. Besides, I had to learn his name, right? So I went back. Every night this week. Scotch and sex never tasted so good.
Every night together he removed his wedding band.
And each morning he slid it back onto his ring finger.
His name is Grayson.
And for a thirty-eight-year-old man, he’s sexy as fuck.
Tonight we were going to grab dinner before moving things back to his hotel suite but now it appears that plan is shot to hell.
I never expected anyone to see us together, but if I had to get caught at least it was Marcus and Zack, two guys who do not go to my school, don’t know my friends, and probably don’t care either way.
So it’s like not being caught at all.
When Marcus saw me, I could see the confusion clouding his eyes. Most likely he thinks Grayson is an old hookup of mine. He’s thinking maybe Maura has a thing for older men. So be it.
But Zack. Zack already saw me with Hector. And he didn’t even try to hide the concern in his deep blue eyes. And that worries me.
So I’ll stay tucked into Marcus’ side and pretend I can’t feel Zack’s caring eyes trying to strip me bare. Emotionally speaking of course.
* * *
Zack is back with Lauren. Not that I care. She’s a nice girl. Adrian always liked her. At least at first he did. Around the time that things between Lauren and Zack went south, Adrian changed his tune. Still, it’s not for me to judge. Lauren’s always been perfectly nice to me. She was always a fixture at the regattas, in Adrian and Zack’s dorm room, at all the crew parties. She seems like a nice enough girl. I’m sure she’s good for Zack. He should be happy. Yada, yada.
Still, when her blue eyes meet mine as I enter Marcus’ and Marissa’s apartment, I feel a buzz of anger cut through me. She touches my shoulder lightly before pulling me into a hug.
“I’m so sorry, Maura. How are you doing?” she asks, her voice dripping in sympathy, her eyes shining with compassion.
And I want to punch her.
Right in her beautiful face.
“I’m good. How are you?” I muffle into her thick mane of hair.
“Good, thanks. It’s so good to see you.” She leans back, peering into my face, one hand still clasping my shoulder. “I didn’t even know you were coming tonight! Zack, you should have told me.” She turns to Zack, slipping her other arm around his waist and pulling him into our little circle.
Zack flashes me a look I can’t read before opening his mouth.
“It was a last-minute thing,” I cut in smoothly. “I’m going to grab a drink. Can I bring you anything?” I look from Lauren to Zack, desperate to make my getaway.
“I’m good.” Maura laughs, picking up a wine glass from a nearby end table.
Zack shakes his head no.
Thank God.
I escape to the kitchen just as the front door swings open and more members from the LaFarge crew team and their plus ones enter the apartment. The living room quickly fills with noise, and I search out a quiet place to hide.
* * *
Not much time has passed before Zack finds me. I’m sitting on top of Marcus’ dryer in the tiny space designated as the laundry room. I swing my legs in time with the music while my fingernails pick at the label on the box of Tide beside me.
“How long are you going to hide for?” His deep voice comes out of nowhere, startling me. My heel kicks against the dryer.
“Hey,” I say, nodding at him.
He comes inside the room and partially closes the door behind him, leaving it cracked for more light and sound to enter. “Want me to make you a plate? Are you hungry?”
“No thanks.” I can’t meet his gaze. When did Tide and Downy become so interesting
?
Zack sighs, letting his long breath stretch between us. Silence follows. Seconds pass. And then, “Maura, what are you doing here?”
I look up then. I can’t read any of the emotion in his voice. When I try to search his face, I come up empty handed anyway. “Marcus invited me?”
He shakes his head. “You know what I mean. What are you doing here in downtown Philly? Hanging at the Rittenhouse Hotel with a dude old enough to be your dad?”
I shrug. “We were seeing each other. Didn’t work out.” Back to Tide.
Zack slides up next to me on the dryer, scooting me over so I’m sitting half on the washing machine, half on the dryer. His legs swing a bit too. “Sorry to hear that.”
I snort. “No you’re not.”
