Sara: UGHHHHHHHH!!!!! APRIL!!!!!! Every week I shake my head and can't stop. I feel like everyone in this story needs a damn reality check.
This seems to be a recurring feature in my stories.
Isabel is a nightmare. I want to slap her so hard. Max...needs to get slapped next. Go back to where you came from buddy!
Those Evans siblings! The urge to slap them is strong!
And Michael and Maria are so damn naive. DO they really think they have this all covered. They live in this fantasy land that they can't seem to get out of.
As much as Maria tries to be rational and responsible about things . . . she's so in love with Michael that she often gets pulled into this fantasy land with him.
Carolyn: This is indeed a tangled web........
And I can't imagine how this mess is going to turn out.
Well . . . I had the ending of this story in mind when I started the beginning of it. So however it turns out will be . . . deliberate, I guess you could say.
Max doesn't really care about Dylan, he just wants to cause trouble for Maria.
Max has a huge ego, so it bothers him that Michael has become Dylan's dad, and because of that, yes, he'd very much like to cause problems for M&M.
Thanks for reading and leaving feedback!
Part 74
Kyle frowned as he read a text message from Michael. It was short and to the point, and it was kind of a bummer. Parties were always more fun when Michael was there.
“What’s wrong?” Tess asked. She’d been at his side all night, drinking a little more than she usually did, because she felt bad for him feeling like he couldn’t. With everyone having a camera on their phones these days, he just couldn’t risk being photographed doing something illegal.
“I just got a text from Michael,” he explained. “I guess he and Maria aren’t coming.”
“Why not?” she asked.
He shrugged and put his phone away. “I don’t know. He just says they’re staying in tonight.”
Tess snorted and laughed a little. “Oh, then you know what that means. They’re
cumming,” she said emphatically. “Just not to the party.”
“You think so, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. Trust me, they’re totally doing it.”
“Hmm.” Well, in that case, he was envious. Having to cut back on his sex life with Tess as he’d amped up all his workouts had been torture. Michael didn’t have the same problem because he didn’t have the same discipline.
She brought her red cup up to her mouth, took a drink, and then tossed it aside when it was empty. “God, I still can’t believe they’re engaged,” she said. “And
I’m gonna be Maria’s bridesmaid. I, like, hated her not all that long ago.”
“Just for Isabel,” he reminded her.
“Who I don’t even talk to anymore because she’s . . .” Tess lowered her head and mumbled sadly, “. . . not Isabel.”
Kyle wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. He didn’t want her to dwell on all of that, though, not on a night that was supposed to be fun for both of them. “So why can’t you believe they’re engaged?” he asked, trying to keep her mind on something other than her ruined friendship.
“Well . . . ‘cause he’s Michael,” she said simply. “He’s not the marrying type. Except . . . he is now, I guess.”
“He used to give me so much crap about wanting to marry you,” Kyle told her. “Said I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that ‘cause I’m a guy and I’m young.”
“Well, so is he,” she stated the obvious. “Kinda makes me wonder if it’s gonna work out.”
“What, you don’t think it will?” Even though Michael wasn’t the marrying type, Kyle did have faith in his friend. He wasn’t the best decision-maker, but he seemed to feel strongly about this decision.
“I’m hoping for the best,” Tess said, “but . . . no offense to them or anything, but everyone’s saying they’re like us. But they’re
not like us, Kyle. They haven’t been dating as long as we have; they don’t have solid plans for their life like we do. I’m not trying to sound like I’m bragging or anything, but . . . you know what I’m talking about.”
He nodded. Yeah, he knew. He and Tess were the golden couple, and he enjoyed that. Michael and Maria didn’t have that same reputation, but that didn’t mean their relationship was weaker or doomed to fail. “I think they’ll make it, though,” he said. “Two of them, two of us . . . livin’ the good life out in Alabama.”
“After I graduate,” she muttered.
“After that.” He smiled at her and moved in front of her so he could kiss her. “It’ll be great.”
“I hope so,” she said, slinking her arms around his waist.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Isabel always started going to the pool a few weeks before the end of school. It was a nice way to remind herself that summer was right around the corner. And this would be her last
true summer. Every summer after this would be filled with college courses, because she wanted to graduate in four years instead of five, and these days, the only assured way of doing that was by loading up on summer classes.
