She's All That (28 page)

“Bake the man some bread,” she barks. “It's good practice for you. Someday a man's going to want you to cook for him, and Max is good practice. He likes everything.” She grabs her coat and her purse, and she slams the door behind her.

“Yeah, someday a man's going to want you to cook for him,” Max grins.

I slap his arm. “I'll have you know, I have—”

“I know, you have a degree in finance. From
Stanford
, no less! But I'll be more impressed if you can bake bread like your grandmother.” Max winks. “And do the laundry without turning my shorts pink.”

“Chauvinist!” I roll my eyes. I'm really not in the mood to cook anyone's dinner. I want to go home and wallow in the fact that
my mother
, the woman I've dreamt of every day of my life, just breezed in and out of my life again. Leaving me standing here alone and feeling disoriented. Well, alone except for Max, who interrupts my thoughts again.

“Are you all right?” He meets my eyes once more.

“I am, I think. But that was sort of weird, wasn't it? That she had me come all that way home for a five-minute introduction to her family? I've imagined this day my whole life, and that so wasn't it. I thought I'd find the reason for my hair, hear why she
had
to leave me. I wanted to hear about my dad from her point of view.”

“She was in here for some time with your Nana. Maybe she'd reached her limit. Or maybe just seeing how gorgeous and accomplished her daughter was, she felt inadequate.”

I can't help but laugh. “That must have been it.”

“I don't imagine being here with Mildred was easy on her.”

“Good point. Still, I would think I'd actually want to know what my daughter loved, what her dreams are, what kind of dresses she designed.”

“You will know all those things, because you will raise your daughter. Am I right?”

I nod. “Well, if I ever procreate at all. The world can probably do without another generation of my hair.”

Max pulls at the tips of my bangs. “I love your hair. It's whimsical and fun, just like you. So, are you making me bread?” Max is looking straight into my eyes again, and I'll admit his gaze unnerves me. I'm a bundle of nerves after this day: death, a dumpster, a mother who doesn't live in a dumpster, siblings, and a man who likes my hair. I mean, it would be a lot for an average year in my life.

I notice, not for the first time, that Max has very little hair. If he lost the glasses and got a cowboy hat, he'd look strikingly like Tim McGraw with a lighter goatee. He'd be handsome if I were into the slight, intellectual type who wastes his talent on television reviews. But I'm not; and I can't trust my emotions anyway. Not today. Less than an hour ago, I thought I was falling for a man who only wanted to be my friend—and you know, getting dumped didn't sound any better with an English accent.
Tim McGraw is awfully good-looking. He
makes me almost want to like country music.

“But I don't like country music!” I exclaim, out loud, and with entirely too much force.

“Okay.” Max shrugs. “And this matters to me, because—? I'm not planning to serenade you with Johnny Cash.”

“I'll make you dinner.” I point at his chest. “But there's nothing going on here, all right?”

“Did I say there was?” Max raises his eyebrows at me.

“Come on, all that talk about the city lights? I remember the submarine race offers when I was in school. I may be naïve, but I'm not completely dense.”

“The last time you were at my house, you really berated me for keeping all the curtains shut. I've heard you complain that you have no windows, so I just thought I'd share mine. That's all.”

“And you're in no hurry for dinner?” I say breathily, like he had. “What was that about?”

“I'm not in any hurry.” Max grabs his crutch and hobbles toward the door, looking back at me. “Why are you so suspicious of everything, Lilly? What do you think I would have to gain by hurting you?” He shakes his head. “You should know I'd never do anything to harm your Nana's granddaughter.” He steps out the door and attempts to slam it behind him, except that his crutch gets caught. He pulls the crutch out and slams it again. Hard.

The way he looked at me, so hurt. Wounded, almost.
Forgive me, Lord. Why do I have to be man poison?
I put the spaghetti back in the refrigerator and remind myself that I have designing to do! Let Valeria come cook for him. I've wasted this entire day, missed the proverbial boat—not to mention my facial and massage—at the spa, reconnected with a mother who treated me like the bag boy at Safeway, gotten two dates completely canceled, and left my friends like toppled bowling pins in my angry wake. I'm definitely better with fabric.

