The Right Fit

Chapter 39

“Gorgeous,” Maxine said, taking the shot. “Hold on. One more, just in case.”

After they left, Antony sat down and pulled her next to him. She resisted. “I need to use the washroom,” she said.

Under a cloud of unfocused guilt, Antony nursed his second Coke, swirling the glass, letting the ice melt. His phone buzzed with another text from Marc. He replied that he might be late tonight and not to wait up.

Antony checked his watch. Maxine had been gone for five minutes. The whipped cream drooped over the last few bites of brownie.

“Can we go?” Maxine was suddenly by the booth, holding her coat.

He frowned at her blotchy neck. “Oui. Do you want brownie?”

“No, thank you,” she said, already walking to the doorway.

He caught up to her and squeezed her hand. “You okay?”

“Sure,” she said, looking straight ahead.

A layer of silence followed them all the way to his car, then all the way to her apartment. He kept the radio off this time; he liked listening to the post game show alone anyway.

Antony cursed at the high snowbanks in front of her apartment building. “Wish you had underground parking,” he said, circling for a place.

“That would be stupid. I don’t have a car.”

Antony turned to her; it was the first thing she’d said since they left the restaurant. He stopped in the middle of the street. “Maxine?” he prompted.

She reached for the door handle. “I have to say goodnight,” she said. “I’m tired.”

“Let me come up, put you to bed.” He touched the side of her hair.

“No. I need to process all this. You were this secret, and now I have to share you with everyone.”

“No sharing, just you.”

“I need to absorb it all, okay? It’s a big thing.”

He leaned forward and touched his lips to her forehead. “Poor petit, lump.”

Maxine leaned back. “Good night,” she said, opening the door.

Antony jumped out and ran around the back of the car to the passenger side, rushing to help her over the snow bank. “See you tomorrow? Lunch before I go to arena?” There was an unexpected lightness in being truthful that he found exhilarating.

“No. I’m working.” She slipped out of his arms and walked toward the main entrance. “Call me when you get back from Philadelphia,” she added. “I should be over the shock by then.”

“That’s five days!” He laughed, then his face fell. “You serious? You don’t want to see me for five days?” He started to climb over the snow bank to reach her.

She put up her hand, stopping him. “You’ve had time to get used to all this. What if you found out I was an alien or something?”

“Oui, but…five days?”

“Oui!” Her voice was harsh, irritated.

He reached for her again and his phone went off in his pocket. He read the text from Marc and then looked up, but Maxine had already made it inside her building, the door closing behind her.

****

“Must be a lot of pressure on that young man.” “Yes, I’m sure there is Mom, but what am I

supposed to do?” Maxine pleaded over the phone. “I can’t date someone who has super models lining up to take him to bed.”

There was a heavy sigh over the line. Maxine imagined her mother sitting under an umbrella in the condo’s courtyard, sipping her morning orange juice. “Those women will exist no matter how much it bothers you,” she said. “The real issue is you and Antony. If you care for him the way you tell me, then you have to trust him. If not, there’s no point.”

Maxine stayed quiet, remembering how easily he lied to her about the towing business. Is there anything else he’s lying about?

“Aunt Margo and I watched the game last night at the sports bar near the beach. First hockey game I’ve sat through since your dad died.” There was pause then she said, “Next time he plays in Florida, I want you to come down for a visit. You never take time off work. Plus”—she didn’t even bother to hide her amusement— “I’d like to see that hunk of a man in person.”

“Mom!”

“I’m glad you called for advice, but I think you already know what you want. Besides”—her voice softened—“your dad was a staunch Toronto fan. I’m sure he’d be excited.”

Maxine ended the call and leaned against the kitchen counter. Various nail polish bottles and used cotton balls littered the area. Her sisters were sitting at

the dining table making plans for the bachelor auction, a notepad in front of Rose, a bag of pretzels in front Crosby.

“You didn’t tell her about the bathroom episode,” Rose said.

“I didn’t want to start crying over the phone.” “You’re braver than me,” Crosby said, munching

on the end of a pretzel. “I would have been curled up in the corner, bawling my eyes out. Security would have found me on night patrol.”

