Dirty Maverick (The Maxwell Family)

by Alycia Taylor

  As I was thinking about it, I walked over to the window and noticed that it was raining. I smiled suddenly as I realized that was my out. “Thank you God,” I said it out loud and smiled. I grabbed my phone and called Molly.

  “Hello?”

  The sound of her voice made my stomach do a somersault. Jeez, I was a mess.

  “Hey Molly. I was wondering if you minded terribly if we changed up the date a little.”

  “Okay,” she said. “What did you want to do instead?”

  “I was just thinking, since our options were the bike or the bus and it’s raining…maybe you would want to come to the apartment and we could cook dinner and watch a movie here?”

  She was suddenly silent. Shit, I blew it. She was going to cancel now. She wouldn’t agree to it again, either. I should have just risked it.

  “Okay,” she said in the middle of my self-lashing.

  “Okay…okay, great!” I said. I am astounding myself with my words lately.

  “I’ll ask Megan to drop me off,” she said. I couldn’t stop smiling. I had to clean house, and go to the store and hide my medications. Jake came out of his room then, doing that sleepy shuffle walk he does every morning.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” I told him as I went back to making my juice drink. “Do you mind not being home for a while tonight?”

  Jake grinned then. “You bringing Molly here?” he asked.

  “Yes, but stop grinning like a pervert. I remembered that it’s day four of my meds. I don’t want to be puking at the movies.”

  “Oh, man. I forgot. Does Molly know?”

  “No, Jake. Same plan as before okay? No one knows.”

  “Sure,” Jake said. “Of course, no one knows.”

  “Good,” I said, “Help me clean up?”

  Jake was reaching for his cereal bowl. When I said that he looked around and said, “Clean up what? It looks fine.”

  “It’s a sty, Jake.”

  He shrugged and said, “Okay, I guess.” He’s a good friend.

  By the time Megan dropped off Molly, the apartment was clean, the medications were hidden and the ingredients for dinner were bought and prepped. I hoped she wasn’t expecting steak or seafood or something fancy like that. Not that I minded fancy, per se, but my nutritionist had me on a pretty strict diet, and if I faltered on that even for one day, it can make me pretty sick. Not even the day four of my experimental meds could rival how sick I got when I go off my diet. Something about the fat content of a lot of foods just no longer sat well with my stomach.

  Molly knocked on the door. I knew it was her, because she had texted me before they left the dorms. I wanted to run over to it, but I made myself wait a decent amount of time before I did. When I opened the door I said, “Hi, I’m glad you’re here.”

  She smiled, “Thanks, me too.”

  She didn’t look glad though. She looked nervous. She was glancing around like she was looking for the dungeon and the chains that I would use to cuff her to the wall.

  “Have a seat,” I told her. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “Just some water, thanks.”

  My heart actually went out to the poor girl. She really looked about ready to crawl out of her skin. I didn’t know what to do to put her at ease, but I knew that sometimes keeping busy helped me when I felt anxious so I said, “Do you want to help me cook?” She smiled.

  “Nice trick, guy. Invite a girl over for dinner and then get her to cook.” I laughed; she was loosening up a bit.

  “Oh you don’t have to help me. I think I can cook the salmon without burning it, and you fry asparagus, right?” She really perked up then.

  “Salmon and asparagus, really?” she said. “I’m impressed.”

  “I’m kind of on a diet.”

  She did something then that sent a jolt of electricity down my spine. She looked me up and down. The she cracked me up by mimicking what I had said to her that first day that we’d met.

  “Looks like it’s working for you,” she said with a grin. “I’ll do the asparagus.” I got the asparagus and the steamer out for her. She also seemed surprised by that. “You have a steamer, really? Did you buy this today just to make yourself look good?”

  “No,” I said as I seasoned the salmon. “It’s Jake’s.” That made her laugh.

  “No offense, you know I love Jake right? But I doubt if you hit him in the face with that thing he would know what it was.”

