Page 5 of Reckless Liar

I pulled away slightly. Xander’s arm dropped between us. I stared at the carpet. It was the same shade of mottled cream as the upstairs carpet. I pictured how right above my head was the spot where Max lay dying. It was easy for Xander to say that. So easy to recuse himself from this mess. This was my burden that I carried every day.

Chapter two

“I'm fine.” -Ana after getting a C on her pharmacology midterm.

WhenMaxwasgoneour senior year, I asked the only safe choice—Xander—to prom. We had a great time as friends, dancing all night. I’d felt safe in Xander’s arms; it was nice to feel so comfortable with someone.

Around Xander I could forget about Max for a single night. I wasn’t sure how long it’d been since I’d felt that way. Xander was a perfect gentleman that night, insisting on paying for everything, even though I knew he had to work for months at his father’s landscaping company to afford it. He bought a corsage the exact shade of purple as my dress. His rented black tux with silver accents offset my gown beautifully. He opened the car door for me.

For the first time since the day I met Max, I considered that I’d need to move on from him. I let myself lean into Xander as he held me on the dance floor. Xander placed his hand on the small of my back and I didn’t move away. Xander told me I looked beautiful, and my chest expanded from the compliment.

At the end of the night, I leaned in to kiss Xander’s cheek and he turned his head the wrong way. My lips landed on his. I quickly pulled away, putting my fingers to my lips.

It took me a long time to fall asleep that night, my mind racing with questions about that kiss. The feeling of Xander’s lips on mine was different from Max’s. Xander’s lips were soft and warm. With Xander I felt safe and cared for. It was a new and scary feeling after years of fiery kisses with Max. Everything with Max felt a little dangerous. Being with Xander felt calm, and for the first time since the day I met both those boys, I’d wondered if feeling safe and cared for would be better. Falling asleep to the memory of Xander’s lips on mine and the way his hand felt against my back as we danced, I’d allowed myself to wonder as I never had before.

That next morning, Max showed up on my front porch with a bouquet of lilies. For a moment, I wondered if he somehow knew that Xander had kissed me.

It didn’t matter. With Max home, the kiss between Xander and I had felt like an accident—ill-timed head placement—nothing more. I told myself that any confusing thoughts that swirled in my head the night before were a side effect of missing Max. I couldn’t let them be anything else with Max around.

I tried to be strong when Max just showed back up in my life, letting him know how much his leaving hurt me. But I couldn’t stay firm with Max. He knew exactly how to make me crumble. I wanted to say it took him begging and pleading for me to take him back. But I never made Max work hard. I was always his, and he knew it.

Nine months after Max died, I felt like things might be better. After using up all my leave, I returned to work part-time, phasing slowly back into the duties I’d studied so diligently to do.

I’d wake every morning in Xander’s bedroom with the sunlight coming through the wrong window. I’d see the wooden chair his dad found in an alley and took the time to polish for him. We used to tease him over that chair with the big roses carved into the headrest and cascading down the arms.

I’d get up and make myself a cup of coffee and show up to work on time. I talked with patients, followed directions, moved my feet until they ached. After work, I’d venture out to the store to get a gallon of milk. I’d stop by the racks of glossy magazines and thick paperback books with shirtless men in cowboy hats. For a moment, I’d forget him, and there’d be a fleeting breath of silence in my head.

Then I’d see his favorite cereal on the shelf, or hear his favorite song on the radio. I’d get a piece of junk mail; an envelope with a small metal key glued onto bright pink paper advertising in big comic lettering.‘This key could open your new car!’

The simple act of reading his name on the mailer could ruin my day.

Death makes heroes out of men.

In the grocery store I had the eighty-year-old owner, Giselle Keller, come up and take my hands in hers, squeezing my fingers with her paper-thin skin scratching against mine.

“Ve are so sorry about your Maximilian. He vas a good boy.” Her German accented speech was as harsh as her grip. “A good boy. Such sad news.”

I fought my retort back, smiling a little at her before excusing myself to the frozen foods aisle. I opened the door to the frozen pizzas, closed the door, opened, closed, opened, closed, opened, and removed a pizza to put in the cart. My breathing felt haggard in my chest.

What was I supposed to say? Mrs. Keller was the one who fired Max in high school after he egged the store after hours.

And yet, here she was singing his praises after he’d passed.

It made his death harder to bear. Because if they could lie about who Max was with these whitewashed stories, then he really was gone.

And I had no one to share my pain with. No one who understood how I loved Max—that I lovedallof Max—the awful dirty things inside him, as much as the charismatic man who the world saw.

Back at the duplex, I set the groceries on the counter. Above my head, I could hear Xander walking around in our old room. I still thought of it that way, although I hadn’t set a foot on the stairs in nine months. I had to do deep breathing every time I passed the stairwell, digging my nails into my palm. then flexing my hand three times before I could draw a steady breath.

Xander never said a word about it, but I could tell he noticed. Our linen closet was upstairs. At the first early October chill I bundled up under the covers instead of getting more blankets. Xander must have noticed, because when I returned from work the next day, there was a pile of heavy blankets on the foot of my bed.

With half the groceries put away, Xander came up behind me. Grabbing the cereal from the bag, he opened it, poured himself a bowl from the cabinet above my head. I looked up at him, his arm above me. He was so close I could smell the soap he used and the clean earth he worked with. Acutely aware of his warm body above me, I poured the whole coffee beans into their airtight canister beside the coffee machine.

“Thanks for getting my favorite,” he remarked, smiling down at me.

“Sure thing. It’s a habit by now, I guess.”

He stuck a spoon in the bowl and ate as I put the groceries away. Even with my back turned to him, I could feel the heat of his gaze on me.

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