She went with Max, trying not to think back to last summer, when she and Tess had gone to the pool or the lake at least three times a week. It had been so fun just to have all that girl time together, but now, Tess had new friends, and she had . . . well, Jesse couldn’t come with them today, but she had him. And Courtney and Eric, to an extent. And her brother, of course. If he stayed in town all summer, he would probably end up being her best friend. He didn’t have much competition these days.
“Ah, the pool,” he said as they strolled along the side. “Place to be when it’s this hot outside.”
“It’s sweltering,” she agreed. But that was New Mexico. It was rarely cold where they lived.
The lifeguard smiled and waved at her as she walked by, and just for the sake of being flirtatious, she waved back. Why not? She looked good. She had on a yellow bikini, which was somehow even sexier because she was wearing a sheer beige cover up that went down just below her butt. Being at the pool wasn’t so much about swimming as it was showing off all your assets. Tess had been the one to tell her that.
“Where do you wanna sit?” she asked, surveying their options. It was sunny out, so she definitely wanted a chair shaded by an umbrella, but they were tall taken. The only ones left were way too close to the pool itself, where she would get splashed.
“Doesn’t matter to me,” Max replied. He had both their towels under one arm and a large purple inner tube under the other.
“I kinda wanna sit over there,” she said, pointing to a long pool resting chair under the shade of an umbrella. But there was a tall, skinny guy occupying it, and he was reading a book.
“Done,” Max declared, walking up to the guy. He towered over him and demanded, “Hey. Move.”
The guy looked startled for a moment, then gathered up his things and, with his face buried in the pages, cleared out.
“There you go,” Max said, gesturing toward the chair. He laid his towel out on the ground next to it and took his shirt off.
Isabel laughed a little, mimicking him as she sat down. “Hey. Move,” she said in a deep, gruff voice. “That’s very authoritarian of you.”
“Just gotta know how to get what you want.”
“I would’ve taken a different approach,” Isabel said, “but I would’ve gotten my way, too.” She would have flirted with him, laid on the charm in order to convince him to give up his spot. It wouldn’t been difficult, and it wouldn’t have taken long. She and Max both had effective methods.
“Will Jesse be joining us today?” Max asked.
“No,” Isabel replied, taking her seat. “He was busy today.” He hadn’t said much; just something about a problem with his website. “Work-related.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Max said, looking out at the pool. “I kinda liked the guy.”
“Really?” He definitely had a different opinion than her mother did then.
“Yeah. He’s got some edge to him, but he keeps it beneath the surface. I can relate to that.”
“Hmm.” She reached into her beach bag and handed him the sun block. If he was anything like her, he would burn easily.
He squirted some sun block into his hand, then handed the small bottle back to her as he spread it across his chest. “Well, listen,” he said, “I invited someone to join us today.”
“Who?” she asked. “A girl?”
“Maybe.”
She sat up straighter. “Max. Set the record straight: Do you have a girlfriend or not?”
He rolled his eyes as if the question annoyed him, but he answered it anyway. “There is a girl,” he admitted, “who’s a friend . . . who I might have slept with a time or two.”
“I knew it.” Of course there was a girl. If there hadn’t been one, he would have surely made an effort to re-seduce Maria by now.
“I met her in college this year,” he said, “but she grew up here in Roswell. Her parents live here, own a restaurant. It’s one of the reasons why I came here after my semester ended, to be close to her.”
“Really? And here I thought you came to be with Mom and me,” she teased.
“Well, I did,” he said. “This was just
another reason.”
“So it’s serious then,” she concluded.
Max shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll see. I like her. She’s pretty. And she’s smart and interesting, which is a rare combination these days.”
“I’m smart and interesting,” Isabel pointed out.
“Of course you are. You’re an Evans.”
“Are you gonna make this girl an Evans someday?” she prodded.
“I’m not really thinking that far ahead,” he said. “But it’s fun for now. I think you’ll really like her.”
“Hopefully.” She was, after all, in the market for a new friend.
