by Laura Moore
Another unmistakable sign: his cranking the volume on a seemingly endless playlist that included Nine Inch Nails, Modest Mouse, Incubus, and Linkin Park, erecting a wall of screaming guitars and growling lyrics between them…such a guy move.
Meanwhile, she mentally compiled her own gendered response, an ultimate breakup soundtrack heavy on Alanis Morissette, Lily Allen, Kate Nash, Adele, and Taylor Swift, her blistering version of thoroughly pissed off and freakin’ miserable.
Rejection was never palatable. For Dakota, the taste was particularly sour. She’d never begged her family for love; she wouldn’t do so with her lover, either. She knew Max liked her well enough—if not, then he was the world’s greatest actor—but for some reason he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give her more of himself.
She told herself she wasn’t truly surprised. Early on she had pegged Max as a playboy. But that didn’t stop disappointment from weighing heavily. If only she didn’t like him so much in spite of his shortcomings.
With the tension reverberating in the air, they should have been able to resist each other. But their physical attraction was too strong. With the end unspoken, the sex between them was also silent. Silent and desperate. Their bodies said goodbye with caresses that lingered, greedily storing memories of the touch of skin, the taste of flesh. Every orgasm he gave her was a poignant gift, eliciting tears that she refused to shed as she clung to him.
On Sunday morning she awoke alone in the bed and to the realization that she had to be the one to make the break. It would be unbearable to hear him utter whatever words he’d been preparing as he raced through the heavy sand or bench-pressed impossible loads. The speech would be polite and depressingly distant, pretty much the way he’d behaved since entering the living room on Friday evening. She almost wished he’d spent the past two days behaving like a total ass. It would make it easier to stop thinking about the way his kisses tasted, his arms felt about her, or his smile warmed her.
She showered the scent of him off and then left the bathroom immaculate. She erased her traces elsewhere, too. There wasn’t much to pack up: an extra set of clothing, her laptop, and her toiletry and cosmetics case all fit into an oversized tote. At least she’d never made the mistake of invading his space with too many of her own things….
She pushed the bitterness away. It was an ugly emotion and she wouldn’t indulge in it.
Carrying the tote downstairs, she left it by the front door before she began her search for him.
He was working in the office that she and Astrid had taken such care to decorate. She paused, stealing this one last image of him in the comfortably masculine setting with its leather club chairs and sofa, its large mahogany desk and built-in cabinets. He looked so right in it and so very alone.
That was his choice, damn it.
“I’ve come to say goodbye, Max.”
He looked up and, as her words registered, frowned slightly. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes, it’s time.” She swallowed, aware of how much every part of her hurt. “I’d like to end this thing between us now.”
Rising, he circled his desk and came to a stop a few feet away from where she stood. “I see. You’re sure?”
And there was the relief she’d known would be in his voice if she listened carefully enough. “Yes. I want you to remain my favorite mistake.”
He flinched as if she’d landed an unexpected blow.
Had she intended to land one? She didn’t really think so. “I’m sorry—that didn’t come out the way I intended. I’ve had fun. Thank you for that.”
He recovered quickly, though his smile was a pale ghost of the ones he’d once bestowed. “Me too.”
This wasn’t the first relationship she’d ended. Breakups often came with a touch of sadness and regret that, for whatever reason, it hadn’t clicked. But there were just as many times when she’d walked away with a sense of relief. Max was wrong for her. A commitmentphobe was definitely not on her list of qualities she wanted in a man. And she should be grateful for the fact that he was going to make this the easiest breakup ever.
Why, then, did it feel as if a cinder block was pressing on her chest as she gazed at him?
He’d shoved his hands in his pockets, but she could see that they were balled into fists. He was so good at holding everything tight within him. She couldn’t fault him for that. She, too, needed control.
Determined to keep things light, she nodded. “Good. That’s what we both wanted, after all.”
“Will I see you again?” he asked.
“See me again?” she repeated blankly.
“Here, I mean.”
