Pieces of Perfect (28 page)

Thirty-Five
 

"Wait, what?
 Back up."  How could that even have happened?  What were the chances that these two men, whom I so successfully kept away from one another for so long, found this moment to collide?
 

Tina relaxed a bit, contemplating her words carefully. "I was standing in front of the building when I saw Max get out of his car. My eyes locked on him immediately, for obvious reasons."
 I could tell she realized the inappropriateness of her last few words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ."

"It's fine. Just tell me what happened."

"So anyway, I watched Max walk toward the front door, and as I turned my head, I saw Adam leaving the building. I could tell he was already angry. His face was red, and he was in a hurry."  Tina paused to see how I was responding to the story.  I tried to remain calm, and she continued. "Then he saw Max. Adam snapped. He walked straight toward Max without saying a word and decked him. Max dropped to the pavement. He didn't even see it coming."
 

"Oh my God!"
 I remembered the times that Adam had mentioned fighting Max for me. I couldn't believe he had actually done it.
 

"I know. It was totally hot."

I shook my head, still in disbelief.
 
"
What did Max do?"

She tempered her excitement. "Absolutely nothing. He just stayed on the sidewalk holding his face as he watched Adam get into his car and leave."  

Max didn't even retaliate. He had finally shown some sort of restraint.  
Too little, too late
, I thought.

"Adam would obviously know what Max looks like, but do you think Max knew it was Adam who punched him?  

"I'm pretty sure he knows it was Adam who hit him.  It wouldn’t be too difficult to figure out.  He deserved it."  I took the locket from my desk and held it open for Tina's inspection. "Max gave me this after I ended things with him for good a few days ago. My friendship with Max has been strained since, to say the least.  When he realized he’d lost me for good, he sent this picture to Adam.  He took it like two weeks ago the morning after I went to a Flyers fundraiser with him. I didn't even know he’d taken it until he gave it to me in the locket.”

"Did you sleep with him that night?"

"No, but I would have. We had a connection that went beyond something sexual. But we were both drinking. Max actually said he wouldn't sleep with me because he wanted to be my sober choice, not a drunken mistake."  I shook my head as I played back my mixed signals in my mind.  "I realized I loved Adam two nights later.  Max came into my room Tuesday to pick up where we left off after the fundraiser. I broke him. I saw it in his eyes when he left." I could feel myself grow angrier.
 
“But we’re not in kindergarten. You don't sabotage somebody just because they don't want to be your friend anymore. He needs to grow the fuck up
.”  

“Well, I’m sure Max is pretty embarrassed about the whole thing.  It sounds like he put himself out there, and you rejected him.  Then Adam knocked him to the ground in front of students, parents, and teachers.”
 

I couldn’t believe Tina was actually feeling sorry for that manipulative asshole right now.
 “What he did was dishonest, and he did it intentionally to ruin my relationship with Adam.  Not to
start
a relationship with me.  If he’s trying to show me he cares, he went about it completely the wrong way.  No matter how badly he felt, there’s no excuse for what he did.  He had no right to do that.”  As I thought about what he’d done, I could feel my guilt for how I had treated Max quickly getting replaced by anger when I realized he hadn't sent the picture impulsively. He had thought about it for days.  

Tina eyed me curiously, waiting for me to continue.  When I didn’t, she broke the silence. “What about Adam?  What are you going to say to him?”       

              My eyes grew puffy with tears I was trying to hold in.  “He won’t even talk to me.  He’s so mad.”

She could see how spent I was.  “You have to try.  You can’t just let him walk away.  Look, Max fought to get you.  Granted, he went about it the wrong way, but he still
fought
.  And Adam fought for you, too.”  She looked at me to make sure I was listening to her next words as she handed me a tissue.  “Now it’s
your
turn to fight.”

Thirty-Six

When I left the school building, I noticed that Max's truck was gone. I hoped that he had gone directly home because that's where I was headed. As I pulled into his driveway, my anger had grown exponentially. By the time I knocked on his door, I was ready to rip his head off.

But when he opened the door, I thawed a bit. He looked terrible. He was shirtless, his ribs showing a scrape from where he'd hit the sidewalk. His cheekbone wore a fresh, red bruise. I was almost at the point of feeling slightly bad for him, when he smiled at me.