“She’s actually probably way too nice for me,” Max admitted. “Doesn’t really get into trouble, do anything wrong.”
“So you’re dating a saint?” she summarized.
“She’s not a saint; she’s just a really good girl.”
Isabel leaned back again and murmured, “Hmm, so was I, once upon a time.”
“She really is, though,” he insisted. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, she can act like a bad girl if I want her to . . .”
“Okay, I don’t wanna hear details,” she cut in. “I
am still your sister, you know.”
“Sorry,” he apologized, and when he looked around again, his eyes settled on something. “Here she comes now.”
Isabel tried to pick her out of the crowd, tried to figure out who he was focusing on, but no one was standing out to her. Until she got closer. Not just any she, but a she Isabel recognized. A face she’d seen before, when it had been contorted in ecstasy as she lay beneath Michael.
Liz. Fucking Liz Parker or Porter or whatever the hell her last name was. Michael’s first affair, and Alex’s ex-girlfriend.
This was the smart and interesting girl Max was having a fun time with? This was his ‘really good girl?’
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Isabel groaned, putting on her sunglasses just to conceal how pissed off she must have looked.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael told Maria he was working out with Kyle, which wasn’t a total lie. He did get up early to hit the gym with him, but he didn’t end up staying long. Instead, after little more than a half-hour workout, he ventured through side-streets to a financial consulting firm he hadn’t even known existed in their town until he’d Googled it the other night. He would have told her he was going there, except then she would have insisted on coming along. And Maria worried enough about money and how they were going to afford everything when they were out on their own. He wanted her to take a break from it. He could figure it all out. With a little help, of course, which was why he was there.
He waited longer than he’d expected to have to, starting to feel nervous. What if they refused service because they thought he was such an irresponsible, in-over-his-head kid? Could they do that? Could they take one look at him and decide he wasn’t worth their time?
The sound of high heels clicking snapped him out of his worries, and a woman in business attire came out of the hallway. “Michael Guerin?” she said, giving him a questioning look.
“Yeah, that’s me.” He got up, grabbed the folder he had brought along with him, and made his way towards her.
“Hello,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Trisha Gordon. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Yeah.” He shook her hand, having to remind himself to sound more mature. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“Come on back to my office,” she said. “Let’s talk.”
Her office ended up being . . . not much bigger than Topolsky’s, but far less chaotic. Everything seemed to be organized and in its place. Probably like her finances.
“So,” Trisha began, “what can I help you with today?”
“Uh . . . money.” Wasn’t that why everyone went to a financial consultant, to get money help?
“What specifically?” she asked. “Can you give me some insight into your situation?”
“Yeah, uh . . .” He opened the folder, realizing he should have taken the time to organize the bills and receipts in there rather than just tossing them in the night before. “Here.” He slid it across the desk, assuming she could figure it out for herself.
She started to look through some of the documents inside, but still she urged him to sum it up. “Tell me what kind of things you’re spending money on right now, Michael.”
“Well, Trish . . . you mind if I call you Trish?”
She gave him a look like she
did mind.
“—a,” he added. “Trish
a. Gordon. Ms. Gordon.”
“Mrs.,” she corrected.
“Mrs. Gordon.” Great, she was married. That meant flirting wouldn’t get him on her good side. Although . . . it wasn’t like he
had to be on her good side, was it? This wasn’t like school where adults could boss you around and try to make you feel inferior just because you were making the same mistakes they themselves had made back in high school. This was the real world, where he was basically an adult. And this was a business.
“I’m eighteen,” he told her, “and I’m goin’ to college in the fall.”
“Where?” she asked.
“Alabama. The University of Alabama.”
“Wow.” She nodded as though that were impressive. “Good school.”
“Good football team.”
She smiled pleasantly, and he started to feel at ease, less like a book being judged by its cover. “Are you gonna play?”
“That’s kinda the plan, but . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t have any athletic scholarships or anything.”
“What about grades?” she asked.
He laughed at that. “In the shitter.”
“Didn’t try so hard in school, huh?” she summarized.
“Didn’t try at all. I’m just lucky to be graduating,” he confessed. “Anyway, I know it’s gonna be really expensive to go there. I mean,
really expensive.”