Oh God, he was talking about her working for him. She struggled to breathe as the weight pressed harder. “Astrid and I have finished the plans for the guest cottage. She’ll be able to oversee the remaining work and the furniture deliveries. I think it would be best if Rae took over readying the house for your visits. She’s great, more than able to handle anything you need. I’ll make sure she knows to take down the tree. Again, my apologies about that,” she said with excruciating politeness.
He gave a restless shrug as his lips flattened in a grim line.
She had to get out of there.
“And what about surfing?” he asked.
He was killing her. She thought of how happy and proud she’d felt watching him paddle toward his wave, knowing that he was going to give it everything he had. And yet he was too freaked out to enter a relationship. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
The angles of his face hardened. “Fine,” he ground out. “Right.”
“Goodbye, Max.”
Would he say something to stop her from leaving, as he had before? Despite everything, a part of her wanted him to try.
Silence answered her.
This time he was letting her go.
According to the saying, bad things come in threes. Dakota generally ignored superstitions, but in the days following her and Max’s brief affair, her life took some definite hits.
First, her mother started talking to her again.
Once more Dakota was subjected to frequent calls and one-sided conversations that, no matter how meandering, nonetheless reached the same end point: Piper, Piper, and more Piper. All too soon she was fully in the know concerning her mother’s petty squabbles and outsize dramas.
Why Piper decided to resume contact became quickly clear. She’d ditched Duncan Harding and now needed a larger audience to whom she could enumerate Duncan’s failings.
“He really was such a bore, Dakota. In and out of the sack. Utterly vanilla, if you know what I mean.”
Dakota wished she didn’t, and couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the maligned Duncan.
“And he made these funny little noises when he ate. I couldn’t bear it anymore.”
She tried to tune Piper out, but it wasn’t easy. Worse still, each anecdote detailing another of Duncan’s shortcomings made her think of her own brief affair.
Max had never bored her, in bed or out.
With his intelligence, energy, and insight, she’d felt smarter in his presence. He stretched her mind, making her think faster and in new ways. Talking with him reminded her of conversations with Hendrick, only with Max there was an added edge and awareness that didn’t just stimulate her brain. It quickened the rest of her, too.
She missed him. She missed talking to him. She’d have missed having sex with him, too, if she hadn’t been struck down by the nastiest bug ever. It was hard to fantasize about Max when she was battling nausea morning, noon, and night.
She’d caught the virus from Hendrick, who’d been laid low with chills and coughing attacks violent enough to convince Dakota he was a hack away from breaking a rib. She’d nursed her friend with chicken soup, Vicks VapoRub, and hot toddies, and she’d forbidden him to even attempt to walk Arlo.
Because no good deed goes unpunished, she quickly came down with the same symptoms. But her illness was an extra-nasty one, not restricting itself to her upper
respiratory system. It traveled south, laying waste to her stomach. Being too sick even to look at food…well, it sucked any possible cheer right out of the holiday season.
From Piper she received the expected reaction. Upon hearing her symptoms, she said, “Good God. Well, don’t come near me. I’ve been invited to several Christmas parties in the city that I don’t want to miss, and then I’m flying to Palm Beach for a few days of R&R.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Huddled on the sofa beneath a mohair blanket, she blew her nose for the umpteenth time.
“But you’ll come over on New Year’s Day, right? We’ll exchange presents then. That reminds me, I’d better find something for you. You’re so self-sufficient it’s difficult to think of what to buy you.” She paused as if considering. “I suppose I could get you a facial with Monique.”
“That’d be nice.” Maybe Monique could perform a miracle and she’d leave the spa feeling less like yesterday’s garbage.
“Then again, Monique’s gotten ridiculously expensive. I went in last week for my regular treatments, and I swear, she’s upped her prices again. I’m not sure it’s worth it—”
Dakota felt too weak and dizzy to roll her eyes. Piper was the only person she knew who took a present back before she’d even given it. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about getting me anything. I’m not sure I’ll be well enough to come over on New Year’s Day in any case.”
