In the Echo of this Ghost Town

by CL Walters

  “Have you met them?”

  I shake my head and stare at the liquid whirlpooling in the glass.

  “How do you know then?”

  “Phoenix. I was around twelve or thirteen, and I was begging to go visit Dad. My brother was so pissed off. I didn’t understand until he said something about Dad’s secret family. Then it all kind of made sense. His absences, his indulgence, his disconnection from us. He was a liar.”

  “Whoa. I’m not sure what to say to that.”

  “There’s nothing to say to that.” The words sound like rocks hitting mud, ugly, messy, and final with each splat.

  “Max?” A strange voice says her name.

  I look up and notice a group of guys moving past the table we share, but one has remained standing at the end of the table. He’s smiling at Max. His dark eyes drift to me, assessing. A good-looking guy, I guess, kind of familiar. Dark haired. On the shorter side but fit. I recognize his look. He’s sizing me up as competition, but it’s low key because Max isn’t supposed to notice. His smile stays, but his eyes shift to me, then he widens his stance as if to demonstrate his manliness.

  I shift in my seat, spreading out in my own space, and realize I’ve just done the same thing he did. I look to Max, confused by my own response, and adjust back to where I was.

  “Hi Ben.” Max smiles at him.

  I look away, focusing on the TV across the room. For some reason Max offering her smile to anyone else bugs me. Her smiles have always made me feel like I’ve won a prize but watching her smile like that at someone else feels like bullets piercing my gut. Fucking Ben. Even if these feelings don’t make sense. She’s my friend and feeling anything else for her other than friendship is off limits. You don’t feel jealous of friends, but the thought hits me like a spike in the brain: I’d been jealous of Tanner’s shifted attention to Emma. With a jolt, I acknowledge it, but am confused by it too. Why would I be jealous about Tanner’s attention? Dudes don’t feel jealous of their friends. What a stupid thought.

  “What are you doing here? I missed you at our study session. Renna said you were sick,” Ben says to her.

  I keep my eyes on the TV but press my teeth together. I don’t like the way this guy is talking to Max, as if she has to answer for her whereabouts to him. I allow myself another glance, pretty sure my distaste is probably all over my face.

  Fix your face, Griffin. Except, I don’t want to. I want to throw a punch at this guy. That is also a stupid thought.

  “I’m feeling better and needed to eat. This is my friend, Griffin.” Max introduces me, which means I have to engage with this dude.

  Friend. The word drags against my insides like gravel, but it’s accurate. Friend.

  I lift my chin. “Hey.”

  He answers in kind with a lift of his chin. “Hey.” He also holds out his hand.

  I take it.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says, even if his tone and grip says everything but that.

  “Quite a grip, Ben.” My longing to punch him intensifies.

  He smiles and shifts his attention back to Max. “Are you going to that party this weekend?”

  Max shrugs. “I haven’t decided.”

  “You should. It would be cool to see you there. We could dance again.” He glances at me, then says, “Maybe Griffin, here, would like to come, too.”

  I know why he’s familiar now. The party. Facetime. His arms around Max. I fist my hands on my thighs.

  Max—with an awareness I wouldn’t have pegged her for—looks from him to me and then smiles. “Yeah. Maybe. And maybe not.” She offers him a smile again, this time shadowed with what I know is annoyance, and it makes me feel better.

  “I’ll see you in class,” Ben says. He gives me one more glance, then disappears from the table.

  She leans forward and asks, “What was that all about?”

  “You going to that party?” I ask and then want to punch myself for asking since it isn’t any of my business. I rationalize that it would be okay for friend to ask what another friend is up to, even if what I’m feeling resembles jealousy. I press it down into the blackness of my being.

  “I don’t know. You think I should go?”

  I think about the last party I was at, my birthday party. I think about drinking, about hooking up with Bella, about the regrets I’ve been feeling since, and instead of saying anything, I shrug.

  “Well, that isn’t very helpful. Maybe I will.”

  I nod at Ben now sitting with his friends. “That guy likes you.”

