The Storm Before the Calm (15 page)

T
HE
SKY
was black outside Max’s window. We could have been the only two people in the world still awake. I was cocooned in the protection of his arms, and my body felt soft and pliant. I blinked slowly, the lethargy of sleep threatening to overtake me. I’d never been this safe, this cherished.

“There was this boy,” I began, my voice low in the quiet of the room. “We’d all but grown up together. Beacon’s small… everyone knows everyone else. There are only three elementary schools. Anyway, we were kids together, tetherball and tire swings on the playground together. We were never close, but we weren’t distant either.”

Max tightened his arms around me, as though he knew what was coming next.

“Then one day, things changed. We were in high school and indifference turned to hate and I never knew why. He flung names at me, and as his hatred for me grew, so did his group of friends, who all seemed to feel the same way he did.”

His body was tense as I finished telling him about some of the things Dylan had done to me. I left out the more horrible ones, more to keep from reliving them than to keep things from Max. When I was finished, he was nearly shaking.

“If I could find that dickfuck and beat the ever-loving shit out of him, it still wouldn’t be enough to make up for everything he’s put you through. I’m so sorry, Charlie. I wish I’d known you then. You don’t deserve any of that. In fact, I think you deserve it less than pretty much anyone. Sometimes the pricks win for a while, but I believe karma will get them in the end.”

I shrugged. I didn’t know what to say to him. The fierceness and compassion he’d shown made me feel loved and protected, even if it came far too late.

“Is he why you hurt yourself?” he asked.

There was no judgment in his question, but his words were laced with sadness. I didn’t know if I could make him understand, but I had to try.

“Yeah. It’s difficult to explain, but it wasn’t the same kind of hurt. When I slid the razor across my skin, the stinging kind of faded, and all that was left was this feeling of relief. I know there’s some physiological reason for it with endorphins and the body’s natural response to pain, but all I cared about was feeling better. Dance helped. It helped more than anything. I hate to think what would have happened if I hadn’t….”

I shuddered, years of hurt leaching out of me like poison. Max held me close and kissed my temple.

“But you did and you’re fine and you’re here. And no matter what, you’re not going to hurt yourself anymore. If I have to spend every day telling you how special and important you are, then that’s what I’ll do.”

I smiled against Max’s chest. I had no idea what I’d done to find someone like him, and I didn’t know if I deserved it, but while I had him, I was going to enjoy it.

Chapter Seventeen

I
WOKE
up in the morning wrapped in the warmth of Max’s body, his arm thrown over my chest and his soft snores filling the small space between us. I beamed like an idiot, grateful Max was still sleeping and couldn’t see.

I snuggled back in and closed my eyes, trying to commit this feeling to memory. Around the edges of my brain, I was aware my time with Max was limited, and my time with him like this even more so. I didn’t want to think about it. There would be time to wallow later on, when I was back in Beacon, flipping burgers or stocking shelves or weeding gardens. For now I wanted to enjoy the way it felt to be who I was with a person I was quickly and steadily falling for.

Max stirred beside me, and I pretended to be asleep. I didn’t want to get up yet. His bed was too warm, too comfortable, and I liked having him next to me. He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, and I felt the mattress dip as he propped himself up, looking at me. I couldn’t help it. Knowing he was staring at me, I felt my eyelids flutter and the corners of my mouth quirk up a little.

“I knew you were faking,” he said.

I groaned. “I didn’t want to get outta bed. I like it here. I may camp out here forever.”

“That’d be fine with me, Sparky.”

My stomach grumbled audibly, and I buried my face against Max’s hip.

He laughed. “Or we could go get you something to eat and then come back to bed….”

As far as suggestions go, it wasn’t half-bad. “I was supposed to cook for you today,” I reminded him.

“Oh, yes. I hadn’t forgotten.” He looked at the clock on the floor next to his bed. “It’s nearly lunchtime now. What if we got something to eat and then walked up to your place? We have all day. It might be nice to show you some of the city.”

“Isn’t it too far to walk?”

