Max and I had discussed his friendship with Courtney once, when he’d come stumbling in the door from one of the concerts they had attended a few months after meeting, beer and cigarettes thick on his breath. They were both huge fans of nineties bands, and with my blessing would occasionally see whatever group was passing through town. Before, I had been the one who went to see Toad the Wet Sprocket or Good Charlotte with Max. But to be honest, I had been relieved to be off the hook, much preferring to stay home and curl up with the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly than bobbing my head with feigned enthusiasm as I listened to songs I didn’t particularly love when they were originally on the radio.
“You smoked?” I said to Max, recoiling slightly at the sound of my own voice, a voice I’d only heard inside my head, the voice that had started once the clock ticked past 1 a.m. My mind had involuntarily drifted to an image of the two of them dancing, their plastic cups of booze held high in the air above their heads, having so much fun together that time had slipped away. I’d made a vow that I wouldn’t confront him when he got home. I was simply feeling anxious because I couldn’t sleep, and in the morning I’d feel better. But when Max had gotten into bed well after 2 a.m., the smell of smoke triggered the insecurity I’d been trying to bury. When she was just my friend, Courtney’s model-like face and body never threatened me, but that night, it was the first time I had wondered if he’d also noticed her exquisite beauty.
“Courtney bummed one from some guy and I took a drag, but it was awful.” He mock coughed and suddenly I’d imagined him with his arm around her waist, leaning in and gently removing the cigarette that was dangling from between her lips.
“Should I be jealous here?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Max laughed, grabbing my face between his hands and planting a drunken kiss on my lips.
“Just tell me I have nothing to worry about,” I said as I pulled back from his grasp and searched his glazed eyes for the truth.
“You have nothing to worry about,” he repeated, kissing each of my fingers softly, then, after a few moments of silence, adding, “Let me put it this way—you would never think of Liam like that, right?”
When he said those words, it was like everything clicked—I wasn’t being fair. Of course he could have a friendship with a woman if I could have one with a man. And if he felt the way about her that I did about Liam, I really had nothing to worry about. He’d rolled to my side of the bed and curled his arms around me, and I’d put the whole incident aside, burying the uncertainty so far down that I could almost pretend it was never there.
? ? ?
Jules rubs her temples. “This whole situation is like some kind of crazy brainteaser. It hurts my head.”
And it hurts my heart.
“I don’t know if I can go to the happy hour tonight,” I answer honestly, feeling like the one time I agreed to run a 5K with Max, the finish line seeming so far away.
“If anyone can do it, it’s you,” Jules says, and I raise my eyebrow at her.
“Really?”
“How do you not see how strong and smart you are? You drive me nuts, girl!”
“Well, it’s especially hard to see my strengths when my fiancé has just told me he’s upgrading to someone else.”
“Did he say that?”
“No . . . not exactly, but why else would he be leaving me for her?”
“It might not have anything to do with you—like I said, he was probably just scared to commit and looking for an easy way out.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were secretly watching Oprah again.”
“Hey, that was a short-lived phase after Evan was born—but I did learn a lot.” Jules smiles.
“Okay, Ms. Armchair Psychologist, how do you suggest I handle not only going to drinks with my fiancé and his secret love interest, but also my working relationship with her?” I know I will have to fake it everywhere—especially at the office. Simply asking to be reassigned to different accounts so I don’t have to brush shoulders with Courtney every day will never work. I can picture the disapproving frown forming on my boss Magda’s thin lips when she realizes my agenda—I’m trying to distance myself from Courtney. She will demand an explanation, one I won’t be able to provide. Disappointing my boss couldn’t also be part of this arrangement.
“Don’t ask me. I watched O, not Maury Povich!”
I jokingly push Jules in the shoulder. “Seriously! I need your advice here—you know I’ve never been good at masking my real feelings.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry! Start by remembering something. This isn’t just about her. To really fix this, you need to figure out what went wrong with you and Max.” When she sees my face fall, she softens. “Don’t worry, I have no doubt you will—you and Max are great together.”
“You mean were great together.”
“No—I mean are, as in present tense. You said it yourself—they don’t know you know. So use this do-over you’ve been granted as an opportunity not only to get Max back, but to distract Courtney.” She winks. “And you know what I’m thinking?”
I can almost see the wheels turning in Jules’ mind.
I shrug.
“Instead of doing a makeover on her, let’s do a makeunder. Do something awful to that gorgeous hair of hers!”
I try to imagine Courtney’s blond locks transformed to a deep shade of blue, but it still doesn’t make the uneasiness inside of me disappear.
“Why are you frowning?” Jules asks.