Page 4 of Reckless Liar

I knew what I’d find up there. His cologne would still be on the dresser, tipped against my favorite lotion. The room would be cleaner than Max left it. His clothes hung neatly in the closet, arranged by style and color the way mine were. I couldn’t handle seeing it like that. Once I regained my composure, I turned to Xander. “I can’t go up there. I can’t walk up those stairs today.”

He rubbed my arm. “That’s okay. I knew you’d have a hard time. I moved your stuff into my room for now. You can stay down there if you want. I can sleep upstairs. You can take my room down here.”

“Are you sure? The last thing I want is to inconvenience you.” I was relieved he was sparing me what was likely going to be the hardest thing to face today.

“I already did it. Actually, I did it a few weeks ago. It was only after I moved everything it occurred to me you might not like it.”

“I did, I mean, I do. I mean, ugh.” Frustrated, I wiped my hand over my face. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do a great job packing your stuff. You have a system for how things should be and I kind of dumped your drawers into different boxes and then dumped them into my dresser. Knowing you, you’ll be busy the next few days tidying up my mess.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Xander. I appreciate the effort.” A fresh spill of grateful tears threatened me, as I imagined Xander going into our room, painstakingly going through all my clothes so I wouldn’t have to.

He said nothing, squeezing my arm one last time before getting up from the couch.

I knew Max was gone. Every moment at my parent’s house over the last six months reminded me of the fact. I felt his absence in every breath I took. But he was in this house. His favorite mug was on the coffee table, the spot where he got mad and kicked a dent in the closet door, the shelf of his old CD cases he insisted on keeping from high school.

I could tell Xander cleaned his room. The bed was made with my Grandma Pryce’s threadbare afghan, a choice I never would’ve made. The pillowcases were the tan and red ones that went with the mod daisy set Max and I bought from a Swedish furniture store when I began nursing school.

There were boxes stacked in front of the closet. My jewelry box sat on top of Xander’s dresser. I felt the crush in my lungs, my breath hitching. I gripped the knobs and pulled the drawer out slightly, then pushed it back in. Pulled it out, pushed it in, pulled, pushed, pulled. My shirts were in disarray in the top drawer where my underwear was supposed to be. I repeated the pull and push routine with the other drawers, three times each. My pants were in the pajama drawer, the pajamas in the shirt drawer.

“Like I said, it’s a bit of a mess.” Xander said behind me. I didn’t realize he was watching me, but I was too exhausted to be ashamed that he saw me checking out the job he did.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not true. I know how you like things. If I’d known you were coming back today, I would’ve done a better job.”

“You didn’t need to do this for me. You don’t need to take care of me.”

“I don’t mind, Ana.” His eyes swept over the room as if he couldn’t quite look at me.

“Was it hard going through…” I let the words die in my throat as I avoided looking at him, instead pulling a shirt out of the dresser and refolding it in the way I liked. I ran my hand over the creases three times. This could calm me. Order, gentle creases on shirts, and the tidiness of creating space in a dresser.

He paused before clearing his throat. “Yeah, it was. But I knew it’d be harder for you.”

“I could’ve handled it.” I muttered as I pulled another shirt out.

“No, you couldn’t.”

I rubbed the fabric between my fingers. The shirt was old, Max’s from his high school baseball days. It’d shrunk after years and years of being washed and eventually relegated to its rightful place in my pajama drawer. I dropped the shirt back in the drawer, deciding to leave the mess for later. He was right. If I couldn’t walk up the stairs to see our room, how could I have gone through Max’s things?

“You’re right.” I sank onto the edge of the bed, looking around. “I couldn’t.”

Xander hesitated before sitting next to me, the old bed creaking under his lanky frame. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t think anyone could handle it so soon.”

“Why couldn’t I save him, Xander?” Glancing up at him, I felt my tears struggle to the surface. Our arms brushed as we sat side by side.

Xander’s arm was a steady pressure against mine. The same steady pressure Xander always gave me. The same support. Xander reached up to tuck a strand of wayward red hair behind my ear. “I’ve been asking myself that same question. We’ll never know what was going on in Max’s head.”

“I knew him, or I thought—I knew he did—I never thought he’d…” my voice broke. Xander’s arm came up to rest lightly over my shoulders. I closed my eyes, counting to ten. Tears ran undeterred down my face.

“It was an accident.” Xander hugged me closer to him, my shoulder sliding right under his armpit, fitting me to his side. “You can’t blame yourself, Ana.”

“Then who can I blame?” I rested my head against his chest. His work tee smelled like grass clippings and sunscreen. A familiar scent that always lingered in the air when Xander would move. A heady essence that calmed me. Everything could fall apart around us, and yet Xander still smelled the same.

I turned my face to look at him. “You say it was an accident, that it’s senseless. But this? There were warning signs. I should’ve seen it coming, stopped it. Stopped him.” If I’d only said something, if I’d told him to stop, then maybe he’d still be here.

Xander shook his head against me. “It wasn’t your fault.”

---