  “No offense taken and I bet you’re right,” I told her. It was fun, cooking with her. She was so different from the other girls that I’ve dated. Since I was sixteen, girls always seemed so worried about their looks or how cool they sounded that I would find myself incredibly bored by the end of the first date. With Molly, she was so natural. She didn’t look like she was trying. I don’t know if a woman would take that as a compliment or not, but it was absolutely one. She didn’t wear much make-up, and her hair looked like it just fell into place without trying. She wasn’t always running to check that it wasn’t messed up, or that her lipstick was reapplied. It was refreshing. She probably wasn’t even wearing any.

  When dinner was ready, we sat in the living room and ate off the coffee table. Jake and I have an island in the kitchen and some bar stools, but no dining room table. Molly said she didn’t mind, and she didn’t seem like she did.

  “You want to watch a movie while we eat?” I asked her.

  “Sure,” she said. “What do you have?”

  “What do you like?” I asked her. “Between me and Jake we have every comedy and thriller that has come out in the past few years.”

  “Comedy like Laurel and Hardy, or comedy like Adam Sandler and Jim Carrey?”

  I laughed, “I said the last few years, not the last few hundred years. Laurel and Hardy, really? How old are you?”

  She laughed and said, “My grandmother says I was born thirty five.”

  “Well if that’s the case that would make you about fifty-three or four. Laurel and Hardy make sense,” I said. “But I’m sorry, no Laurel and Hardy here.”

  “Okay, I’ll take Adam Sandler then. Which ones do you have?”

  I named them off and she picked Fifty First Dates. It was his chicky-est movie, so I wasn’t surprised. Is that a word? Chicky-est? I don’t think so. I’m glad I didn’t say that out loud. I put it on and then I took our plates to the kitchen. “Do you want seconds?” I asked her.

  “No, thank you, I’m stuffed. You did a good job on the salmon.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “The asparagus was divine.”

  “I think divine is laying it on a bit thick, don’t you?” she said with a grin. “I mean, I might have gone with heavenly, or celestial.”

  “And divine is laying it on thick?” I asked with a laugh.

  I put the plates in the sink and reached into the freezer to get the desserts. “I can’t really eat dairy,” she said. I guess she thought I was reaching for Jake’s box of Dreyer’s.

  “Me neither,” I told her. “It’s lemon sorbet with crushed raspberries. Is that okay?” She grinned and said, “Bring it on.” We ate our dessert and watched the movie. I suddenly couldn’t believe my ears as I heard my own voice announce out loud that this was Adam Sandler’s “chicky-est” movie. When did my brain give my mouth permission to speak?

  “Chicky-est?” she said with a grin.

  “I’m sure you would have gone with a better adjective, perhaps?” I said, smiling back at her.

  “I’m sure anything I went with would have been a better adjective,” she said.

  “Are you sure you’re not an English major?” I asked her.

  “Yes,” she said, “but I’m not sure why.” That made me laugh until I felt that old familiar rise of nausea from my stomach, to my esophagus and into my cheeks. Damn it!

  I excused myself and headed down the hall to the bathroom. Sometimes I puke once and it’s over, and other times I literally can’t get away from a toilet, or a bucket. Please God,
I prayed as I walked down the hall. Let tonight be the former.

  I went inside the bathroom and as I closed the door I leaned up against it and took some deep breaths. Sometimes if I slowed my breathing, and didn’t allow myself to get too anxious, I could make it go away before it even really started. As I took my third breath, I could feel the vomit in the back of my throat and I knew that tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights. I quickly pulled up the toilet seat and bent over it. Within a few seconds, the entire beautiful meal that Molly and I had cooked and ate together was in the toilet. I had meant to turn the water on before I puked. I hope the television was loud enough that she didn’t hear that.

  I flushed the toilet and turned around to the sink and turned the cold water on. I splashed some on my face and then reached for my toothbrush. I hadn’t got as far as the paste before I had to turn around again, this time ridding myself of our dessert…I think. I leaned there for a few minutes with my knees against the toilet and my forehead against the wall. I didn’t usually feel pity for myself. In spite of having cancer, I live a pretty normal, full life. But tonight, all I wanted to do was spend the evening with Molly. I wanted to look at her pretty face and talk to her about…everything. Yet here I was with my head in the toilet, and now I’m having a pity party in my head to boot.