“You’ll have to take out a lot of student loans,” she acknowledged. “Are you parents helping?’
Again, he laughed. “No. I think my mom would like to, but . . . she can’t. We don’t have money saved up, my dad’s outta work . . .” He trailed off, rolling his eyes. “My dad’s just a loser all-around, so . . .”
“Okay, I understand,” she said. “So you feel like you need a plan for how you’re going to manage to afford a college education.”
“Um . . .” He made a face, wishing it were just that simple. “Actually, there’s a lot of stuff I gotta afford.”
“Like what?” she asked, picking up the receipt for Maria’s engagement ring. “Oh, I see.”
“Yeah, that’s . . .” He had until the end of the calendar year to pay that off, which didn’t seem like a very long time, even if it was.
“Congratulations,” she said, sounding genuine. “You must really love this girl to marry her so young.”
“Yeah, I do.” It was nice that she didn’t automatically assume Maria was pregnant and that was the only reason he was marrying her. “So I gotta pay that ring off, and we gotta afford a wedding, ‘cause we wanna get married this summer before we move.”
“Okay.”
“And . . .” He rubbed his forehead, wondering if this was how Maria felt when she thought about money crap. “I bought a car I gotta finish paying off.”
“And you have absolutely
no help from your parents,” she reiterated.
“Yeah. And I mean, Maria—that’s my girlfriend . . .” He stopped and corrected himself. “My fiancée. She works two part-time jobs, and she’s gonna work when we move, but . . . I mean . . .” He trailed off and shrugged. He didn’t want Maria to have to work any more than she did right now, but she insisted that she would work as much as she had to.
“You’d like to be able to contribute,” Trisha deduced.
“Yeah. I just . . . I don’t want her out there killin’ herself day in and day out just to keep my ass off the streets.”
“Well . . . going to college
and playing football
and working might be . . . difficult,” Trisha told him. “What kind of job are you looking into?”
He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I’ve never worked before.”
“Well, what do you think you might be good at?”
Again, he didn’t have much of an answer. “I don’t know. I’m really only good at football and . . . well, sex,” he admitted shamelessly.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I could be a male prostitute,” he joked.
“Well, why don’t we shoot for something a little more legal, alright?”
“Yeah, I know, I just . . .” If he didn’t lighten the mood, he was going to go crazy. Thinking about all this stuff . . . it wasn’t him. It didn’t come naturally. Just being here at all made him feel like he was an idiot. He had no clue what he was doing. Any minute now, she would probably start to throw out some big words he didn’t even know the definition to.
“When you move, where do you plan on living?” Trisha asked him.
Oh, thank God, a question he actually had an answer for. “Well, we found this apartment. Two-bedroom, pretty nice.”
“Two-bedroom?” she echoed. “You might be able to save a little if you get a one-bedroom or a studio.”
“No, we can’t . . .” He sighed, resigned to explaining it to her. “Dylan needs a bedroom, too.”
“Dylan?”
“Maria’s . . .” He stopped himself and corrected, “Our son.”
“You have a son?”
“Yeah.” Now she probably thought he was MTV reality show material. Oh, well. It didn’t matter. “He’s three.”
“Three?” She was obviously doing the very simple math in her head. Dylan was three and he was eighteen, so she was assuming that he’d knocked Maria up when he was a freshman, but . . . whatever. She could think what she wanted. “So is he going to preschool next year?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Probably.” At the end of the day, that would be Maria’s decision, but he definitely thought Dylan seemed ready.
“So you’re . . . very young,” she recapped. “You and Maria both?”
“Yeah, she’s nineteen.”
“And you have a three year-old son. And you’re engaged and planning on getting married . . . soon?”
“Yeah.”
“So you have to pay for the ring and the wedding, and you still have a car to pay off. And then there’s college. And no help from your family.”
He let out a heavy exhale, feeling like a black cloud was settling over him. “Any advice on how I might make it work?” As much as he’d grown to appreciate Topolsky, she didn’t give financial consulting as a job. He wanted—and at this point probably
needed—the opinion of a professional.
