Page 9 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?
She didn’t pause. “Smut in hard copy is even better.”
“I will give you that. I like being able to read a sexy sentence twice if I so choose.” She grinned. “And I do.”
“There you go. You need a night to get good and tipsy while you pretend to discuss the sexual escapades of fictional characters.”
“I’m telling you, you should read one of these things,” Max said, organizing her desk for the next day’s agenda. “While they’re fun places to get lost, I also think they set completely ridiculous expectations about falling in love.” She laughed sardonically, because love had wholly eluded her. “Can you tell I speak from experience?”
“You don’t have to remind me. Your last girlfriend was more into herself and her outfit than any other person on the planet. That was probably enough to keep you on the love bench for awhile.” She came further into the office, clearly on a mission. Her eyes softened. “Just don’t stay there too long, or who will you ask what the two of you should do for dinner every night for the rest of your goddamn life? Huh? Who?”
“I don’t know, but you make it sound so appealing.” Max softened a little, remembering how Sonya had been her sounding board at the end of that relationship. Well, if you could even fully call it that. The whole thing between her and Rachel had been surface-level and short-lived. But even with that in mind, it had taken Max a little while to recover from the disappointment. It also made her wary of the work-to-reward ratio that always came with romantic relationships. Who had the energy, honestly? She had enough on her plate and believed now that love, in all of its revelry, was overrated at best and a publicly hyped farce at worst. Didn’t mean she minded the books. The spicy scenes were actually a lot of fun. “Another reminder why romance should be left between the pages.”
“Aw, Max. I never imagined you to be a full-on cynic. But look at ya.” Sonya placed her hands on her hips and grinned. “I’m worried I’ve rubbed off on you, but I’m also a little proud.”
“I have a feeling my working with couples on their way to Splitsville all day might have contributed, but we’ll give you partial credit, too.” She offered a wink and went back to packing her attaché.
“Does your unfortunate mood have anything to do with your grandmother’s dinner last night?”
She went still. “Oh, are my battle scars showing?” Max shrugged and zipped the brown leather bag, a five-hundred-dollar splurge she didn’t regret. Sometimes, looking the part of a successful attorney and businesswoman helped her feel more like one. “It was probably the most painful three hours of my adult life.”
Sonya winced and leaned against the doorframe, the stance she adopted when they were getting into something. “I was hesitant to bring it up, but you’ve been quieter than normal today. That bad? Really?”
“Oh, yeah.”
When Max had arrived at their family home with her nervous grandmother, her mom had immediately rushed to them, already dressed in her tailored burgundy dress and heels, hair perfect. She’d greeted her mother and turned in frustration to Max.
“You should have been here sooner. She’s tired. I can tell.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. We came as soon as we retrieved Lola’s bag.”
“Well, she needs to sit and have some tea.” She leaned in and dropped her voice. “And I could have used your help, you know.”
“Of course, but I thought this was how I was supposed to be helping.” It didn’t matter. Her mother was already ushering Lola into the living room, leaving Max in the entryway feeling like she’d somehow failed. Alone, Max laughed low and to herself. She hauled in a deep breath and geared up for so much more. When her mother was stressed, she tended to focus more on Max and her perceived shortcomings. The fact that Max had become a lawyer instead of a doctor. The fact that she didn’t attend church. Her sexuality, which also came with her mom jokingly asking when Max was going to marry that “cute male attorney” down the hall from her office. But it was high-stress events like this dinner when Max knew the passive-aggressive claws would really slide out, making her wish for a sibling to divvy up the attention. Her father, smart and aloof man that he was, would pull a disappearing act at the most opportune moments, leaving Max to juggle her mother’s sharp demands like knives at the circus.
“Why couldn’t you have at least brought a date along for Lola to meet?” her mother had whispered in her ear shortly after they’d finished the salad.
“But I’m not dating anyone.”
“And why is that?” Her mother lifted her hair and let it fall. She studied her work intently, then adjusted one strand at a time as if Max had arrived a rumpled mess. “You’re beautiful and successful, and I want her to see that.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
“Don’t thank me. Make me proud. I want to be a Lola someday, too. That’s all.”
“I should probably get a wife first,” Max said with a small smile. She would pay for that and knew it. As if on cue, her mother sighed loudly and stalked away. “You are too stubborn for words.”
While conservative in many ways, Dr. Mayumi Wyler was supportive of every gay person on the planet except one. Yes, most were welcome to choose their own happiness, it seemed, except for her daughter. She’d planned Max’s life out to the most mundane detail before her fifth birthday, and was personally offended when it seemed Max had plans of her own. She was supposed to be a doctor, but wasn’t. She was supposed to be married with two children by now, but missed that mark, too. The list went on and on, which might be why she found herself constantly trying to make up for the perceived shortcomings. A therapist had once called her classic, and she’d declined to go back.
Orienting herself back to the moment, Max turned to Sonya. “Now that I’m a safe distance away, I can catch my breath and tell you that my mother is an unhappy person unless she has control of the world, and I don’t want to be like her.” She blew out a slow breath. Hearing the words out loud had a sobering effect. “And I’m simply choosing not to be.”
“Hear, hear.”
“So, I’m going to my weekly book club gathering, and I’m going to drink red wine, eat cubes of cheese, and escape.”
“If I didn’t have Jerry at home, who wants to go out tonight for steak and onions, I’d hop in the car with you. Jerry never remembers to haul me in by my waist and kiss my neck like those romance covers, though.”
“I don’t think you’re alone in that. Hence, the word escape.” She tidied her desk. “As for tagging along, you’re welcome at Read It and Weep anytime. They’re a pretty eclectic group. Eighty percent queer, though. And preoccupied with the steamy scenes most of the time.” Max reflected on last week’s discussion. “A lot of emphasis on female lips clinging to other female lips.”
“I better clutch my pearls then,” Sonya deadpanned. Not much ruffled her feathers, which was one of the reasons they got along so well. “And learn to finish a book.”