  I tried it again, turning slowly this time and keeping my eyes I one spot. That’s what my doctor had always told me to do when I got really nauseated. No quick movements of the head or the eyes. It makes you lose your equilibrium which makes you a little dizzy or lightheaded, which makes the nausea even worse.

  I washed my face again, this time with a washcloth, and slowly. Then I reached again for my toothbrush. I hoped that the paste wouldn’t make me want to throw up again, but I’d be damned if I was going to go out there with puke breath.

  I made it through the teeth cleaning, flushed and washed once more, and then headed out the door and back down the hall, the whole time trying to come up with an excuse for why I was gone so long. As soon as I saw her face, I knew she had heard me throw up. I felt my face going hot with embarrassment and the anxiety stirring in my chest was probably going to make me want to puke again. Then she smiled and said, “Are you okay?”

  I smiled back. How could I not? “I’m good, thanks. I have a really…sensitive stomach. That’s what the diet’s about.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Believe me, I understand.”

  “If anyone else said that, I would think they were just being nice. But somehow I believe that you really do understand.”

  “You don’t think I’m being nice?” she said.

  “No, I mean…That’s not what I meant, I said it wrong.” She laughed then. She was just yanking my chain. I loved the sound of her laugh.

  “I think you’re nice,” I said.

  “I’m a wonderful person,” she said with a grin.

  Chapter Seven

  Molly

  “So, is this a real date?” Megan asks me that every time I see Brock. We have been hanging out a lot for the past month or so, but each time she asks me that I say, “No, Meggs. We’re still just hanging out.” She grins at me, like she knows something that I don’t know. Maybe she does. There are a lot of things I don’t know. I mean, I did tell her that I didn’t even want to meet this guy in the first place. Now I look forward to his phone calls and even to the times I go over to his apartment and help him with his homework. Sometimes he even helps me with mine. He’s very “right-brained” and I’m not. I work from the left side of my brain almost always. If it doesn’t have a logical equation, I’d prefer to not have anything to do with it. So, when I have to draw an abstract sketch in art class, Brock is my man. Well, not my man, more like the man. Anyways, he’s awesome with creative stuff and I’m better at the logical things like math and science. Maybe together we make one brain?

  Are we dating though? It’s still a no. That one brain thing isn’t like two hearts make a whole. I’m sure every two people who work well together are like that. But it’s not dating. We don’t hold hands, although the one night we danced at the club and he held my hands and pulled me in close, I have to admit I had a hard time catching my breath. He looked down at me; like he was afraid I was going to pull away. I did think about it, but I didn’t want to. It felt…comfortable, so I stayed there until the song was over and we went back to our table. We held hands for the dance, but we don’t walk around holding hands.

  Another thing that proves we’re just hanging out and not dating is that we have never kissed. Megan and Jake are dating, and they do an awful lot of kissing. So much it kind of makes me sick sometimes. I mean, there is such a thing as too much PDA, am I right?

  Have I thought about kissing him? Oh, yeah, I’ve thought about it. That night when we were dancing, sometimes when he leans in close while we’re working on our homework, or in the middle of Benny and Joon last weekend when he quoted Joon, “Having a Boo Radley moment are we?” I mean really, what nineteen-year-old guy knows Benny and Joon that well? It’s one of my favorite movies; Grandma and I used to watch it together all the time. That one and Untamed Heart. I think I would have to kiss him if he quoted Marissa Tomei, “He doesn’t make sense. I don’t make sense. Together we make sense.” Yeah, I’d probably kiss him full on the lips for that one… Maybe I’ll rent it next week…Anyways, I’m pretty sure that the fact we’ve never kissed still means we’re not dating.

  “He’s taking you on a haunted train ride for Halloween. That’s pretty romantic for a couple that’s not dating,” Megan was still going on. I sometimes wonder if Megan wishes she was dating Brock.