“Well, Michael . . . I think you need to be realistic with yourself,” she urged. “You have a lot going on in your life. So out of all these things, which are the most important? And which . . . might be worth sacrificing?”
Sacrifice? Had he ever actually made a sacrifice before? Had he ever cared enough to do that?
When she put it like that, though, asked him what he was willing to give up . . . it made it simpler, boiled it down so that the answer was pretty clear. For now, he knew what he needed to do, because he knew without a doubt what was most important to him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was amazing how a relaxing day at the pool could transform so dramatically into . . . something else. Finding out that Liz was Max’s girlfriend had definitely thrown Isabel for a loop. Just when she thought she had things figured out and life wouldn’t get even more twisted and tangled, in popped the girl who, by all accounts, had been nothing more than Michael Guerin’s infidelity warm-up act, a warning sign for all the heartbreak that was to come.
It was strange, because at one point, Isabel had been sure that she hated Liz, that she would never hate anyone more. But now . . . now that Michael and Maria had their whole true love thing going on, she realized she didn’t hate Liz. Not really. She was just another girl who had been swept under Michael’s spell. No, hate, on the other hand . . . hate was something that was exclusively reserved for Maria. And for Michael, but to an annoyingly lesser extent.
Liz was sort of obnoxiously polite at dinner that night, and she smiled too much for her own good; but she didn’t seem phony. When she told the story about how she and Max had first met, she seemed to recall it with genuine fondness. Apparently she’d had her eye on him for a few weeks prior, and as bad luck would have it one day at the start of the spring semester, she’d gotten a flat tire. Max had stopped on his way to class and changed it for her, and when all was said and done, he’d asked her out on a date. One date had become more than one date, and now there they were, officially dating for nearly four months now. Isabel couldn’t help but wonder if Max had been faithful for each of those four months, because it was pretty obvious Liz had been. She just seemed like the kind of person who would put all her trust in someone if she liked them enough.
Like the kind of person I used to be, Isabel thought. She had put
way too much trust in Michael one too many times.
“Oh, everything was delicious, Mrs. Evans,” Liz raved as Diane got up to clear the table. “Thank you so much. Do you want some help?”
“Oh, no, that’s fine. Izzy will help me. Won’t you, sweetheart?”
Isabel sighed. “In a minute.” She wasn’t about to be relegated down to servant status just because they had a guest.
“Is there dessert?” Max asked. He was always hungry.
“Brownies, the homemade kind,” their mother replied.
“Oh, gosh, I’m gonna have to find room,” Liz said, holding one hand to her stomach.
“I’ll send some home with you,” Diane said, taking all the plates into the kitchen.
Liz waited a few seconds after she was gone to lean towards Isabel and say quietly, “Listen, Isabel, if this is too weird having me here, I can just go,” she offered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was gonna ask me to stay for dinner.”
“It’s weird,” Isabel admitted, “but I don’t care. Michael and I aren’t even together anymore.”
“I can’t believe you had sex with him, too, Liz,” Max grumbled. “What’s with this guy? Does his dick have superpowers or something?”
“No,” Liz replied at the same time Isabel answered, “Yes.”
Max gave her a look.
She shrugged. “He’s good in bed.” She could sling out insult after insult in Michael’s direction, but there was no denying how capable he was in
that way.
“We only . . . it was
one time,” Liz insisted.
“Last year?” he questioned.
“Yeah, my senior year.”
“She lost her virginity to him,” Isabel added. “Am I right?”
Liz groaned frustratedly. “Right, but . . . it was a mistake.”
“Because you knew he had a girlfriend at the time.” Isabel used both thumbs to point at herself.
“
And I wasn’t in love with him,” Liz added. “I wish for so many reasons I could take it back.”
“So that Max could be your first,” Isabel chirped. “Or . . . would it have been Alex? I can’t keep up.”
Liz looked uncomfortable, but she didn’t deny sleeping with Alex, too. “I think Alex always had . . . someone else in mind.” She gave her a pointed look, and Isabel shuddered inwardly.
Oh, Alex . . .
It hurt too much to think about him. She missed him, missed his friendship.