“Nope. Only about seventy blocks. Which sounds like a lot, but it’s not too bad. It’ll only take us a couple of hours. We can sightsee and then stop at Zabar’s to pick stuff up for dinner.”

“Sure,” I agreed, even though that sounded like a
lot
of walking and I had no idea what Zabar’s was. It didn’t matter to me. Spending time with Max was the only thing on my agenda for the day. As long as I could do that, I was happy.

“Then get up and get dressed. I’m taking you to the Frying Pan.”

Another place I had no idea about, but Max seemed excited, so I quickly pulled on my pants, then my tank. I stepped forward to try and manipulate my hair into some sort of acceptable level of muss while Max dressed behind me.

Before long we were both ready. When we walked through, Danny was asleep on the couch, drool dripping onto the couch cushion, TV remote resting on his chest. The DVD he’d been watching earlier was looping the menu scene over and over, and in the light of day, it was just as awkward.

T
HE
F
RYING
Pan, as it turned out, was a restaurant not far from Max’s apartment. And it was a boat. We climbed aboard and were seated at a table at the edge where we could look out over the water. Everything I’d seen in New York had been so amazing. Even their restaurants were unusual. I loved it.

“This place is awesome,” I said, looking over the menu.

“It is. It’s a bit touristy, but there’s a reason for that.” Max peered at me over the top of his menu. “Know what you’re going to order?”

“Not yet. Everything looks pretty good. How about you?”

“I think I’m going to get dessert.”

“Dessert? Like, as your meal?” I asked.

“Uh-huh. Why not? I’m assuming we’re having actual food for dinner. I ate actual food yesterday, so one meal composed of sugar and pastry won’t kill me. And look. One of their desserts is a waffle. That’s totally breakfast food.”

“That sounds pretty good actually.”

“You want dessert too? We could order one of each and share.”

I nodded. “Why not?”

W
E
GOT
our food and dug in. I was going to be vibrating for hours, eating nothing but sugar from the meal and caffeine from my coffee. Tucking into the key lime pie, the waffle, the ice cream sandwiches, and the chocolate tuxedo bombe, our table was all but silent as we devoured every bit. It was delicious and the first time I’d done something like that.

When I was young, my mom had done her best to preserve my childhood, to keep me from growing up too fast. But there was only so much innocence and dependency available for a kid who came home to an empty house almost every day, a kid who was responsible for his own school-supply shopping, and a kid who was in charge of making meals five nights a week. She’d tried her hardest, but I wanted to be the grown up. I wanted to help out. Being irresponsible and frivolous for once felt good. I wouldn’t make a habit out of pie and ice cream for breakfast, but once in a while it made life seem a little sweeter.

We polished off everything on our plates and left the restaurant, walking through Chelsea into Hell’s Kitchen, then the Theater District, Times Square, and through Central Park. We moseyed along the sidewalks, stopping to peer in windows and take photos with my phone. Max narrated the whole way, feeding me facts and interesting tidbits about the different areas we walked through.

“How do you know all this stuff?” I asked.

“I grew up here. These streets were my backyard.”

“Must have been a lot different from how I grew up….”

“You weren’t let loose on the streets of Beacon?”

“Not really. I stuck mainly to home and school. I walked between the two, but for the most part I kept my head down and tried not to draw attention to myself.”

Max gripped my hand a little tighter as we crossed a bridge over a tiny creek.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. If I could go back and erase your past, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I know I said it last night, but you didn’t deserve any of those things that happened to you.”

“Thanks. It wasn’t as bad as all that, though.”

“The fuck it wasn’t,” Max spat, his tone suddenly rough.

“Okay, yeah. School sucked. I’m not going to try to convince you otherwise, but I didn’t spend all my time there. Dance was a big part of my life, and I was mostly accepted there. People understood me.”

“No offense, but they didn’t know you. Maybe they knew parts of you, but correct me if I’m wrong, you’ve been hiding such a huge part of yourself for so long. How can they accept you if they don’t know who you are?”

“They knew enough. It was enough,” I whispered. I didn’t like the direction the conversation had gone. This was supposed to be a nice afternoon spent together after one of the best nights of my life. Instead I was filled with the familiar sick feeling that permeated my stomach and took root deep in my heart.