“You’ll feel better by then,” Piper said with breezy conviction. “And it’s Mimi’s birthday on the second. You know how she is about people ignoring her birthday.”
“It wouldn’t be ignoring her if I’m sick.”
“So I won’t see you for any holiday? Carly’s coming with Mimi. The girl may bore me to tears, but at least she cares about her mother. Mimi’s already on a tear because Matt insists he has to head back to San Francisco directly after Christmas, so I’d show up if you don’t want her to be even angrier with you than she already is. It’s a shame Matt won’t be there. We could have talked about San Fran. I always have such a good time when I’m there. I think I could be really happy on Nob Hill. But Carly? She’s terribly full of herself, which is pathetic. I was much more interesting at her age. But you could talk to her about Lauren’s stable and, well, horsey things.”
It was like a knife was slowly piercing her temple. Squeezing her eyes shut, she said, “Fine,” before Piper could voice another observation. “I’ll try to come by on New Year’s Day.”
“Thanks, doll. I won’t be getting back in time to do much, so pick up some nibbles on your way. Love you.”
—
While Piper possessed the maternal instincts of a harp seal—and yes, one evening several years ago over mojitos, Dakota and Lauren had Googled “animals with the worst maternal instincts” to see how Piper compared, and the harp seal was the closest match—Rae put Florence Nightingale to shame. She came over with groceries and a constitution of tempered steel, unfazed when a wave of nausea slammed Dakota, causing her to empty her stomach into the bucket beside the sofa. She’d cleaned out the bucket and brought Dakota a moist towel, a toothbrush, and a glass of water.
After Dakota cleaned herself up, she’d let her head fall back on the throw pillow, exhausted from the effort of holding it up. “Oh God. Thank you,” she moaned. “You should flee, Rae. I’m contagious.”
“And I’m armed with Purell and Lysol. I brought ginger ale, Gatorade, chamomile tea, chicken broth, applesauce, bananas, and some white bread, because I figure that’s all you can manage for the near future.”
“No future. I’m going to die.”
“Tut-tut or whatever it is Mary Poppins would say. We’ll get you better. Listen, I’ve got to run—Astrid called. She managed to get the kitchen appliances for the cottage delivered today.”
“The cottage—it’s coming along?”
“It’s looking great.” And because Rae’s heart was enormous, she told Dakota what she really wanted to know. “Max hasn’t been out. He must be super busy with work.”
“Of course.” Dakota told herself she was going to stop thinking about him just as soon as she got over her flu.
There were times—like whenever something to do with Max arose—that Dakota suspected her illness might be something more, a kind of physical manifestation of her melancholy post-breakup. She hadn’t heard a word from him since that Sunday morning. She wondered where he was, what he would be doing for Christmas, if he ever thought of her…and if he’d resumed dating cover models.
As if to prove her theory, Rae’s mention of Max’s guest cottage had her stomach clenching again, the sensation disturbingly similar to the time she’d eaten one too many hot dogs at an amusement park and then agreed to ride on the cliffhanger. She swallowed hard.
“You’ll ask Astrid to take pictures of the cottage?”
“You bet.” Rae must have noticed the color of her face, for she nudged the bucket closer to Dakota.
Closing her eyes, Dakota listened to the sounds of Rae moving about her small house, of cupboards being opened and shut, followed by the clang of metal. Then she caught a whiff of toast and swallowed again.
When Rae’s footsteps neared, Dakota opened her eyes to find her holding a glass and plate. She set them on the coffee table. “Now, I want to see some of this toast and ginger ale gone when I return, or there will be consequences.”
Dakota made a grab for the bucket.
—
Christmas passed in a fog of exhaustion and nausea. She was vaguely aware that Hendrick and Lauren came over to play nursemaid since Rae and Marcos had driven to Hempstead to celebrate with Marcos’s family.
By New Year’s Eve Dakota had beaten back the cold to a few sniffles and the occasional cough. The nausea, however, persisted and erupted whenever Dakota caught an unexpected whiff of food or attempted to eat anything less bland than applesauce, chicken broth, and saltines. Even bananas were too exotic.
