Not the Marrying Kind

by Kathryn Nolan

  I glanced up to catch compassionate looks on Mateo and Rafael’s faces. “It’s really okay,” I told them.

  Mateo shared a look with his fiancé. Then leaned in, reaching over and grabbing my hand with a lot of strength.

  “I know it’s kind of pointless, but I can’t let you get on that plane tonight without telling you that we want you to stay.”

  Fiona stiffened. The past few days I watched her stay respectful of my decision. She really was a person who understood good jobs and important career choices. I knew she wouldn’t push.

  But I caught flashes of sadness when we talked about it—when she wasn’t careful to stay upbeat. If I were in her position, and she was flying on out of here just as we were getting close, I’d be a goddamn wreck.

  I sighed, covered Mateo’s hand with both of my own. “I love the hell out of you.”

  “I love you too, hermanito.”

  “And I’m still going to get on that plane,” I said gently. “This is a job I’ve wanted since I was a kid. It means something. I promise…” I cleared my throat. “I promise I wouldn’t be leaving right now if this was any old job I usually get. But I think a little bit of stability is good for me.”

  Mateo smiled, but it was sad. “I hear you. I just don’t want you to go.”

  “But I’ll be calling you when I get there. Calling you both.” I pointed at Rafael and Mateo.

  Mateo stared into his cup of coffee. “We can’t go backwards again. Only forward, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said firmly. “And we’ll be making a lot of mistakes in Vegas in no time.”

  More food arrived, the scent tantalizing, and it hushed our conversations as we devoured every bite. Pop, Lou, and Sandy told us stories from The Red Room. Mateo and Rafael looked happy and tired and teased me about stuff from our younger days. I was pretty sure Roxy and Edward snuck off to have sex in the bathroom at one point.

  And Fiona? She fell asleep. Like passed-out dead asleep with her head on my chest and my arms holding her tight. I laughed at the stories, and chatted with Mateo, and watched Pop and Angela be cute. All the while, I cradled Fiona like precious cargo and hoped against hope I could make this work.

  She startled awake an hour into our breakfast, stretching her arms with a bleary look only for me.

  “Good morning, princess,” I whispered, kissing her cheek.

  “Morning,” she yawned. “You and Mateo were talking, and food was coming, and then…?”

  “You passed out like an amateur.”

  She scowled playfully at me over her coffee. “You’re so full of shit, Devlin.”

  “I can confirm that,” Mateo added.

  She checked her phone. “Pop, we should get your payments together and go meet the landlord. I want to be there to make sure no shady legal stuff goes down.”

  Pop nodded. “Let’s do it. I’m ready.”

  “Good luck,” Angela said. “I’ll be waiting for you to take me out to dinner tonight.”

  Pop blushed furiously as Mateo and I exchanged a wide-eyed look.

  Fiona slowly untangled herself from my embrace, knocking back the rest of her coffee. Her hair was snarled, wild. Her eyeliner was smeared. She still wore ripped jeans and a shirt with Blondie’s face on it. “Do I look like a lawyer with a pristine reputation?”

  “You look like the bad-ass you always are,” Sandy said. “You give them hell, Fiona Quinn. I believe in you!”

  “Thank you, Mom,” she said—looking softer and more accepting. “Let’s go, Pop. The day is young, and we’ve got punk clubs to save.”

  She pressed a kiss to my forehead. When she looked at me, I was surprised at the questioning I saw there. The worry.

  It only made me worry more.

  “When’s your flight again?” she asked.

  “Um… nine pm. Tonight.”

  “And you’re coming to my place?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Of course. I’ll see you there. Bags packed and whatever.”

  Fiona pasted a fake smile on her face.

  A few seconds after they left, I hopped out of the booth and caught Pop on the sidewalk. Fiona was hailing a cab and looked kind of distracted.

  “Hey, Maxy,” he said, hugging me again. “You okay?”

  I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Mom didn’t show last night. I’m more disappointed than I thought I would be.”