“I’m really sorry for everything that happened a year ago,” Liz apologized. “And I want you to know, if I’d known you and Max were related, I wouldn’t have just shown up at the pool like I did today. I thought I was just meeting him. He didn’t even tell me he had a sister.”
“Well . . .” He shrugged. “Long-lost.”
“I wonder what else he hasn’t told you,” Isabel teased. All afternoon, she’d been wondering just how much Liz knew. Did she know about Dylan? Max and Maria?
“What does she mean by that?” Liz asked Max.
He sighed, looking at Isabel like he wanted to kill her for the moment. “Thanks, sis,” he said sarcastically.
“Someone had to get her curiosity piqued.” Girls like Liz were simpletons. They didn’t question things when they should. Isabel knew all about that, from experience. Better this girl found out Max’s past now rather than later. Isabel was just doing her a favor.
Leaving the two little lovebirds to what would inevitably be a very awkward conversation, one that would either barely start before dessert or have to be put on hold until after, Isabel headed into the kitchen to assist her mother with the brownies.
“Oh, honey, can you help me?” Diane asked as she struggled to scrape some off the bottom of the pan. “They’re sticking.”
“Why don’t we just do ice cream?” Isabel suggested. That was what they’d done at the last family dinner, the one Jesse had been invited to. Nothing fancy, nothing home-baked. Just good old ice cream right out of the carton.
“Well, I made these brownies.” Her mother’s face contorted as she tried in vain to get the brownies unstuck.
“So what do you think of Liz?” Isabel asked, heading towards the fridge to get the ice cream out.
All it took was that one name for her mother to forget the brownie fiasco entirely. “Oh, isn’t she lovely?” was her beaming response. “So sweet, so nice.”
“Hmm.” Isabel shrugged.
Her mother frowned. “What, you don’t think so?”
“Well, it’s just been my experience that, when someone seems so sweet and nice, usually they’re not that innocent.”
Her mother waved that off. “She seems like a very genuine girl.”
“Genuine, sure,” Isabel agreed. “I’m not saying she’s not nice. I just don’t think she’s innocent.”
“Well . . .” Her mother gave her a cold, hard look and mumbled, “Who is anymore?”
Isabel accepted that jab and kept on rolling with it. “Face it, Mom: You’re about to walk back in there and crown this girl the Mother Teresa of all girlfriends because you’re just relieved at least one of your children has a suitable significant other.”
“Well, maybe I am,” her mother admitted readily.
“Jesse was just as polite to you as Liz has been. He was just as grateful and easygoing.”
“He acted that way,” her mother argued. “But any twenty-six year-old man who dates my eighteen year-old daughter and films himself having sex with her is
not suitable.” She shook her head in disgust and went back to attempting to slice her brownies. “I’m just glad you’ll be leaving him for college soon.”
Isabel glanced back in the dining room at Max and Liz. Liz had tears in her eyes now, and Max was out of his chair and kneeling beside her. Had to be telling her all about Dylan. Had to. Why else would she look like her whole world had just changed?
“Yeah, college,” Isabel said, watching them, two college students who were probably just as messed up as she was, yet her mom was oblivious to it. “I’m sure everything will be less dramatic by then.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As much as Maria wanted to stay awake, it was so tempting to just fall asleep on the couch, nestled comfortably in Michael’s arms. They had been watching one of his favorite shows,
American Ninja Warrior, for over an hour. He said watching those contestants motivated him to work out, and two years ago, he and Kyle had gotten so competitive about it that they’d tried to build their own ninja course in his backyard. They’d shelved that idea after Michael had fallen and gotten a concussion.
“Watch this,” Michael said, squeezing Maria gently.
She opened her heavy eyes in time to see a short, stocky guy fly up the final obstacle on the qualifying course, the warped wall. It was pretty impressive for someone of his height. “Wow,” she said. “How do they do that?”
“Years of training,” Michael replied. “Natural athleticism probably doesn’t hurt.”
“It’s pretty cool.” She snuggled in closer against his side.
“I should do this,” he said. “This show.”
“You think you could?”
“Yeah. Hell yeah,” he answered confidently. “I’m naturally athletic.”
“What about the years of training?”
“I’d just go for it. Screw training.”