Max grabbed me and pulled me to him, holding my head against his chest. I breathed deep, trying to push the swell of emotions back down. It had been a very big week for me—so many changes, big changes—and it was a lot to process. Max being in my life at all was something I had never foreseen happening, and despite the sudden swell of emotional crap, something I would be eternally grateful for.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I didn’t mean… I just get angry… I can’t tell you how angry… that anyone ever dared to treat you like you’ve been treated.”

He pulled back and looked at me, his hands moving to my face, his thumb rubbing against my cheek. “You are this incredible person, and I don’t understand how those people couldn’t see it. It makes me want to resort to levels of violence usually reserved for murderers and rapists.”

I nodded. I understood what he was trying to say. I couldn’t see what he saw, but for the first time in my life I wanted to.

“I’m sorry I got upset,” I said.

“You don’t ever need to be sorry for that,” he replied fervently. “You should never be sorry for the way you feel. Now let’s go to Zabar’s. Forget about the assholes and creeps in Beacon. There’s no reason to think of them ever again. You’re here now, and I’m keeping you.”

I smiled pathetically and took his offered hand, walking toward the edge of the park. We passed families and couples, joggers and bikers and photographers. It seemed like everyone in New York was in the park that day, but the only person I could see clearly was Max.

I repeated what he’d said over and over in my head.
You’re here now, and I’m keeping you.
I wanted so badly for that to be true. In that instant I would have given anything to stay. I kept my mouth shut, though, and tried to commit the moment to memory.

As we exited the park, Max asked me if I was hungry.

“But we just ate,” I said.

“Yeah. Call me crazy, but I don’t think ice cream sandwiches are really a stick-with-you kind of food.”

I chuckled, feeling a bit lighter. “Regretting your breakfast choices?”

“Not at all. Just now it’s time for lunch. Come on. I have just the thing.”

We hurried down West Seventy-Second to where Broadway splits off into Amsterdam, and there on the corner, under a sign for a mattress store with a mascot that looked suspiciously like Hitler in an American flag nightcap, was Gray’s Papaya.

“Best hot dogs in the city,” Max declared proudly.

“Is nutritionist your fallback plan in case dancing doesn’t work out?” I teased.

“Very funny. We’ll get some veggies at Zabar’s. I swear. Now come on,” Max said, pulling me inside.

The place didn’t look like somewhere I’d willingly choose to eat, but the smells made my mouth water, and if the lineup out the door was anything to judge by, the food would be good.

We waited our turn, and when one of the men in the red shirts acknowledged us, Max ordered two recession specials, one with papaya and one with piña colada. The guy handed over four hot dogs and two Styrofoam cups, and Max gave him a ten-dollar bill.

We loaded up on condiments and headed back out onto the street, eating as we walked.

“Okay, I’ll admit these are much better than I thought they’d be,” I said, nudging Max with my elbow.

“I don’t know why you ever doubted me. You should have learned by now that I don’t have bad ideas.”

I laughed. “I guess that’s sort of true, but I haven’t known you all that long. There’s no way you can keep up a streak like that forever.”

“We will have to see, won’t we?”

Chapter Eighteen

Z
ABAR
’
S
WAS
a market on Broadway near West Eightieth Street, and if I’d thought there were a lot of people in the park, it was nothing compared to this place. Nothing like the grocery store we had back home, this one was packed to the gills with shoppers of every type, and for good reason. Counters upon counters of food and aisle after aisle of items I’d never seen before—some I’d never even heard of—everything looked imported and exotic.

Max grabbed a basket, and we started loading up. We grabbed cheeses and breads, meats and salads. It was going to be one mishmash of a dinner, but everything looked delicious. I think there were thirty types of olives alone. I don’t even like olives, but I was tempted to buy a couple just to try them.

We wandered around, looking at things for close to an hour, avoiding running into the exasperated mothers with too many children trailing behind them or the old couples who meandered through the space, oblivious to anyone else who might need to get by. It was hectic and chaotic and wonderful.