  He gave me a sort of sad look. “I used to always get excited when she said she’d be there for something. Or for me. She never shows, Max. It’s who she is. Doesn’t make it hurt less, though, especially if you got your hopes up.”

  “I thought… I thought she’d meet Fiona. See what we did.”

  “I know,” he said. “Believe me, I know. But it’s not personal, and it has nothing to do with how much she loves you. Some people let you down because it’s who they are inside. That’s your mom.”

  And what if that’s me too?

  Pop caught my train of thought. Because he pointed his finger right at my heart. “That’s not fucking you, Max. You hear me?”

  “Yeah. I hear you.”

  A cab was pulling up, and Fiona was calling for Pop.

  “I’m happy, Pop,” I said. “I’m so happy you’re getting in a cab to go pay off the debt. A clean slate. You deserve it.”

  “What are you gonna do now?”

  I sighed. Because what I was gonna do was find Mom and ask her where the fuck she’d been. What I said was, “Head home. Get some sleep. Figure out some California stuff.”

  “I’ll see you at home?”

  “Of course.” I waved to Pop, blew a kiss to Fiona.

  Then I walked back inside to settle up the tab and grab a few hours of rest.

  I needed to go find my damn mother.

  41

  Max

  Five hours later—after a shower and nap—I sipped from a cup of coffee outside of a dive bar in Queens. My mom hadn’t mentioned which friends she was staying with, but given the rowdy noise coming from inside, I guessed she was a favorite in there already.

  That had always been easy for her. People usually liked her right away.

  An hour ago, I’d finally gotten a text from her that said, I’m at Jake’s Bar and Grill. Want to spend your Sunday with your dear old mom?

  No mention of the show or Pop or meeting Fiona. She didn’t ask if we’d made enough money or paid off his debt.

  I pushed open the door, wincing at the darkness and the sticky floors. It was barely past noon, and I could see my mom sitting at a small table with a pitcher of beer, surrounded by a group of rowdy patrons.

  “Max is here,” she shouted to her friends. And I still got that feeling—because she was my mom, and her smile was infectious. I still had that tiny hope that she’d have a good excuse for why she’d bailed. “You made it.”

  Her friends gave me a warm welcome before heading to a pool table in the back. I shrugged out of my leather jacket, draped it on the chair. Then sank back into it, hand wrapped around my coffee. “Mom, it’s barely lunchtime.” I nodded at her pitcher. “Are you okay?”

  She waved her hand. “Just havin’ fun. I’ve had a nice little vacation while I’ve been back.” She waved to the group playing pool. “Those are some old motorcycle buddies from Philly. Haven’t seen ’em in years, but they invited me to hang and drink with them today.”

  I hadn’t seen her since our breakfast at the diner. That had, of course, surprised me. But I was busy with the concert, and busy obsessing over Fiona, so her flakiness hadn’t raised any red flags.

  Now, I felt much too exhausted to temper my frustration.

  I set my coffee on the table and leaned onto my elbows. “Mom, where the hell were you last night?”

  Her brow creased. “Last night? My friends and I went out in Brooklyn, saw some music, got some food. Wait, why?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Why are you in such a bad fucking mood this early in the morning?”

  “So it’s the afternoon
already,” I said, pissed. “And you were supposed to come see the concert I planned. The benefit show, for Pop? I reminded you like a hundred fucking times.”

  She slapped her forehead, but the gesture lacked heat. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

  “I called you all last night. Texted you. You didn’t see it?”

  She shrugged again. “Ah, we were busy, Max. We were out, we were doing things, I didn’t check my phone.”

  I scrubbed my hand down my face. Refocused. I’d meant what I said to Rafael and Mateo last night. Anxiety, nerves, they weren’t in my emotional rotation usually.

  And anger?

  The last time I was really pissed off I was probably a teenager. But I was furious and sad at the same time.

  “You that mad? Christ, kid, what’s your deal today?”