That evening she watched her friends—Rae, Lauren, Lupe, and Astrid had come over—munch on the least noxious of foods and sip their champagne, offering toasts to the day when Dakota would no longer resemble Elphaba from Wicked. Although she smiled weakly and sipped her chamomile tea, Dakota had long since lost any sense of humor when it came to her illness.
“Thanks for getting all those appetizers for me, Lupe. They’re exactly the sort Piper and Mimi like.”
“No problem, Dakota. All your mom has to do is pop the mini quiches and the pigs-in-blankets into the oven. And I got little toasts for the pâté. Perhaps you can nibble on them.”
“Look at you,” Lauren said, shaking her head in a mix of concern and exasperation. “All Lupe had to say was ‘pâté,’ and you turned several shades greener. How do you think you’ll be able to go over to Piper’s tomorrow?”
“I’ll manage. Going to Piper’s is easier than dealing with the repercussions of a no-show. And if I look sick, that’s all to the good. They’ll hustle me out of there extra quick.”
“Take my advice and shower tonight,” Rae said. “Otherwise you’ll be too exhausted to make the drive.”
How humbling to realize that Rae was quite likely right.
“Okay,” she said.
“Poor Dakota,” Astrid said. “Here, look at the pictures I took of Max’s guest cottage. That’ll cheer you up.”
Ignoring the sympathetic looks Lauren and Rae gave her, she mustered a smile, took the phone, and swiped through the photos. “The rooms look wonderful. He’s going to be really pleased.”
“Come by and see it when it’s finished,” Astrid suggested.
Dakota smiled but knew she wouldn’t.
It was likely Lauren and Rae saw her increasing quietness for what it was, but they were the best, so instead they began talking about how tired they’d made her by keeping her up until nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve. They understood she’d rather be teased for her feebleness than pitied for her aching heart.
After setting the living room and kitchen to right
s, they left, blowing kisses and wishing her a New Year free of the plastic bucket she’d spent so much time bent over. She waved and managed a laugh, saying that was one wish she fervently hoped came true.
A model patient, she followed Rae’s advice and showered, falling asleep the second her damp head hit the pillow.
—
The ringing of her phone woke her. Blindly she groped for it, and as her fingers clutched the rectangular frame, her thumb reflexively pressed the green circle.
“Hello?” she groaned.
“ ’Kota?”
Blinking, she pushed herself up on her elbow. “Max?”
“Yeah.” There was a pause. Then, “How are you?”
“I’m—I’m okay.” She listened more closely and heard the background noise, a mix of voices, techno music…laughter. “Where are you?”
“Some party. SoHo, maybe.”
He didn’t know where he was? “Max—”
“Wanted to wish you a happy New Year, ’Kota.” With that many words, the slide of the vowels and the slur of consonants were unmistakable. Oh God, he was drunk-dialing her.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Happy New Year.” She drew a breath. “Make sure you take a taxi home.”
“Nah, I got the town car. Only way to travel. Die otherwise—”
Another voice intruded, this one high-pitched and demanding. “Max, come on. Let’s dance.”
“Yeah, okay. Just a sec. Bye, ’Kota.”
She clicked off the phone and stared sightlessly up at the ceiling.
—
Piper answered the door dressed in tight suede pants the color of buttery caramel, a cream-colored V-neck sweater, and high-heeled ankle boots. Gold hoop earrings and a necklace of beaded glass completed a look that was designed to make Mimi feel very much the older sister.
It even made Dakota feel old.
The foyer light was on. When Dakota stepped inside with her two bags, one filled with presents and the other with the hors d’oeuvres Lupe had bought, the first words out of her mother’s mouth were, “God, Dakota, you look terrible.”
“Yes. You may remember I’ve been sick. Would you take this, please? It’s heavy.” She held out the bag with the appetizers. Neither bag was especially heavy. But sweat nevertheless beaded her brow and snaked down her back.