But as I look into the fridge and see the dough starter, I'm reminded that I have no way home, and Max
should
eat. I can catch a cab anytime.

I reach for the dough, plop it on the bowl, gather what's left of my self-respect, and open the door. Max is leaning against the wall. He smiles at me. “Are you ready to cook now?”

“I'm taking this home. I was waiting for my cab.”
Total lie.
I hope God has better things to do at the moment than listen, but I know He's up there just shaking His head at me—again.

“You called a cab in that minute and a half?”

“I didn't say I called one. I said I was waiting for one.”

“Well,” Max stares down the completely empty street, “I sure hope one just happens by for you.” He laughs.

“You think this is really funny, don't you?”

“I don't see what you have against making dinner for a fine Christian boy like me. One: I would appreciate dinner.” He holds up a finger. “I would like your company.” Two fingers. “I would provide you with a gorgeous view of the Golden Gate Bridge.” Three fingers. “All for a little warmed-up spaghetti and a fresh loaf of French bread. You're a business woman, Lilly, and it's a good deal. A solid investment.” He smiles, and his eyes just twinkle.

It is a good deal because I really don't want to be alone, and I
don't want to face Kim or Nate either.
“I'll come up and make your dinner, since you can't get around very well, but then I'm going home. I should have never left my loft this weekend. I have work to do, dresses to make, a business to run.” But in my mind, I'm thinking,
Will I ever see my mother again?
Morgan's lost her fiancé, and I'm not there to help her. What kind
of friend am I? And why am I worried about making dinner for my
Nana's landlord?
And underneath it all, the running mantra:
I
have bad hair that sealed my fate long ago in a galaxy far, far
away.

“I appreciate that. You are a busy woman.” Max motions with his hand. “After you.” As I start up the stairs, he starts to whistle. “Ah, yes, the view is just fabulous from here.”

I whirl around and glare down at him. “What did you just say?”

His entire face fills with a slightly wicked grin. “The view from my place,” he says, all innocence. “It's just incredible. Wait until you see it.”

“That better be what you meant.”

We climb the stairs, with Max actually doing pretty well for a leg that's straight as a board. When we reach the top, I help him up the last step. “You made it.”

“We made it.” He stops in front of me. He towers over me. I always thought of Max as smaller in stature, but as he stands right here with me, I see that he's not at all. I just thought he was because he seemed insignificant to my life, kind of like a hovering gnat. In reality, he's probably nearly six feet, and he does look like Tim McGraw. This is not good. He moistens his lips.

“I need to get this spaghetti going,” I say nervously. I open up his door, and his place is like I've never seen it before. Yes, there's a huge television screen, but the wall of windows, the expensive furniture, the house in the Marina.
Selectively unobservant—
that's me!
“What is it you really do for money, Max? Do you sell drugs?”

He laughs. “No, that would be your friend, Stuart.”

I whirl around. “How did you know Stuart was in pharmaceuticals? You know Stuart?”

“I go to church with him. And Caitlyn Kapsan. Haughty bunch, Lilly. You can do better.”

I feel my breath leave my body like a rogue wave rushing back out to sea. “Just never mind. You're changing the subject. I asked you what you do for a living.”

“I write a newspaper column about what's on TV. Maybe you've seen it?”

“You don't own a house in the Marina with a journalist's salary. And you offered to give me the money for my business. What do you do, Max? Tell me, or I'm not making dinner.” Granted, I know his parents own a hotel chain, but I want to hear it from his mouth. I want him to admit he's been lying about living on his TV reporter salary and not taking anything from his wealthy parents.

“I'm an heir, Lilly. Like Prince Charles without the ears. Sound romantic?”

I shrug. “You could have said like Prince William. It has more
oomph
.”