She laughed a little. That philosophy was . . . so Michael. “You might make it past the first couple obstacles,” she said, “but I don’t think you’d make it through the whole thing.”
He snorted, feigning offense. “Come on, babe, don’t you have any faith in your man?”
She sat up a little and explained herself. “Look, I know you’re athletic, but you’re the one who’s always telling me how hard this show is.”
“It is hard,” he agreed. “But I’m hard. I mean, I
go hard. You know what I mean.”
She rolled her eyes, laughing a little. “Oh my god.”
“Come on, I’ll prove it.” He slithered down off the couch and lay on the floor, holding both his hands up at a ninety-degree angle, palms facing up. “Come on.”
“What’re you doing?”
“Lay on my hands. I’m gonna bench-press you.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
She sighed, dragging herself down on to the floor with him. She lay down flat like a board and folded her arms over her chest. “You’re being, like, so macho right now.” She supposed it was the least she could do, though. Guys liked to feel all tough and masculine. They liked to show off.
“Yeah, check this out,” he said, lifting her up into the air slowly, then bringing her back down before doing it again. “See? I could do it.”
“If you say so.” She still thought
Ninja Warrior might be a stretch. But maybe someday he’d live out his dream of winning
Wipeout. Crazier things had happened.
After lifting her about three times total, he set her back down and slinked out from beneath her. “Okay, I’m tired now.”
“You’re very strong,” she told him, rubbing his arms.
“Well, you’re very lightweight.”
“Hmm.” She kissed him, crawling into his lap so she could do it better, and suddenly, she wasn’t feeling so tired anymore. “You ready for bed?” she asked. “Or do you wanna shower?”
“Oh, I’m definitely down for a shower,” he answered.
“Good.” She loved getting with him in water.
“But . . .” He kissed her once more, then pulled back a bit and brushed her hair back over her shoulders. “I need to tell you something first.”
“Oh.” Well, that sounded ominous. “Okay. What is it?”
“Just something I did today.”
She tensed a bit, sliding out of his lap. This sounded like an impulse buy, like a purchase he’d made like when he’d bought the car. “What did you do?” she asked, trying not to sound judgmental right from the start.
“Well, after I got done working out with Kyle, I went and met with a financial advisor,” he explained.
“Oh.” Well, that wasn’t so bad. In fact, that was good. She’d been wanting him to start taking money matters seriously for a while now. “Well, why didn’t you tell me you were going? I would’ve gone with you.”
“No, I didn’t want you to have to keep thinking about it,” he said. “You’ve thought about it enough.”
“I would’ve gone,” she insisted. They were a team. Being a team wasn’t only about doing the fun stuff together; it was about doing the not-so-fun stuff together, too.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I got some stuff figured out.”
“Some stuff?” she echoed.
“Yeah, like . . . a lot of stuff.”
She curled her legs up underneath her, her curiosity piqued. “Alright, so tell me.”
He stared at her reluctantly, not saying anything for a moment before groaning, “You’re not gonna like it.”
She frowned. “What?” Oh god, what had they suckered him into? Some huge loan with exorbitant rates? Some payment plan they’d never be able to adhere to?
He sighed, looking down at his lap as he revealed, “Maria, I decided I’m not gonna go to college this year.”
She stared at him in shock and disbelief, trying to find her words so she could say something. But nothing came out. And all she could do was look down at the shirt she had on: a Crimson Tide shirt.
“I’ll go, someday,” he promised. “Just not right now. I’ll just delay it a year.”
“Why?” she managed to get out. “Why would you do that?”
“ ‘cause we can’t afford it.”
“Michael . . .” It was
college. Nobody could afford it. Everyone was paying off student loans into their forties these days. It was normal.
“I told you you weren’t gonna like it,” he mumbled.
“No, I
don’t like it.” She felt close to tears at just the thought of it. “Michael, you
have to go to college. You got accepted. You’re gonna play football.”
“There’s no guarantee I’ll play.”
She whimpered, disheartened by all of this. It was totally throwing her for a loop. The same Michael who had boasted about how well he could do on
American Ninja Warrior and showed off by bench-pressing her just minutes before now sounded doubtful that he could actually make a college football team. He was so confident when he wasn’t
really talking about his future, but when he got serious, he wasn’t so confident anymore.