He laughs then and the sound is sweet like wind chimes and gruff like an engine turning over. “You’re right. I’m not. You shouldn’t be messing around with old men with wedding bands.”
I shrug. He caught that, did he?
“So what gives?” He presses, running a hand over his hair until it collides with his man-bun.
“Did Adrian ever tell you how when we were kids our parents would take us to Wildwood, New Jersey, every summer for a week?”
“Yeah.” His brow furrows in confusion.
“We would spend all day in and out of the ocean, boogie-boarding, making sand castles, collecting sea shells. At night we would go on all the rides at the boardwalk. I loved the spinning tea cups best. You know what his favorite ride was?”
“What?”
“The Ferris wheel.” I laugh and it’s real for the first time in a long time. It takes me by surprise.
Zack snorts. “Seriously? The Ferris wheel? That’s not even a ride.”
I shake my head. “It was to him. He said it was like being on top of the world and pausing time. You know, when you get stuck on top? It’s like you’re the only person who can see everything happening for those few moments until the ride starts again. It’s just you and the air and the sky and everything that’s happening below you isn’t real. There’s a disconnect.”
“I guess.”
I kick my feet out again then let me heels bang, one against the washing machine, one against the dryer. “I’m stuck. And the ride isn’t going to start again.”
Chapter Thirteen
Zack
Hearing Maura confess that she feels stuck, disconnected, as if everything around her isn’t real, breaks my heart in a way I can’t describe. It’s like being punched underwater, and I know I can’t inhale. Important pieces of her are shattered and the guilt I harbor over Adrian’s death erodes my stomach like acid. I open my mouth to respond and then close it, watching her out of the corner of my eye.
I want to help Maura heal, to help her move on. I know Adrian would want more for her, expect more of her. God, it would kill her if she knew the truth. If she was aware that it was my prescription that he was using when he overdosed. Why couldn’t I have handled it differently? Why did I have to go and attack him? I should have got him help, not abandoned him when he needed a friend the most.
But I can be a friend to Maura now. A good friend.
I can do that, can’t I? I’ve already failed Adrian, but I can be there for Maura, step up for her and be the reliable shoulder I should have been for her brother. He would want that for her; he would want someone looking out for her best interests if he couldn’t. So I will.
I can still hear the music from the party bumping in the living room. The clink of wine glasses, the loud laughter as my friends drink just a little too much, the shouted stories of practices, regattas past. Sitting in the laundry room with Maura is like being wrapped up in a cocoon. The only person I can see, really see, in this moment is her. And sure, she’s beautiful; dark curls cover her shoulders, eyes deep with emotions she tries to hide, her lips are slightly parted. The black dress she’s wearing rides up her thighs as she kicks her feet, which are bare, her sandals scattered below on the floor. A toe ring sparkles from her left foot. Her toenails are a deep red. She’s beautiful.
And she’s broken.
I start to put my arm around her, try to comfort her, tell her that of course the ride is going to start again because you can’t stay stuck forever, when the door swings wide open.
“What are you doing in here?” Lauren’s voice is slightly accusatory, but she flashes a smile to cover it up.
“Just shooting the shit,” Maura says. “Care to join?” She pats the empty space on the washing machine.
Lauren’s eyes zero in on my thigh pressed against Maura’s, our knees rubbing together. “Um, no thanks. I was just looking for Zack.” Her gaze flicks up to meet mine. “Marissa was just telling the funniest story about us sophomore year.” She giggles and it’s slightly breathless. “Come on, you’ve got to hear it.” She holds her hand out to me.
I look at Maura. All of the emotions that were swimming in her eyes moments ago are gone. She smiles at me but it’s hard. “Can’t miss a good story, right?” She hops off the washing machine, slipping her feet back into her sandals. “I got to get going anyway. Nice seeing you, Lauren.” Maura catches Lauren in a half-hug. “See you around, Zack,” she calls out to me over her shoulder.
By the time Lauren laces her fingers with mine and pulls me off the dryer, placing a quick kiss on underside of my jaw, and we make our way back to the living room, Maura is gone.
