38
Max
I stood on the fire escape with Mateo and Rafael, twenty minutes before doors were about to open. We peered down, saw the long, long lines of people crowding the street. The white marquee was lit up with black block letters that read Save The Red Room!
It was a sight to behold.
And my mom still hadn’t shown up.
Or, even more concerning, answered any of my calls or texts.
Mateo and Rafael were being extra nice about it.
“She’ll show up,” Rafael said. I caught Mateo give him a look of warning, which tied my stomach into knots. I’d been nervous to introduce her to Fiona tonight but nervous in a good way. I’d never done the whole introduce a girl to your parents thing before, but now I understood the motivation behind it.
I was proud of Fiona, proud to show off how amazing she was.
My mom was—possibly—bailing.
And I’d allowed myself to hope for something different again.
“It doesn’t matter.” I shrugged, raising my beer to my lips. “What does matter is me, planning your bachelor parties. You sure you want to do Las Vegas?”
Rafael threw his arm around Mateo and laughed. “Let’s fucking do it up. Casinos, shows, drinking until dawn. I want to make, like, a lot of really bad decisions.”
Mateo shrugged. “You heard the man, Max. If my baby wants to get fucked up in Vegas, then that’s what we’re going to do.”
I rubbed my hands together. “Your mom will kill me if something happens to you.”
“Hermano, she’s going to kill you for taking me there. Even if it is our decision.”
“I’m screwed either way, so I might as well die while being black-out drunk at a casino.”
There was a rousing cheer from down below. All three of us glanced down, chuckling. “So, uh, did you also place bets with any of these fine people about me and Fiona?”
Mateo stifled a laugh. “I made bets with half this neighborhood. You were probably fucking toast the second you guys re-met on this damn fire escape.”
“Toast is about right.”
I thought about my mom again, how carelessly she’d spoken about her breakup with Frank. Maybe it wasn’t some super intense connection, like the kind Fiona and I had. But she talked about him like he was an annoyance. A pest instead of a partner.
It was making me uneasy, seeing her flaws more clearly. Because I was about to hightail it out of here. What if I got to L.A. and all of my old habits came back?
“You’re going to do great, Max.”
I turned to Rafael, who was staring right at me.
“With what? The job?”
He shook his head. “Dating Fiona. I can feel your anxiety from here, bro.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t use to have anxiety until I let myself feel all this stuff.”
“But without those feelings, you wouldn’t have Fiona,” Mateo said.
True. Even now I smiled at her name, gazing up at the lights of the city around us. The past five days at Fiona’s apartment had been intense on a level I didn’t know was possible.
I’d thought I was a little, sorta, kinda obsessed with her before. But now I’d spent five fucking nights in her bed, having the hottest sex of my life with a woman I couldn’t wait to talk to every day. Feeding her, taking care of her, wondering about her day and if she was stressed or needed me… it was all I cared about.
And I was boarding a plane tomorrow night.
A woman with long gray hair came walking down the block. I narrowed my eyes, trying to see her face.
Then realized it wasn’t Mom. I rubbed the back of my neck. When I’d told Pop she was coming tonight, he’d grumbled about her missing all of my birthday parties and then stomped out of the office.
“Max.”
I turned at Mateo’s serious tone.
“You’re not your mom,” he said.
I jammed my hands in my pockets. “Didn’t I fuck around and not call you two the whole time I was gone?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you did. And you were a real dick about it. But I knew that you’d at least listen to me. Straighten your shit out and be a better man. That’s who you are. I know it’s hard to hear, but your mother doesn’t take responsibility for any of her choices in life. You do.”
I let the words—all the years of Mateo and Rafael watching me be disappointed by her—sink in without trying to soften the blow. For the first time in a while, I wasn’t in the mood to defend her.
I checked my phone again. Nothing.
“I want to be the guy that shows up for Fiona.”
I can be that, right?
“You will,” Mateo said—right as she climbed through the window again, causing butterflies to explode in my stomach. I was desperate to touch her, scooping her against my chest for a sloppy hug.
“Um, hi,” she said, laughing. “I have really, really good news if you want to come join me in the office? We’re ten minutes out to doors opening.”
“Let’s do this,” Mateo said, giving me a knowing glance over Fiona’s head. I nodded, held her tight.
“Hell yeah.” I forced a little enthusiasm into the words. Followed the three of them through the window and towards the office. The floors were shaking with music already, the energy starting to pound in the walls.
“Is your mom here yet?” Fiona asked.
“Uh… no. Not yet. But I need to give her a call. She might have confused the time.”
She was silent but squeezed my fingers. In the office, Pop was rubbing his bald head, looking flustered. Angela was there, and we shared a conspiratorial look. I’d seen a lot of her these past few days—and so far, I knew she was kind-hearted, smart, funny, and understood instantly what Pop was about.
Pop was utterly smitten.
“You feelin’ nervous, old man?” I said, slapping him on the back.
“No,” he said, irritated. “I mean, yeah. Shit, yeah. I need to go out and tell these people something, and I don’t even know—”
Fiona was scribbling something on a piece of paper. She handed it to him with a sweet smile.
Pop read it. “What’s this number, Fi?”
“That number is $72,000,” she said. “That is how much money we’ve raised here tonight. I confirmed all of it. Tickets paid in full. Donations from the bands. Donations from the neighborhood. Plus, Edward and Roxy made a personal gift that matched his hotel’s sponsorship. We can go pay your rent tomorrow, and then you can have a little cushion while you work on getting your revenue back up.”
The news slammed into me. Mateo grabbed me around the shoulders, laughing. I stared, open-mouthed, at Pop.
Fiona sparkled like a star.
“This is the real deal?” Pop said, pointing at the paper.
“The real fucking deal,” she repeated. “You can go give that speech now. Because we’re opening those doors and having a party, Red Room style.”
As she said the words, we heard the sound of people pouring in, the music being cranked up. From the window, I watched the opening act walk on stage, instruments in hand.
It was finally happening.
“Fiona.” Pop’s voice was hoarse. “Is it… can I give you a hug?”