  “It just sounds like fun,” I said. It’s Halloween. What are we going to do, trick or treat? Go to some lame sorority or fraternity costume party? I found out, since we’ve been hanging out so much together, that Brock doesn’t drink either. The fact that he stays on a really strict diet and doesn’t drink alcohol helps me out a lot. That’s what happened with my first and last college boyfriend. They were the same guy. He kept taking me to parties and I finally told him I didn’t want to go to anymore parties where the main focus was the keg in the middle of the room. He told me that maybe if I had a beer every once in a while, I wouldn’t be so uptight. I admit I played the cancer card that night. I was pissed and I wanted him to feel bad. He felt bad alright, all the way out the door.

  “It will be fun, and it’ll be cold so you can snuggle up against one of his muscled-up tattooed arms.”

  “It will be what?”

  Poor Megan. I wasn’t listening to her.

  “Fun and cold! I said use it, snuggle time!”

  I couldn’t help it, I had to ask. “You wouldn’t like to date him, would you, Meggs?” She threw me a look and her pillow. I think the pillow was supposed to hit me in the side of my head, but I caught it. I knew Megan too well. I was expecting it.

  If I was going to date someone, it would definitely be someone like Brock. He was funny, and obviously good-looking. He was smart, although I don’t think he realizes it most of the time. He’s always making comments when we do homework about how smart I am. He can do his math when he applies himself, he just doesn’t usually want to.

  I will say this though, the boy can sing. I went to the club with Megan and Jake last weekend to hear him and his new band play. He can belt out a song let me tell you. His voice kind of sounds like a cross between Justin Timberlake and Bob Dylan. I know it sounds weird but you’d have to hear him for yourself to understand. He’s incredible. And then there’s the guitar playing. I watch his fingers sometimes when he plays, and it amazes me how it just looks like they’re moving up and down on the strings. When I try to do it, it sounds something like, “Dum, dum, dumb, and dumb.” When he does it…well, let’s just say I think even the angels who play those pretty harps might be jealous.

  I know that sappy stuff sounds like I’m talking about a guy that I’m dating. It’s exactly why I don’t say any of it out loud. People, and by people I mean Megan an
d Jake, would take it the wrong way. Thinking it in my head just means that I think he’s a really cool guy. Saying it out loud would make me sound like I was in love. Which I am not. Absolutely, positively, not.

  “You spend more time at their apartment than I do. Jake says he sees you more than he does me.”

  “I’m tutoring him in math,” I said. It was true. I have always been good at math, and he was struggling. We’re friends and that’s what friends do for each other. If Megan or Jake needed to be tutored, I would tutor them as well. It’s not like we’re in one of those silly teenage movies where we gaze at each other across the table over the math book and realize we’re made for each other. We do his math, we cook and we talk. Sometimes we play video games or watch movies. We do lots of things that people who are just hanging out do. He’s easy to talk to. Sometimes I find myself almost saying too much. Last week we started talking about our childhoods and I told him about my grandmother and how grateful I was for everything she’s done for me. I was so comfortable talking to him that I almost said the “C” word. Whew!

  “Are you guys taking the bike?” Megan asked.

  “Yes, we’ll be taking Suzie.” Suzie, now that’s the real love of Brock’s life.

  Megan laughed, “Do you call it that in front of him with a straight face?”

  “Yes,” I said, “And don’t call her an “it”. He hates that.”

  “Ohh,” she said, “We wouldn’t want to say anything that upsets Molly’s boyfriend.”

  “Megan.”

  “Yes?”

  “Shut up,” I told her as I pulled my warm sweater over my long-sleeved shirt. As we have already established the night of the football game last month, I hate to be cold. At least when we ride Suzie, Brock’s body blocks most of the wind. He tells me to put my hands around his waist and hide my face down behind him. Some people, and again I mean Megan and Jake, might think that we looked like we were dating, but it’s just about staying warm. And since I’m not saying this out loud, he always smells really good.

  “Are you and Jake going tonight?” I asked Megan, hoping to distract her from worrying about me and my “not a date” tonight.