That is not the behavior of a guy who would do the horrible thing Theo said.
But then does that make me one of those people who doesn’t believe the woman? I’ve built my business on women supporting women. What does it say about me if I’m doubting one who needs support the most? I would never want to cause more pain to the suffering she’s inevitably been experiencing for years.
Torn.
I feel like I’m being split down the middle, ripped in two, and I don’t know how to stop it. I’ve never felt so torn before.
Either I believe the man I love or I believe a woman who had no reason to lie.
I want to do both, but I don’t know how.
Forty-one
“For the love of god!” Vonnie charges into my office and commandeers the mouse to my computer from me, exiting out of my music before I can even blink. “I can’t listen to any more of that sad-ass country music! Pull yourself together!”
It’s now been two weeks since I last saw Maxwell, and some could say I’m not handling it well.
“Some” being everyone around me.
Not only do I want to call him every second of every day, I also can’t stop checking my phone for ESPN alerts telling the world about Maxwell’s past. I’ve scoured the Internet, signing up for every Mustangs fan forum I can find, reading every blog, looking at these sites that Vonnie told me is where all the “groupies” discuss their conquests. And I’ve found nothing. Zero, zilch, nada.
I thought I had enough questions to occupy me for a lifetime, but every single day, I get more.
In simple terms, I’m a hot-ass mess.
And making it worse? The Mustangs were knocked out of the playoffs on Sunday and I haven’t been alone for more than twenty minutes. Without football to distract them, the Lady Mustangs have used all of their free time to harass . . . I mean . . . dutifully support me.
They even invaded my apartment. They pinned me down to my couch and decreed we could only eat food that came in cartons (e.g., Chinese food and ice cream), drink wine, and watch Nicholas Sparks movies. I suspect they created a schedule to make sure I’m too occupied with them to sulk. Even Sadie, Poppy’s friend whom she used to work with, has popped by my condo for unannounced sleepovers. She brought a glitter face mask that I’m pretty sure was made for little girls but I enjoyed nonetheless. She also brought two bottles of wine and extra-long straws so we could skip using glasses.
I’ve been so unalone that I forgot what being alone is even like.
I go to push Play only to realize that Vonnie stole the mouse and unplugged my computer. “Damn! Why can’t you let me be great?”
“I don’t think any interpretation of ‘great’ includes memorizing all of the world’s saddest songs and being on a first-name basis with Dairy Queen workers,” Charli says.
“Well, then you’d be wrong.” I nudge my trash can filled with empty Dairy Queen cups farther under my desk.
“Holy crap,” Eloise pipes in from the doorway. “You guys should’ve called me sooner.”
“Eloise. You’re here. Yay.” I bang my head against my desk.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my friends and how much they love me, and I’ve actually come to really like Eloise. But I’m not exactly proud of my behavior recently, and the last thing I need is an extra witness to the depths that I’ve fallen to.
“Oh, shut that shit up,” says Vonnie, who for the most part has been using kid gloves while talking to me . . . or at least her version of kid gloves. “No more moping. We’re figuring shit out now. The guys are taking too long and we’re smarter anyway.”
“I’m not even joking when I say I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I fall back into my chair, but focus on her since my computer screen is black anyways.
“Do you really, in your heart of hearts, think that Maxwell would ever do something like that?” Charli asks.
My head jerks back at the mention of the “incident.”
In a moment of weakness—fine, whatever! As soon as they walked into my apartment—I told them everything that Theo told me. To say they were shocked would be an understatement of epic proportions. I told them that Maxwell didn’t deny it . . . even though he didn’t exactly admit it either. But after this initial conversation, nobody has mentioned it.
“Most abusers are very personable.” I tell them the rationale that’s been on repeat in my head since Theo told me. “If they are dicks from the beginning, it’d be really hard to find victims.”
What I don’t tell them is that I’ve been asking myself that very question for two weeks straight, and each time, my answer is the same. The Maxwell I know wouldn’t do this.
“Yeah, I watch serial killer documentary shows too.” Charli rolls her eyes at me. “But Maxwell isn’t outgoing and personable. He’s shy and quiet and avoids attention wherever he goes.”
This is true. This is also why I don’t want to have this conversation right now.
“So are you saying the girl lied about what happened?” Guilt starts to gnaw away at my bones for even saying those words out loud.
“No.” Eloise slides into the conversation. “We’re saying that Theo lied.”
My head whips to her and I look at her, really look at her, for the first time since she came inside. She looks tired. There are dark circles underneath her bright blue eyes. Her normally perfect hair is disheveled. Her shirt is wrinkled and she’s in flats instead of her usual steep stilettos.
I stand up and round my desk to face her. “Are you okay?”
“Not great.” She squeezes my shoulder and cracks a smile. “But I’m thinking still better than you.”
An unexpected bubble of laughter falls out of my mouth. It might be the first time I’ve laughed since Maxwell left, and it makes me remember how good it feels to laugh and smile when it’s not forced or fake. Even when it’s at my own expense. “That’s probably true.”
“Please,” Vonnie says. “You’re both a mess. So let’s move this along so you can get back to your normal, wild selves.”
“I’m in.” I shrug because . . . well . . . things couldn’t get much worse for me and because I know that these women would never intentionally lead me to more pain.
“Then load up.” Vonnie spins her finger in a circle. “Everyone is waiting for us at Poppy’s.”
Oh lord. Maybe I should’ve thought this through a little bit more.
“Maybe we should grab milkshakes before we get there.”