  Her head swivels to follow the trail Ben left with her eyes. Then she looks back at me. “How do you know?”

  I move the things around on the table. I avoid bringing up Ben’s territorial showcase both now and on Facetime and say, “I’m a guy. I can tell.”

  “Oh?” She presses a hand to her chest. “How do you know? Was it the way he looked at me?”

  I answer with my eyebrows and tilt my head, “Just a feeling.”

  Our pizza order is called out over the sound system.

  “I’ll get it,” I tell her, glad to get away for a moment. It isn’t because of Max—not really—but rather the feelings bubbling up around my insides trying to boil out of the boxes and asking that I pay attention to them. I don’t want to acknowledge the nagging awareness I’m having about Max, her pretty eyes, the dimple in her cheek when she smiles, or the fact that other guys are interested in her.

  We could dance again.

  Again.

  I need a moment to stamp the lids on the boxes back down and lock them back up. Except they won’t close.

  What happened with Bella, and the uncomfortable way I’ve processed it—or haven’t; the callous way I felt about Bella, about using her, about allowing myself to be used, all make me feel worse sitting across from Max, who I’ve warned away from assholes like myself. I don’t deserve to be her friend and allow these strange feelings to slip into the empty crevices I haven’t filled in with concrete yet. And perhaps, because I haven’t allowed myself the opportunity to process what happened with Bella, to figure out what happened between a comment about me being less than Tanner to then wanting to fuck me.

  By the time I return with the pizza, I’ve rearranged the open boxes so they aren’t spilling out the contents I’ve put in them and can look at Max again like a friend should.

  And maybe I’m not the only one who needed a minute because Max’s conversation shifts too, away from things like attraction and parties to safer things about school and classes, her roommate, to asking about her dad, and then what to do about her mom. I share about working with Cal, about going over for dinner, about school, but I avoid talking about my family and that party, afraid to reinforce Max’s beliefs about me and making them any worse than they already are.

  I drive her back to the dorms.

  “You’ll wait while I call her?” she asks when I’ve parked the car.

  “Sure.” I’m starting to feel the wear of the day. Working on the roof, the long drive, and the emotional stress, but I don’t say anything.

  She gets out, needing privacy, and makes the call. I can see her through the window, pacing around the front of the car. It’s still running because I need the heat. I worry about the fact that she’s out in the cool of the night, but notice she’s still got my sweatshirt. She leans against the hood of the passenger side and wraps her arms around herself as she listens, nods, speaks. I’m fighting with my eyes, suddenly heavy in the warmth of the car, and lose track somewhere between the space of looking at Max through the window, and her voice coaxing me back to awareness.

  “Griffin?” Her hand is on my arm.

  “Sorry.” I sit up with a start. My eyes find Max’s face so close to mine. I remember where I am. She was making a call. “All squared away?”

  “Come on. You’re not driving home right now.”

  “I’m good,” I tell her, though I’m not sure that’s true.

  She shakes her head. “I’d never forgive my
self if something happened to you. Come on. You got anything clean back there?” She investigates what might be in the backseat.

  I think about arguing with her. I don’t have toothbrush or clean clothes, but in the whole scheme of life and death, it seems a weak argument. “A workout bag.” I grab that, lock up my car, and follow her into the building.

  After handing me an extra toothbrush she fishes out of this miraculous box under her bed with extra stuff in it, I take a shower in the bathroom she shares with another room and change into the shorts and T-shirt from my workout bag.

  “All set?” she asks when I emerge from the shower.

  I nod, feeling self-conscious. It’s just Max, except I’m beginning to suspect that she isn’t just Max to me anymore. “Where’s your roommate?”

  She stops near me. Her head tilts, and her eyes rove over my wet hair. “Her boyfriend’s.” She reaches up and swipes a strand from my forehead, then drops her arm back to her side. “She won’t be back tonight.”

  The heat of her light touch lingers on my forehead. I recall the way she’d looked after the night we’d kissed, then banish the memory by saying, “I should text my mom. Let her know I’m safe.”