  I let out a steadying breath. Pictured Fiona sitting next to me—her quiet, pure confidence. This was my mother, and I loved her. I switched tactics and went with what usually worked for me.

  Honesty.

  “I’m mad because I haven’t seen you in a year,” I said, softening the edges of my tone. “So the least you could do, I thought, was come and support something I worked really hard on. Pop was gonna lose The Red Room, but we figured it out. It was a huge deal. And you bailed on me.”

  She reached for my wrist and held it. “Hey. Hey I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t realize it was a big deal.”

  I winced. Because that wasn’t an apology.

  “I told you very clearly that it was,” I said. “Multiple times.”

  I swallowed the words that seemed too honest, even for me.

  Do you not care about me at all?

  “I didn’t remember, okay? I’m sorry.”

  My mother had left when I was only ten, so her behavior, to me, seemed like what a normal mom would do. I had no other mother to compare it with. Mateo’s mom was her night-and-day opposite but thinking critical thoughts when I was a little kid made me feel bad, like I was a traitor. It was hard enough to hear the words Pop said about her. And easy enough, apparently, for me to bury the negative memories I did have.

  These past seven years, when we saw each other in person, I was just too happy to notice much. I mean, she’d always been her own person, and I had accepted that. The flakiness, the flimsy excuses, the carelessness—it had seemed like a personality quirk and not something that actually hurt people.

  Was this what was in store for my future?

  Was this what I was going to do to Fiona?

  “I really wanted you to meet the woman I’m dating,” I continued. “She was looking forward to it.”

  “Aren’t you flying out to Cali soon, though?”

  I rubbed the back of my head. “Tonight.”

  She whistled beneath her breath and poured herself another cup of beer. I sat and stewed in my own confusing emotions. I really, really wanted to go back to my second date with Fiona. Sharing a glass of wine, propped up in her bed, and talking for hours. It was new and hopeful and made me feel different.

  This conversation made me feel the goddamn same.

  “I take it you and Fiona are gonna keep dating?”

  I was slow to confirm—stupid—and Mom nodded like she got it.

  Her voice lowered. “Is that what you want?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s not what you think you want?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”

  She shoved the beer and the pitcher out of the way. “I let myself be convinced one time, once, that the whole white-picket-fence thing was for me. I knew I probably couldn’t do it, knew that I wasn’t cut out for the way other people lived their lives. Stressed out and worried all the time about their mortgages or their relationships.” She looked down at her hands, the humblest I’d seen her. “I know it hurt you when I left, Max. But I had to do it. I can’t be caged like that. And I wished every day that I’d left sooner, like maybe Pop wouldn’t be as mad or something.” She looked back up at me. “Ten years I stayed, and I was fucking miserable.”

  I looked away, uncomfortable. Two weeks ago, I’d been watching the ocean in a new, pretty town and flirting with beautiful women I’d only ever see once. And yeah, there was a voice, a tug, in my brain, reminding me all the time of how much fun that was. Why change perfection?

  “You don’t have to do what society says just because it says it.” Mom shrugged. “Don’t get it confused. It’s your life. I’m sure you like this Fiona, but are you sure you’ll still like being tied down from 3,000 miles away?”

  The voice got louder, and I couldn’t quiet it this time. Her words were fueling a banked fire, and I needed it to go out. Because now, here in New York, I didn’t feel the way she felt. I wanted to be around Fiona all the time and kiss her and make her laugh and do things together.

  But I’d never done this. Never done the whole relationship thing. I was fucking intoxicated around Fiona, but didn’t that burn out for most people?

  Was I only delaying the inevitable while dating a woman searching desperately for true love?

  “We’re committed to trying,” I said. “One day at a time. We’re both honest and communicating with each other. And that’s what matters the most.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Listen, I’m just shootin’ my mouth off. You’ve got it all figured out, I’m sure. I never want you to get stuck like me. Roots just hold you back.”

