The Right Fit

Chapter 53

“I got the weatherman from channel five as the mystery bachelor!” Crosby’s voice hit a high note as she typed on her laptop.

Maxine took another sip of wine then refilled her glass. Crosby had been hitting high notes for the last half hour. The spaces on Crosby’s spreadsheet that had been empty since she announced the ambitious project—The Bachelor Auction—were finally filling up. Just like she predicted; it was all coming together in the end.

Maxine’s magazines had been moved off the table to make room for Crosby’s mass of paperwork and sticky notes.

“Too bad you broke up with Antony,” Crosby said. “I bet he could have gotten one of his teammates to sign up. That would have been extremely helpful.”

Rose dug into the bowl of party mix, taking a few extra red candies. “Subtle.”

“Interesting how my life decisions don’t revolve around your latest work project,” Maxine said. She refilled Rose’s wine glass and topped Crosby’s as well.

Crosby looked up from the screen, her expression was open. “I’m purposely interjecting his name into the conversation during non-emotional issues,” she said. “I read that casual repetition of the thing you’re trying to forget is a more effective means to forgetting the thing

you’re trying to forget in the first place.” Rose nodded. “Can’t argue with science.”

Maxine turned her back, hiding her grin, as she concentrated on getting more potato chips from the cupboard. Since the night of the theatre, she’d been on a reserved high of sorts. After she left Antony’s empty apartment, she rushed home and directly removed Johnny’s ice cream from the freezer. Then she collected all the wedding invitations, excluding the flash cards Antony had made for her, and tossed the whole mess into a bag and dropped it down the apartment’s garbage chute.

It was the clean break she’d been waiting for to make.

Finally.

She wasn’t euphoric, but rather at peace, and the sensation of freedom was softly rejuvenating. When she’d seen Johnny at the theatre, Maxine was struck by two truths; that she didn’t hate him, and secondly, that she didn’t love him anymore.

The feeling was so definite and strong there was no lingering doubt.

But more importantly, she knew that Antony had been right all along. In a way, she’d been waiting for Johnny to return. Maybe to make sure she was ready to move on. The tentacles of four years of being together had finally withdrew from her heart and soul.

It only took seven months and ten days.

After she’d thrown out her emotional baggage— literally—she sat down and wrote Antony a letter, telling him everything that had happened with Carmine and bumping into Johnny at the theatre. She wrote ‘I love you’ all over one entire side of the paper. Then she ended with this sentence.

I am yours, come and get me.

She paid to have it translated into French. Then she sent both versions by express post the next day to the address in Florida, making sure to arrange signature confirmation. Maxine had thought about calling him, but she wanted the gesture to be grand and romantic. Besides, she didn’t have the guts to dial in the first place. What if he hung up on her? What if he let it ring and she ended up leaving a stupid message on his voice mail? A long heartfelt letter seemed to be the best choice.

There were all kinds of reasons to believe he’d never get the letter, but Maxine had to let go of the doubt and decided to trust the universe. He was her right fit. And it was that hope that bolstered her out of her gloom over Carmine’s death.

“This auction is kind of disgusting,” Rose said. “I’m a bit perplexed by the whole thing, actually. What woman would buy her date?”

“You’re so cynical,” Crosby touched her bohemian braid, her hair was so long it snaked over her shoulder and down her chest. “Everyone knows it’s for charity.”

“You’d be cynical too if your boss asked you to make coffee and pick up his dry cleaning.”

“My boss does ask me to make coffee and pick up her dry cleaning,” Crosby said.

“You’re an assistant. I’m a reporter—a journalist!” She took a long sip of wine. “Maybe I should start tagging along with the cops on all night stakeouts or something.”

Maxine choked on her wine. “What?”

“I want to get ahead at the paper so I have to start getting real stories.” Then she added with a hushed tone. “I’m secretly investigating one of Toronto’s better known judges.”

Crosby stopped typing mid-stroke. “Which one?” she asked.

“Like you’d know.” Rose snorted and took another handful of mix.

“Stakeouts? Crooked judges? Rose, this sounds too dangerous,” Maxine lectured. “Mom would be so worried if she knew.”

“I’m going to be doing the horoscopes if I don’t get a major scoop soon.”

Maxine paused. “They actually say ‘scoop’ at the Globe and Mail? I thought that was movie lingo.”

“What’s wrong with horoscopes?” Crosby looked genuinely insulted. “I read them every day.”

Maxine’s cell buzzed from the side table by the lamp. She jumped, all nerves and butterflies under her skin.

Rose reached for it first. She looked at the caller ID and gave Maxine a sad smile. “Sorry, it’s just Westley.” She answered the phone. “Greetings, Maxine’s answering service.”

A new kind of tremor ran over Maxine’s skin. True to her word, she kept his secret from their sisters, but Westley still hadn’t found the courage to tell Stuart his feelings. He’d told Maxine that each time he tried, his stomached knotted up and the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Stuart asked if he was coming down with the flu or something. But maybe tonight the timing would be right. This could be it, Maxine thought, studying Rose’s expression. She crossed her fingers behind her back, saying a silent prayer for Westley’s heart.

Rose huffed at the phone. “We’re doing that stupid bachelor thing. What? No, of course we’re not watching the hockey game!” she said, indignantly. She reached for more party mix then her expression went blank. She turned to Maxine. “Oh no.”

“What?” Maxine’s pulse quickened.

“Westley and Stu are at the sports bar watching the hockey game,” she sputtered. “Antony’s been hurt.”