“Don’t be upset,” he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek.
“How can I not be upset?” she shot back. “You’re telling me you’re not going to college.”
“Maria, I was never planning on going to college until this year. And I’m still gonna go eventually. I just wanna hold off one year.”
“Why?”
“So we can save up, get to Alabama and keep our heads above water. We’ll still move, okay? I just won’t go to school. I’ll work.”
“You’ll work,” she echoed. She’d never seen him work before. Not that she didn’t believe he would, but . . . for some reason, when he said that, all she could picture was him on a construction site, working a job he hated just like his dad had done.
“This is what we have to do,” he said. “We can’t have it all right away. We gotta be smart about it.”
But wasn’t going to college the smartest thing to do? “Michael, I understand what you’re saying, but you don’t have to do this. I can work as many jobs as I have to.”
“No.” He took her hands in his and repeated himself. “No, Maria, that’s not--”
“We don’t have to have a wedding. We can just go to the courthouse. You can take this ring back and get a cheaper one. None of that matters to me. I don’t even need a ring, Michael. I don’t even need a ring.”
“Forget it,” he dismissed quickly. “I’m not taking your ring back. And you’re gonna have a wedding. And you’re not gonna kill yourself workin’ three jobs just so I can aimlessly take classes and play football.”
She shook her head, clenching her jaw tightly shut, feeling like she was going to break down right in front of him. This was killing her to sit here and listen to him willingly sacrifice his opportunities. For her. For Dylan. If it wasn’t for them . . .
“It’ll all still be there next year,” he assured her. “And we’ll have a better handle on stuff. We’ll be . . . you know, more comfortable with money.”
“What about football?” she asked. “You’re not gonna be in the same shape a year from now.”
“I’ll be fine,” he insisted.
“Not if you go a whole year without it.”
“Maria . . . it’s football.” He didn’t sound overly concerned. “It’s a game, and I love it—don’t get me wrong. But other stuff matters more.”
She knew what he was saying. She and Dylan mattered more to him. And even though it was incredibly thoughtful and even romantic in a weird way . . . she didn’t want this for him. She didn’t want him to have to give up something so good just because she was in his life.
“This is the right thing to do,” he persisted. “I know it.”
She felt differently, though,
entirely differently. “I don’t think so.”
“Trust me. We’re better off doing this than getting there and realizing we can’t make it work. I mean, do you want that, Maria? Do you wanna get there and get evicted? Do you wanna sleep in our car ‘cause we can’t pay our bills?”
She started crying, remembering what it felt like to be without a home, to have to sleep in the library because she’d had nowhere else to go. But as worried as she was that she and Michael would end up in that same situation, she still didn’t want him to put college on hold. She felt like, in the long run, taking this year off to get a job would do him more harm than good. But how was she supposed to explain that to him? How was she supposed to tell him that she was worried because he was taking the same path his father had?
“Trust me,” he said again. “I know what I’m doing.”
Did he, though? Out of the two of them, wasn’t she the one who was more money-conscious? Wasn’t she the one who saw the value of a college education, especially since she didn’t even have a high school one?
“I’m sorry,” she said, crying as she got up. “I can’t . . .” She ran out of the living room and up the stairs, trying to keep her tears in check as much as possible until she shut the bedroom door. She leaned back against it and held her hands over her face to muffle the sounds of her sadness. It wasn’t sadness for herself; it was sadness for him.
She sat there, replaying what he’d said over and over again in her mind. But eventually, his words started to blend together with what everyone else had been saying lately. His father, her mother, Isabel, Max . . . all of them. All those people who were more than willing and all too eager to tell her how she and Michael weren’t going to make it, all the things that they had said . . . she couldn’t distinguish one person’s warning from the next, because she heard them all at once.
And any second now, she was sure there would be a knock on the door, and Michael would be up there, asking her if she was okay. Because he would be worried about her. But she was only crying because she was worried about him.
At what point did one person care for another more than he cared for himself? And when did that stop being a good thing?
TBC . . .
-April