“I'll remember that the next time I'm confessing my sin of being wealthy.”

I slam the bowl down on the table. “It's just that you lied by omission, Max. You made Nana and me believe you were this pathetic loser who does nothing but watch TV. You even got my Nana to help you watch TV so you could write a better column.”

“I never lied. I
am
a pathetic loser who does nothing but watch TV—oh, and occasionally climb into and fall out of air vents in my father's hotel. Having money makes me no less pathetic, if that's what you're thinking.”

“It makes you more pathetic.”
What am I saying?

“Because I didn't earn it? Well, you've got me there, pal. Thanks for the reminder.”

“No, you can't help how you're born. I know that more than anyone. The pathetic part is that you push away who you are.”

“Sort of like you straightening that hair?”

“How do you know I straighten my hair?”

“Your Nana has pictures of you since you were a baby—I know your secret. What is it you have against men with money, Lilly? Are you afraid your degree in finance will go to waste if you find a rich man?”

“I don't like money. I don't like what it does to people,” I say, thinking in particular about Morgan's father and Caitlyn Kapsan.

“What's it done to me, Lilly?” He pulls open his shutters to reveal the Golden Gate Bridge over a crystal blue bay. “Got me a great view, right?”

“It has made you a liar. You pretended you had no idea who that was who dropped me off tonight, and you knew all along it was Caitlyn's boyfriend. You told me some longwinded story about that drop-dead gorgeous Valeria, when she was really your girlfriend who dumped you. You lied.”

“I didn't lie. Okay, it was a sin of omission, if you will. But she wasn't my girlfriend. She was a woman after me for my money. You were right, okay? I should have known a twenty-year- old wasn't interested in my mind or my heart, but I chose ignorance, okay? Feel better now?”

“Well, most men would have taken the bait, so why wouldn't you? I can forgive you for that. You're living here alone, having dinner with my Nana, of all people.”

“Lilly,
really
, what do you have against rich people?”

I think about this for a long time before I answer. It seems my life has always been missing what mattered at the time: jeans when they were in style and I had miniskirts; Jennifer Aniston hair when I looked like Bon Jovi; and Stanford money when I was in school on a government grant.

“Money ruins people. It takes away the essence of who they are, and covers it with a fancy house or a gown.”
What
am I saying?
“Wait, I don't believe that, Max. I don't know what to believe.” I don't even really know what I think. I just want to be away from my feelings. I just want to work on clothes and not have to deal with any of this. I want my mother to go away, I want my Nana to care what I want, and I want Max Schwartz to come clean and tell me who he really is inside. But as I gaze into his eyes, I wonder if that's really what I want. Max is a straight shooter, and I'm just not sure I'm ready for his version of truth.

“So, if I take a vow of poverty, would you be interested?”

I can't tell if he's serious or just baiting me. “I'm not interested, period. Men confuse me. I'm married to my work, and I don't have time for relationships.” As I say the words, I feel the tears starting to sting. Max walks towards me, and I don't trust myself. “No!” I hold up my palm. “I don't want your pity. Sit down and watch some TV. I'm cooking, and then I'm leaving.”

He starts forward again.

“I mean it, Max. Sit down.”

So I open his fridge, where he has organic produce for a salad. I take out the ingredients, and as I chop the onion with a vengeance, I cry until the first lights come on across the Bay. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Where is my comfort, Lord?
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Okay, God, can we get the
heaven part started? Because this part sucks like a Hoover.

chapter 24

I
'd like to say the rest of the evening was completely void of romantic emotions and that I wasn't the slightest bit tempted by Max's charm. But that would be lying. While he did stir something in my heart, I prefer to think it was just indigestion from Nana's sauce. Max was there for me tonight, and that means a lot, but that's probably it. I am the world's worst judge of men, and the only good that will come of finally learning this life lesson is if I stay single for all of eternity. Like Saint Paul.
Only I don't want to go through that shipwreck, stoning,
unidentified thorn-in-the-flesh business if it's okay with You, God.