“I think I get the picture,” I said, cutting her off mid-thought. “And it does sound awesome. But I don’t need the details.” Sometimes I forgot how many graphic details Amanda liked to dish out with very little prompting. She really had no shame. And part of me loved her for it.
“It really was awesome, Lil. You should’ve been there.”
“Um . . . I think I’m glad I wasn’t.”
Amanda laughed loudly when she realized the meaning of what she’d said. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, a hot guy bringing me a pizza to work and then banging the daylights out of me does sound pretty appealing,” I admitted after a little thought. “Shit, at this point I’d be happy if someone just brought me a pizza.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes at my momentary self-pity, though we both knew that when it came to the whole "sex at work" thing, I had been there, done that. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to have a repeat of that disaster. “What was it you couldn’t wait to tell me?” Amanda finally asked.
“Well, I actually need your advice on something.”
“You? Need my advice? You must have really gotten yourself in a jam. What is it this time? Three men? A professional athlete, a hot dad, and a billionaire?” she asked with a laugh.
I rolled my eyes at her sarcastic accusation.
“Four guys? You horny devil. When are you gonna learn your lesson?”
“Shut up, asshole,” I muttered, my mouth unable to resist lifting up into a smile.
“Just trying to make you laugh,” she shrugged. “And it worked. What is it really?”
“Well . . .” I trailed off, embarrassed that Amanda hadn’t been as far off as she’d predicted. “Max’s mom called me today.”
“Max’s mom? Why?” Amanda’s face grew more and more confused as she thought about what that could mean. “He’s not back in town, is he? Lil, you can’t do this to yourself again. You’re just beginning to get back to normal. Don’t.”
I quickly decided that I couldn’t tell her he was back in town. Not after the way she’d just reacted. And if I couldn’t tell her that, I certainly couldn’t tell her Max’s mom had revealed he’d never left to begin with. “No, he’s not back. But his agent’s been trying to get a hold of him. There’s a possible job opportunity, but Max won’t return his calls. He won’t listen to his mom either. She just thought maybe I could get through to him. That’s all.”
Amanda breathed deeply and allowed the awkward silence to linger as she waited for me to continue. When I didn’t, she finally spoke. “You’re not gonna call him, are you? After everything that happened?”
“It wasn’t all his fault. I just thought maybe I could help him.”
“You can’t be serious? Last week I came home to find you crying about what happened last spring, and now you wanna start this shit again? He’s not a fucking charity case, Lily.” I could see the pain and anger in her expression.
“You're right,” I conceded. “I won’t call him.” But as I rose to get ready for bed, one things became clear. One, Amanda was right; Max wasn’t my responsibility. Still I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt knowing that part of what I had told Amanda had been a complete fucking lie.
***
Tuesday night, what little sleep I managed to find was plagued with strange dreams. I woke up in a cold sweat after a nightmare where I found myself trapped in a cave with a caged tiger. Slowly and steadily, he clawed at the lock, and I knew eventually he’d break out and attack me. I could see light at one end of the cave, but I would have had to pass the tiger to escape. I didn’t think I could make it past him without at least his paw scratching me through the cage, so I stayed in place, screaming in the hopes that someone might hear me. No one ever did.
In another nightmare, I woke up in my childhood room to find that it had been painted red, not the lavender that I’d grown up with. I had risen from my bed and ran my hand along the freshly painted wall, wondering who’d chosen the color and how they’d painted it while I remained asleep.
There was only one explanation for my odd subconscious visions: I was fucking nuts.
When I wasn’t having nightmares, I found myself wide awake, playing out my future conversation with Max in my weary mind. Would he even pick up when he saw my number? Would he be excited to talk to me? Would I be excited to talk to him? Would our conversation begin with idle small talk as if we were two friends from childhood catching up after years of unintentional separation?
In my mind, I pictured our conversation going easily. It would be obvious that he was happy I’d called, but he’d hide it with a cautious voice. He’d ask me why I contacted him. I’d explain what led to my call: his mom’s and my overall concern for his well-being and success. Then, after we’d each caught the other up on what we’d been up to for the past five months, we’d say our goodbyes amicably.
There was something to be said for wishful thinking. Unfortunately, the only thing I could say for it in this situation was that it didn’t work. At all.