“Those women are pathetic,” Rose said. “They’re the ones with body image issues, that’s why they felt so threatened to see you with Antony. It doesn’t make sense to them. They think if you starve yourself, get implants, and wear high heels you’ll nab a husband.” She waved a hand at Crosby. “That’s who is going to get on Marry Me, misguided Barbie dolls with no self- confidence.”

“Hey!” Crosby frowned.

“I don’t mean you.” Rose rolled her eyes. “You probably won’t get picked because nitwits make better TV drama. Oh, please, Crosby, don’t pout. You don’t even know who the bachelor is yet.”

Maxine looked down at her manicure, still slightly tacky from the last coat. The muted pink tone was called, ‘Pretty Little Lies’. She wondered if her subconscious was trying to tell her something. It had been two days since she’d seen Antony—at least in person.

She watched the game last night on her laptop, while Westley and Stuart took another college friend in her place. When Antony scored, her heart soared. He called after the game asking to come over, but she was

adamant about her decision the night before. She didn’t want to see him until after Philadelphia.

This was, of course, a lie. She wanted to see him desperately, but the incident in the bathroom had brought to light an issue that impaled her heart and stuck, irritating, and sore, like a hooked thorn.

Maxine had been in a stall when they walked into the bathroom, their stilettos clicking on the tiles.

“I would screw that Antony Laurent anywhere, anytime,” the first one had said.

“His ass is like stone.” The sink tap was turned on.

One of them took the stall next to Maxine. “I’m more interested in the front. I bet he’s hung like a racehorse. I wouldn’t be able to walk for days!”

They both laughed. There was a flush, then more clicking of heels to the mirror. “Did you see that woman he was with?”

A gasp, then the other had said, “Fat ass hobo with piss stains? Must have been one of those Make a Wish things or something.”

“Fat ass hobo.” The other squealed with laughter. “Maybe we should stick around until the short bus comes to pick her up. He’ll probably need some detox therapy to get her smell off his clothes.”

“I’d like to get him out of his clothes!”

“He can put that big cock in me anywhere he wants.”

Maxine stayed in the stall until they’d left. Then she waited a few more minutes, just to be sure. She partly rebuked herself for not bursting out of the stall and facing them, another part of her, the survival part, wanted to pretend it didn’t happen.

But it had happened.

And their words, no matter what the motive, opened an old wound. When she’d returned to Antony it was all she could do to walk with her chin up. She only managed to mutter a few words after that.

The next day at work, she was a zombie, going through the motions. Everyone asked if she was getting sick or having a migraine. Then that night, she watched his game on her laptop in bed, trying to push away the images of the women lined up outside the locker room.

Puck bunnies.

“…Maxie?” Crosby was looking at her expectantly.

“Sorry?”

“Do you think Antony would help get one of his teammates to sign up for the auction? That would be huge! Imagine how impressed my boss would be!”

“Because this is all about you,” Rose muttered, head tilted, writing in short hand. “You don’t even have a master of ceremonies, maybe you should be concentrating on that.”

Crosby licked the salt off her fingers. “Stuart said he’d help if I get stuck. Everything will fall into place eventually. At least this gives me something to concentrate on while I wait to hear about my Marry Me audition tape.”

“You have way too many bachelors in your life,” Rose said.

She sighed. “And not enough time.”

“I’m not sure you should count on me to haul in the hottest bachelors of the city,” Maxine said. The sound of her own pathetic voice was enough to make her fragile shield begin to crack. She’d found an intense passion with Antony that ignited her deepest desires, but now it was fizzling out, leaving her emptier than before.

Her twin sisters stared at her.

“I wish he’d never came back for his stupid phone,” Maxine mumbled. “I wish he was only a rebound.”

“But you love him,” Crosby gushed.

Rose pointed her pen at Maxine. “You have to look at this situation like a grown woman instead of a lovesick chick.”

“Lovesick chick is a great nail polish name!” Crosby grabbed Rose’s pen and jotted it down.

“A guy with wicked moves in the bedroom doesn’t happen by mistake,” Rose said. “Of course he’s going to have past lovers, you both do.”

“I don’t care about his past,” Maxine said.

Rose continued undaunted, “If you’re dating a celebrity, stupid fans encroaching your space is part of the package.”

“I don’t want a celebrity. I want Antony.”