  I sipped my coffee to hide my frown. I’d forgotten how often Mom said words like stuck or trapped when talking about raising her son. I couldn’t tell if I was looking into my future or staring back at my past. And that made me really, really scared.

  My phone buzzed with a text message. It was Charlie. Give me a call when you can. Exciting news about your first client.

  I slipped my phone back into my pocket, scooped up my leather jacket. “I gotta go. My new boss needs to talk with me.”

  “You don’t want to stay and hang with these guys?”

  I shook my head. “I’m good. Are you going to be out on the West Coast any time soon?”

  “Oh, probably,” she said, with a big smile. “I’ll call ya the next time I make it past the Rockies, alright?”

  My stomach filled with lead. Spending time with Fiona’s adoring parents, plus Pop and Mateo’s family, was not a flattering comparison for Mom. I thought about the happy text message chain Fiona was in with her family, the constant chatting and jokes and pictures they sent.

  My own mother had just offered to call me whenever she crossed the Rockies. As if that was a good thing.

  “Yeah, alright.” I bent down to give her a hug, feeling more confused than ever. “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, Max. You’ll be fine, kid.”

  I shrugged on my jacket, picked up my coffee. And walked out of there with a heaviness in my step.

  I called Charlie, who sounded excited when he picked up. “We’ll be seeing you for your first shift, right?”

  “You sure will,” I said. Over the past few days, I’d scrambled to figure out shipping my bike, getting plane tickets and finding an apartment. “What’s this exciting news you have for me?”

  Charlie said the name of a movie star so famous it literally stopped me in my tracks.

  “What about him?” I said, heart rate speeding up.

  “Well. You wanna work on his bike?”

  I rubbed my mouth, stunned. “I mean, yeah. Fuck, of course.”

  Charlie laughed. “That’s what I thought. Anyway, just wanted to share the news. We’re really looking forward to having you join our team, Max. I think you’ll like it here.”

  We ended the call, and I leaned back against the nearest wall. That was exactly what I needed to remember why I was leaving. Working at Rusty’s was everything to me.

  It was really, really bad timing, though.

  Fiona texted me. Can’t wait to see you tonight.

  Guilt wracked my body. Her hope, her optimism, about our relationship was going to be the e
nd of me, I could tell. I hated even considering that my mom was right.

  But as I walked back towards my bike to head home and pack, it seemed like all my mind could do was consider it.

  And worry that I was only going to break the heart of a woman who had so bravely offered hers to me.

  42

  Fiona

  Distraction came in the form of a wedding boutique that sold exclusively cupcake-style dresses.

  I’d seen it as I’d walked home from helping Pop pay off his debts to his landlord. Who, while technically a dick, hadn’t tried to do anything illegal and had promised to rescind the notice after the check cleared.

  I’d sent Pop home to nap. And since I had the day off and my bed was calling my name, I showered and crashed for six hours, waking up foggy-headed and disoriented.

  When I checked the time, I noted that Max hadn’t returned my text message. Which wasn’t usually that big of a deal. Except that even amid his sweet affection last night and into this morning, I could sense him pulling away.

  And not in a way that inspired confidence. In a way that made me nervous he was going to bolt like a skittish horse.

  Which was why I was now dragging my sleepy older sister all the way to the Village to go spontaneous dress shopping with me. It was either that or pace a fucking hole in my apartment.

  Roxy and I stepped into the shop, which was exploding with white, sparkly fabrics covered in sequins and flowers.

  “Oh my god, why did you bring me to this hell?” she hissed, tugging on my hand.

  “Because of something you said,” I whispered back. “You thought you knew what dress you wanted, but nothing in that other shop made you happy. I trust that gut instinct of yours. So maybe you do want a cupcake dress.”

  She fingered a tulle, layered skirt so full of glitter it lined the floor. “I will never forget this betrayal, Fiona Quinn.”

  I rolled my eyes, grabbing her arm and pulling her back into the shop. Same as last time, a flurry of happy assistants saw to our needs, wheeling in giant racks of dresses so anti-Roxy even I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.