  She escapes into the bathroom while I do.

  I sit at her desk and let my mom know I’ll be home the following day. There’s a text from Cal asking if everything is okay, which makes me feel guilty. I text him an “all clear” with a thumbs up, and a promise to see him for work.

  While I wait for Max, I scroll through Instagram. Josh has posted pictures from college: one of him and a couple of guys throwing deuces; another of a sculpture with a caption about the art at Davis tagging Ginny. New friends and places. Danny hasn’t posted anything, too busy with basic training. Tanner hasn’t been on since a picture he posted of him and Emma somewhere; it looks like it’s from a house. He’s tagged her. I click to her account. She’s posted some from college: dorm room, roommate, landscapes. None of Tanner recently, but when I scroll through her feed and find a few of him, still there. I return to Tanner’s account and check the picture he posted with her. It was weeks ago, and he hasn’t removed it. I wonder if he still has feelings for her and think that if I was a good friend, I would reach out.

  I miss my friends.

  “I thought you’d be asleep already.”

  I look up from my phone to Max who’s standing in the space between the shared bathroom and the closets framing the doorway. She’s dressed in tiny shorts that show off her legs and hips and a matching top that hugs her torso. I can see the outline of her body. Her hair is wet and wavy, the ends making the fabric of her shirt wet at the swell of her boobs. She leans to the side and squeezes the ends of her hair with a towel.

  My throat dries out, my dick twitches, and I look back at my phone. “I wasn’t sure where to sleep. Figured you might have a blanket or something for me to set up on the floor.” The moment feels so intimate and vulnerable, I’m insecure.

  “I’m not making you sleep on the hard concrete floor, Griffin. Get in the bed.”

  I look at her again and swallow.

  She smiles one of those beautiful smiles that suddenly make me want to take her face in between my hands and kiss her. A redo.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be a perfect lady.”

  I laugh, nervous. I can feel myself getting hard looking at her, thinking about her hips, the fullness of her thighs. That smile on her mouth. I clear my throat again and shake my head as I swivel the chair around and away from her so I can adjust my shorts and pinch my dick into submission. “You want the inside, or should I take it?”

  She climbs into bed first, situates herself against the wall, then holds the covers open for me.

  I climb in after her, reach over, shut out the light on the desk, and lay on my back. That doesn’t work on the twin bed. I’d like to turn to face her, but I don’t trust myself, so I roll away from her. It seems like the safest option.

  The darkness in the room becomes an entity smothering me. Even though there are strange sounds in the hallway reminding me we’re in a dormitory—doors shutting, stray laughter, voices talking as they walk down the hallway—I can’t stop thinking about Max laying behind me. I was incredibly tired a little while ago, but I can’t get my mind, or my dick, or my heart to settle down. I want to turn over and face Max, but I don’t. I don’t trust myself not to kiss her. I keep thinking about that kiss the night before she left, wishing it had been different.

  “Griffin?” Max’s voice is a whisper against my back.

  “Yeah?”

  She doesn’t answer right away which makes me think there’s something she wants to say and is measuring her words. Then she says, “Thank you for being here.”

  I think she’s censored herself and wonder if there was something different she wanted to say, but I don’t chase it. Rather, I let it alone, more cognizant of the fact that Max isn’t one to hold back. She never has been. Then I remind myself that she kissed me, and I rebuffed her. She probably wouldn’t ever want to replay that even if I’ve been thinking about it. Besides, she deserves more than me. She deserves the Tesla not the Nissan, maybe someone like Ben, who is probably nicer.

  “Of course. I’m like Batman. Just flash the bat signal, and I’ll be there.”

  She makes a little noise that tells me she appreciates my humor.

  Then it’s quiet again, and despite the warmth moving across my body and the way the scent of her shampoo or body spray or whatever that sweet, spicy scent is, I can’t relax. My breathing is tight and labored, and I’m fighting to keep it even. I’m working to shut off all the sensations. I try closing my eyes and thinking about putting shingles on the roof. I imagine laying the shingle, lining up the nail, and pounding the nail with the hammer. Hammering makes me think about sex. I shake my head and instead imagine stripping the roof, but shit, that makes me think about taking off clothes. Fuck.