* * *
That night Lauren’s hair spills over my pillow and her lips press kisses along my collarbone as I hover over her. She moans my name, digs her nails into my shoulders, presses her heels into my lower back. She arches into me, tells me how she wants it, and it is so fucking good I can’t see straight. But when the ecstasy subsides and I drift back to my pillow and blink, it’s Maura’s face and not hers.
And that’s fucked-up.
Chapter Fourteen
Maura
Hector takes for fucking ever to finish. I wish he would get on with it already. His fingers tangle in my hair and he tugs gently. “You like that, baby?” He pumps into me again.
“Mmm,” I respond. Looking over his shoulder, I notice the crack in the ceiling is expanding, new threads popping off from the main line. It kind of looks like a butterfly if I tilt my head to the right.
“Yeah, Maura. Give it to me.” Hector groans.
Fuck me. This was a bad idea. I never should have hit him up tonight. My head isn’t in the right place and instead of numbing everything, I just feel bored. Which is somehow worse.
Hector wraps it up in the next few minutes though, and I breathe a sigh of relief which he clearly takes for satisfaction. “Good, right?”
“Yeah, Hector. The best.” I tell him, rolling my eyes as I flip onto my stomach and feign sleep.
Fifteen minutes later, Hector’s soft snores fill the air. That’s definitely my cue to split. Slipping back into my black dress which, at this point, has definitely seen better days, I check my purse to make sure I have my wallet, keys, and cell phone. Then I close the door softly behind me and make my way back to McShain in the dark. For the first time this semester, I’m grateful that Mia, Emma, and Lila aren’t here to witness my increasingly regular walks of shame.
* * *
I wake Sunday morning to a text message chime.
Unknown: Hey, Maura, it’s Zack. Want to go mini-golfing today?
What the hell? How did Zack get my number? And why is he asking me to hang out?
Me: Hi. Why?
Kinda rude, I know, but really, what am I supposed to say to that? The old me never would have responded so rudely, but I can’t bring myself to care. Instead, I watch as the gray dots shuffle across the bottom of my screen.
Zack: Why not? ;)
Really?
Zack: Aid and I used to go. Kinda in the mood for it and no one to go with. Take pity on me?
I laugh at the crying face emoji Zack includes. Should I go? I mean, it’s Zack. Hot Zack with a killer body and piercing blue eyes, who kee
ps witnessing me shame it up with different guys. He’d never be into me. At least, not this version of me. He’s from like Nebraska or somewhere equally wholesome. A square state. I snort to myself. Who even goes mini-golfing these days? And why wouldn’t Adrian tell me about this little tradition of his and Zack’s? Probably too embarrassed!
Me: Sure. 1:00 PM?
Zack: I’ll pick you up then.
I snuggle back into my comforter. I’m going mini-golfing with Zack. A flutter of something I can’t place beats in my chest for a moment. And then the strangest thing happens. Before I can stop it, I smile.
* * *
Even though I’m not one to try and impress a guy, I do take extra time getting ready for my friend-date with Zack. Lame, I know. But still, I do it. If Lila or Emma were here, I’d have the most perfect outfit already laid out and waiting for me on my bed. If Mia were here, she would offer a gentle smile and an understanding that transcends my feelings altogether. It would feel supportive though. Mia is nothing if not supportive. I could call them. I know I could. Especially Emma. She’s in the same time zone as me, but I don’t want to. As if telling them somehow would turn mini-golf with Zack into more than it actually is. And I can’t do that.
Because it’s nothing.
Still, I tame my long, wild curls into beach waves that hang nearly to the small of my back. I add a second coat of mascara to my lashes. I opt for lip gloss over Chapstick. Okay, so nothing major, but for me, this is as good as primping gets.
After trying on and discarding most of my closet, I finally settle on a pair of well-worn ripped jeans that hug my ass spectacularly and a dangerously low V-neck black tissue tee. I tuck in the front of the shirt on the side so it hangs casually. Adding a pair of stud earrings and a long necklace I swiped from Lila, I slide into sandals and am ready to go.