"Can I come in?" I asked coldly.
 

"Sure thing, doll," he replied as he stepped back from the door to let me enter.

I cringed at his calling me "doll."
 I used to enjoy the nickname, take pride in it even.
What a difference a day can make.
"Don't call me ‘doll,’ Max."
 

The tone of my voice effectively removed the smile from his lips.
He cleared his throat, closed the door, and then turned toward me, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  

I took a step toward him, my rage renewed, "You are the biggest fucking asshole I have ever met.  What would ever possess you to send that picture to Adam?  How did you even get his number?  Are you completely insane?"  

                  "Which question do you want me answer first?" he asked, trying to restore camaraderie that no longer existed between us.
 

 
               I just glared at him. I was completely over him in this moment. This bastard had ruined my life and now had the gall to make light of it.   Any endearing qualities I had ever seen in Max had disappeared. I now saw why teams didn't want him. This was Max. And he was ugly.
 

"I work at the school, too. It’s not hard to get a phone number. I don't know why you're so upset," he started sincerely.
 "I did you a favor."

                  I shook my head as if I had misheard him. A favor!  He was certifiable. "What?" I yelled.
 

 
                 "He's not right for you, Lily.” Max shifted his weight, squaring himself up for what he would say next.   “I get that he looks better on paper, but not for the long haul. A relationship built on a lie will never last. Besides, he doesn't get you the way I do. You can't be yourself with him."  
 

 
                 I was seething. "How do you know how I am with him?  You know nothing about us."
 

 
                 "Right," he replied, laughing sarcastically, "because people always lie and withhold things from people they can be themselves with. You're fucking delusional."
 

 
                 "Fuck you, Max."  My emotions were chaotic, but my voice was calm. I wanted him to hear me, know that I meant what I was saying. "When did I ever intimate that I would ever be in a relationship with you?  When?
 After the fundraiser?  When I was drunk?" I was being cruel and I didn't care. How dare this prick act like he did this for me? It's never been about me. He was only capable of caring about himself. "You said you wanted to be my sober choice.  Well, this is me sober.  And I don’t choose you."  
 

 
                 I watched Max's face drop as I spoke, every word hitting him like a Mack truck. But I wasn't done. "I know that I've done some horrible things since I've known you, but that doesn't make us the same. My actions were horrible, but you're horribleness stems from your very core. It's who you are."

                  I extinguished the final bit of air that was in my lungs. There you had it. I hadn't thought it possible for us to ever get to this point. But here we were, looking at each other with a detachment that was characteristic of complete strangers.
 

 
                 When it became clear that he had no response, I pushed passed him and opened the door.

                  That was when he found his voice. "You never gave me a chance, you know?  To be what he is to you. I could've been that. For you, I could've been anything."

 
                 I wavered slightly, but caught myself. He did this every time. Sucked me back in when I had finally firmed my resolve. It wouldn't happen this time.  I reached into my purse and pulled out the box with the locket inside. I set it down on a table next to his front door.  
 

 
                 "Goodbye, Max," was all I uttered as I left, pulling the door closed behind me.

Thirty-Seven
 

             
Tina had told me to fight.  But for so long, I fought to keep these two men apart.  I had fought to resist Max.  I had fought to try to love Adam.  And I had even fought to try to love myself.  
 
When I arrived at home that afternoon, I felt as if I didn’t have any fight left in me.  I needed to take a day to collect my thoughts.  Plus, I still had some hope that once Adam calmed down, I might have a better shot at talking to him.  Or I guess what I was really hoping for was a shot at having him actually listen to me when I
did
talk.  

Despite my exhaustion, both mentally and physically, I threw on my running shoes and headed out to get some much needed air.  For the first time in awhile, I just ran.  I didn’t think of anything.  I let every thought that came into my mind escape with my next exhalation.  I didn’t even listen to music.  I couldn’t risk hearing a song that reminded me of either of the two men.  These two men whom I had broken through my selfishness and my lies.

And I knew how they felt. My selfishness and lies had broken me, too.