  “What?” Max asks from the darkness.

  Did I say that out loud? “Huh?”

  “You say something?”

  “I don’t think so,” I lie. It’s safer than telling her what I’m really thinking.

  I picture Cal’s face and his voice as he talks about how we’re going to replace the roof, because that’s safe. I think about climbing the ladder to the roof and the feel of the breeze. I replay talking to him about school and classes. Until somehow, I slowly fade into the darkness and find sleep.

  When I’m pulled from the dark into consciousness again, I’ve turned over to face the wall with my face pressed into Max’s shoulder, breathing her sweet scent. Her backside is pressed into my groin. Our legs are intertwined, and I’ve got an arm wrapped around her waist, holding her against me. I pull her closer, content, and smile. She adjusts, her hips rocking into my groin, and my eyes fly open, now completely aware of where I am and who’s in my arms. Just as I wake, my dick wakes up too, and I draw my hips away from her.

  She moans. “Griffin?”

  I shift the covers off. “I’m here.”

  “It’s cold.”

  I stand up and tuck the covers around her. “I’m going to go,” I whisper.

  “What time is it?” she asks, her voice heavy with sleep. It’s a sexy sound.

  “Early.” I pick up my phone and read 4 am through the cracks in the screen.

  She rolls onto her back to face me, but I can’t see her features since they’re obscured in the inky darkness of the room. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Her voice and words almost make me climb back in with her, but I don’t. Instead, I look for my jeans and bump the chair, so it rolls and knocks against the desk. “Shit. Sorry.” I don’t trust myself climbing back into that bed with her. I don’t trust myself with her heart. “I have to get back. I have class in a few hours.” I replace my shorts with the jeans.

  She makes another sexy sound. “I’ll get up and walk you down.”

  “No.” I button the jeans and lean over the bed. “I can find my way. You sleep.” I
lay a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks.”

  She covers my hand with hers and then draws me toward her. Next thing I know I’m wrapped in her arms, and she says against the skin of my neck, “I miss you.”

  I turn my head and press my mouth into her hair. “I’ll text you when I get there, okay?”

  She nods.

  I breathe deeply, drawing in the breath of Max like I can keep her there, then release the embrace to stand back up. I make sure I have my stuff and leave the dorm room. Finding my way through the maze out into the night is manageable but climbing into my cold car is lonely. I sit there while it heats up, staring at the dark windows of the dorm and thinking about Max asleep in her bed. I think about how it felt waking up next to her in contrast to Bella.

  I reverse the car from the parking spot and drive away from Max with a newfound understanding that has me feeling scrambled. I’d ditched Bella in my room with no inclination to stay. Now, I’ve left Max’s room, but almost every part of me is screaming to remain there with her. Only the part that’s afraid to face the feelings I’m having, and the part of me that must keep moving forward to keep from drowning, is content to be sitting in the car driving home. I let Bella walk out of my house with relief. Leaving Max behind makes me feel like I’m being ripped in two. This split isn’t like gentle Griffin and tough Griff in the name of self-preservation, though. Instead, it’s like my heart—the whole of it—has been duplicated. The real heart has remained with Max. The shadow part is beating inside of my chest as I drive away.

  3

  The innards of the refrigerator are sparse, and I’m holding the door open, staring inside unseeing, out of habit. Thinking about food seems better than fixating on the strange conglomeration of thoughts I’ve been having about Max after the other night at her dorm room. I did text her and let her know I made it home safe. She texted me and said she’d had coffee with her mom that went badly. She followed that up with a text that told me she checked in with her dad about it, which explained the text from Cal saying he was heading to see Max for the rest of the week and that we’d resume inside of the house next week. I was glad they were going to talk, but I was now ruminating on feelings I wasn’t sure how to process and no one to process them with.