I lean forward and put my hand on his. “God, Max, I’m so sorry.”
He plays with my fingers. “Last night, when you were talking about how your dad made you feel, it hit home. I wondered how many times my dad looked through Mom like she wasn’t there. I sure as hell know that Spence and I did it all the time. We damaged her the same way your dad damaged you, so ... yeah. I guess you’re right to be scared of me.”
He gets up and goes back to pulling out photos and putting them on the desk. “So, there’s a juicy backstory for you. Tortured son tries to make amends by helping women like his mother feel loved. Your editor will piss himself in delight from the possible headlines.”
“Max, I don’t have to write this. You’ve definitely changed my mind about your motivation, and according to our agreement –”
“Screw the agreement. Write the story, Eden. I’ll brace for the backlash.” His expression becomes hard. “I’ve run from all of this long enough. Time to face the music and move on. We all have moments in our lives when we have to decide if we’re going to stay comfortable in our bubble of ignorance or strive to be more than we were. I’m determined to be more. A better man than I was brought up to be. Only time will tell if I succeed.”
I want to hug him and tell him that sometimes, good people do bad things, because it’s so clear he’s already succeeded. But after so much truth he’s closed down, and when I go to touch him, he steps away from me.
“I have to go,” he says. “Don’t want to get on the wrong side of Nannabeth by being late to my own furniture sale.” He puts the box of photos on the desk and looks at them for a few moments. “Stay here as long as you like. Take whatever you need. Call me if you have any follow-up questions.” The look he gives me is of a defeated man. “Just promise me you won’t pull any punches. The one thing I don’t deserve is mercy.”
Then he walks away, and when the door closes behind him, I feel about as empty as the space around me.
*
After what just happened, I don’t really feel like collating the research, but I get the impression it’s important to Max that I write his story, so I promise myself to do it as sensitively as possible. After I shove the photos and documents into my bag, I turn out the lights and leave.
Knowing what he used to be like, my feelings for him are even more conflicted. He admits that he used to be exactly the type of man who inflicted so many scars on me. And yet, it hasn’t made it any easier to ignore the clawing, desperate need I have to be with him. Perhaps I’m more like my mother than I’d care to admit. Or, maybe, he’s less like my father than he’d ever believe.
I’m coming up the stairs from the subway station and heading toward the markets, when my phone buzzes. I smile at the screen before answering.
“I’m on my way, Nannabeth. Sorry I’m running late.”
“Darling granddaughter, it’s fine. The day you show up on time is the day I keel over and die of shock.” She laughs, which makes me smile. Nannabeth’s laugh is wicked and infectious, and it can make the most tragic of situations bearable. “I just wanted you to know that Sean the Lawyer has just arrived, and he’s looking even more attractive and single than usual.”
“Nan –”
“Wait, just hear me out before you dismiss this as meddling. It’s not. It’s lifestyle advice. Do you think someone like him comes along every day? Because I’m here to tell you, they don’t. He’s clean, has great taste in clothes, smells fantastic, is polite to old women – just stop me when I’ve convinced you – has a great body, his eyes are amazing, he has a killer sense of humor, he’s –”
“An imposter.” God, I hate throwing cold water on Nan, but here goes. “He’s not Sean, Nan, he’s Max, and he’s New York’s highest paid male escort.”
There’s silence for a few beats, then she sighs. “Oh, Eden. You and your bizarre sense of humor.”
“Nan, I’m serious. I’m doing a story on him. I’ve been researching him for weeks, and he’s just told me his father was a malignant narcissist who brought him up to be a sexist pig. He says he’s changed and is trying to make up for all the harm he’s caused, so …”
“But he seems so ... lovely. You’re telling me he used to be an ass and now has sex for money?”
“No. It’s a long story. Anyway, I have to reevaluate how I feel after receiving this new information.”
“Has he ever mistreated you? Your radar for assholes is pretty good, honey. Goodness knows you’ve slept with enough of them. What does your gut say?”
I look both ways before crossing the busy street. “I don’t know, Nan. I think he’s worked really hard to become a good guy, but part of me still doesn’t trust him.”
“Could that possibly be the part of you who’s a pathological commitment-phobe?”
I roll my eyes as I get in line at a coffee place near the subway station. “I suppose that’s possible.”
“I’m not telling you what to do, sweetie, but you seem to have a genuine connection with him. Maybe you should give him a chance to prove what kind of man he is.”
“That sounds an awful lot like telling me what to do.”
She pauses. “Edie, I just want to make sure you don’t screw things up with him, because you’re too pig-headed. I never want you to make the same mistakes I have.”
“Men mistakes?”
“Yes, men mistakes. Haven’t you ever wondered why I never remarried?”
“I ... well, I – ”
“Let me guess. You think I loved your grandpa so much, I couldn’t face replacing him? Oh, Edie.” I hear a quiet sigh. “Your grandpa was a good man, and I did love him in my own way, but his death didn’t break me. I just never felt the need to replace him. Hearts are funny things. If they spend too much time being one size, they end up stuck that way.”
I finally reach the front of the line and signal to the barista for a large latte. Nan will be hankering for caffeine right about now, and this place is her favorite. “So, you’ve dated over the years?”
“More than you could possibly know. But I’d told myself so many times I didn’t need anyone, I started to believe it. Sound like anyone you know?”
“Nan ...” I hand over some cash before moving to the side to wait for my order. I’m feeling way too raw to have this discussion this morning, especially after what just happened.