I just let myself breathe.  I listened to the trees brush their leaves together, and I felt my feet hit the pavement with a pace that forced me to keep moving even when I thought I didn’t have it in me to take another step.  I didn’t depend on my mind to motivate me because I knew my mind would inevitably let me down.  Instead, I relied on my legs to propel me, remembering my mom’s inspirational words again: “Action comes before motivation.”  

Just keep your legs moving, Lily
.  
You’ll have no choice but to follow them
.  
 

*
              *              *

When I got to work the next day, I tried to give teaching my all, though I didn’t really have it in me.  I sat in the back of the room, feigning interest in student presentations on influential people.  Most picked athletes or musicians.  Some picked a coach they’d had.  A few even picked a family member.  But the only one that truly captivated me was Eva’s presentation.
 

“The most influential person to me is my dad,” she began as she displayed a picture on the screen of her and Adam at the beach.
 She looked to be about seven or eight when the picture was taken.  She is in a purple bathing suit, her light brown hair blowing in the wind as she tries to build a sandcastle.  Adam is sitting beside her, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile.  He isn’t looking at the camera; his attention is focused solely on Eva and the castle as he shows her how to dump the packed sand out of the bucket without having it crumble.  

“He’s an architect.  I guess this is when he showed me how to make a home out of sand,” she said with a nervous laugh.  

Eva flashed some more pictures on the screen as she described why her dad had been so influential to her.  I envied her ability to reveal these personal experiences with such strength as she talked about how Adam had raised her alone.  He’d always gone to her basketball games, even if he had to leave work early.  He helped her with her homework, and he took her sledding on snow days.  Even at this young age, she appreciated how difficult that must have been for him.
 

“And here is when he tried to make cupcakes for my 10th birthday party,” she said as she clicked to the next slide and displayed a picture she had clearly taken herself.
 It is angled up toward Adam.  His counter is covered in cake mix, and he’s licking pink icing from his fingers as he smiles.  

The conclusion of the presentations required that the students choose a song that reminded them of their influential person.  Eva chose the song, “That is Why We Fight” by a band I had never heard of.  I couldn’t help but be amazed at the coincidence of the title.  But as she passed out the lyrics and we listened to the music, I wondered why she had chosen a song about war and politics to represent her father.  

“My dad loves this song,” she said after it finished playing.  “He says most things aren’t really what they appear to be.  You have to look deeper.  Like songs, poems, stories.  Even people.  There is more to them than what’s on the surface.”  She projected a few lyrics from the song on the screen.  “Like these lines,” she continued and then read them aloud.

              People quiet

             
Some are not so quiet though

             
Some are silent

             
Some loud
 

“He says there are three types of people.
 The quiet people represent those who don’t really open themselves up.  They stay hidden, and people don’t really get to know who they are,” she said as she flipped to her next note card. “Then there are outspoken ones.  These people are themselves—take ‘em or leave ‘em.”  She looked up and made eye contact with me and some of her classmates, who seemed to be equally as impressed with her presentation.  “Then there is the third type: the type my dad tries to teach me to be.  He says no one should really just be one extreme or the other with anything.  Instead, you should try to take pieces of both.  He’s always reminding me not to complain about small things, but also to speak up when I need to."
 

             
I sat mesmerized by the poise that a 13 year old could possess when talking about such a mature topic.  And something so close to her heart.  It was in stark contrast to the emotional mess I had been lately.  
 

             
“But the
title
is really my favorite part,” she said, “because it’s what really reminds me of my dad.  He always fights to make things better.  He fights for me.  He fights for
everyone
he loves,” she concluded, as the class clapped.  Eva closed out of her presentation on the computer and returned to her seat, completely unaware of the effect she had just had on me.

With that simple assignment, a 13 year old had given me all the strength I needed at the time when I’d needed it the most.  I knew I had to be a hundred percent honest with Adam, even though it would probably be one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do.  I think that’s where my fight comes from.  Or anyone’s fight, for that matter.  It comes from knowing that what you’re about to do is the right thing.  And even though it isn’t easy, you force yourself to do it anyway.
 
 

I guess sometimes it's good to have nothing. Then you know you have nothing to lose.

That is why we fight.