Maxed Out Page 2

  It’s probably for the better that I hate him. I won’t be able to change the way I feel about him until he earns my respect. Since there’s no way that’ll happen until he’s working on his own, there’s no chance of us making any sort of connection and me cheating on Max during the week I’m assigned to mentor him. Or of gravity reversing and everything shooting off into space.

  3

  “How was work?” Max asks.

  He’s taken me out to a fancy Italian place on the waterfront, with candles and fancy wines and a dress code that I’m probably violating in every hole since I’ve come straight from work. Normally I’d be a bit worried that he was trying to make up for something but Max has always been spendy when it comes to me and I’m not exactly going to say no while he’s got loads of money to burn.

  “Alright,” I say. “The new guy finally got in and Phil wants me to show him around, so I’m going to have my hands full for a while. I don’t like him much. He’s a complete asshole, thinks he knows everything.”

  I take a sip of wine. Max has this weird look in his eyes, like he doesn’t want to make eye contact for some reason.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Signed a new contract,” he says.

  “Did you get promoted to head coach?”

  He nods.

  “That’s great!”

  “It means I’ll be travelling with the team a lot more,” he says. He’s still not quite looking at me.

  “So?” I say. “You’ve always wanted to get out of the city more. This is perfect for us.”

  He grimaces. “I think we should break up,” he says.

  “I still think it’s great,” I say. “It’s a good opportunity. Shows they value you.”

  He stares at me blankly. Something has been eating at him, clearly: he’s got big circles under his eyes and he looks worried. Sad, too. Something clearly has him on edge. At least he’s making eye contact finally. I wonder what changed.

  He’s expecting something from me now. He thinks his last statement requires more confirmation from me. I don’t know what more I’m supposed to say here – I’ve congratulated him like nine times already. What more could he want?

  “I think we should break up,” he says again, like I didn’t hear him the first time.

  Wait. What? Break up? Now? Why? Things are going great. He’s got to be joking. I laugh a little, to humor him, although truthfully it isn’t very humorous.

  “Very funny, sweetie,” I say. “What’s really eating at you?”

  He looks pained, like he’s trying to explain the difference between dollars and cents to a Verizon rep. “I think we should break up,” he says, a third time.

  “Why?” I ask. He can’t be serious. We’ve had no fights in like a year. We talk. What could possibly be the problem?

  “I’ll be travelling,” he says. “We both don’t think long distance relationships work. Our relationship would become long distance.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I say.

  “I’d be out of the city almost half of football season. When I’m home, I’d be working full time. You know how crazy my hours get. The only weekends we have together are during away games. Now those are going to be gone.”

  “You’d still be home way too much to consider it a long distance—“

  “No,” he says, cutting me off. “This would be just like me going to Iraq for 6 months. I’d be completely inaccessible. Sure, we’d see each other, occasionally, when I’m cranky and tired after work and I just want to sleep. Is that an improvement? How would that solve our lack of intimacy or real conversation for months at a time? We’d both have to turn to other things: me work, you work too or maybe something else. I don’t know. What if there was a female that travelled with us? Would you be able to handle that? You’ve never been jealous of Darla before; if I went on a trip with her without you every two weeks for three days would you still be okay? There’s just too many holes. I’ve been looking at this from every angle for a week, ever since I got the news. I can’t find a solution. “

  “What about asking for some time off every once in a while?” I ask. It’s futile. I can feel the inevitability sink in within me. He’s completely right. Our relationship is built on honesty and openness and being together. If you take that away, even for a few months, we’re out of the running. We might be able to stay friends if we break up now.

  “If I took every Wednesday off would that be enough?” Max says. No. No, it wouldn’t. One night a week wouldn’t do it. Two might. We’re already strained enough during football season with three, and his workload isn’t anywhere near what it will be post-promotion. I know exactly how much harder his job will get; I’ve talked to his boss at parties. He won’t have any time. All of his co-workers are either single or married. They just don’t have time for girlfriends. If we want to stay together, we’ll need our three nights a week, and there’s no way he’ll be able to hold onto those with the new job.

  He sees it too. Obviously. That’s why he’s breaking up with me. It’s a shame, too, because my relationship with Max has been the one that I’ll probably look back to most favorably. Not because we’re super compatible or because we’ve done anything exceptional or because he’s amazing in the sack, but because we’ve had an adult relationship that’s challenged our boundaries and caused us to grow together. We’ve had all those other things. We just had to work together to accomplish them, and, as it tends to happen, the working has been more fun than the result. I’m going to go back to finding men who I can just boss around and he’s going to go back to finding women who just accept his dominance and we’ll both be perfectly happy and we’ll never ever question our flat, static relationships, never wonder what it would be like if our partners would be just a little more active or opinionated or pushy, never see what could happen if their visions were different from ours and if we were forced to compromise on something that wasn’t what either of us had in mind but was every bit as fulfilling. All of this discovery and sharing and growth we’ve done is just going to lay fallow and die, forgotten. And you know what? I’m going to be comfortable and happy and content and I’m never going to look back. Ever.

  “So what do we do now?” I ask.

  “We finish eating,” he says. “We’re here and our basic biological needs aren’t going to go away. Afterwards, you should probably start packing your stuff and looking for a new place. There’s not really a rush, but I think you should be out by the end of the week if you can.”

  “And then?”

  “Then whatever happens happens. I’d love to stay friends, I guess, but we’re both going to need some time and distance and honestly I’m not sure if we’ll stay in contact.”

  I can’t be rationally angry at him right now. Doesn’t make me any less furious. He’s right, though, I can’t stand him at the moment, no matter how much sense he makes. Going back home to sleep tonight is going to be hard.

  I don’t think I can bear to stick around him a moment longer. It’s beginning to feel claustrophobic, like my world is collapsing in on me. Which it is.

  “I need some space,” I say, standing up.

  “If you need anything—“

  “No,” I say. If I need something it won’t come from him. Not right after he dumps me.

  “Look,” he starts. “I feel—“

  I don’t care. I walk away, ignoring him. He’s right, we won’t be able to weather the coming storm. We’re over. Sitting and talking about it won’t help anything, it’ll just make me feel dependent on him, which is the last thing I need right now.

  I’m outside the restaurant and hallway down the street before I realize that I don’t have anywhere to go. I’ve lived with Max for the last five months, since my lease came up and we were spending all of our time together anyway. His apartment has come to feel like home. Now it’ll just be that place where he lives, where we used to have fun together. I can’t wait to get my stuff packed, to move into a place of my own. Until then, tho
ugh, I’ll need a place to stay.

  Alone, on the sidewalk, with no boyfriend and no prospects, I don’t see that being an easy task.

  4

  I finally call Renee after an hour of just wandering down Harbor Drive. She tells me I’m good to crash at her place indefinitely before I’m even halfway done explaining. It’s incredibly anticlimactic – I’ve steeled myself for a long struggle involving heroic measures (or at least great expense) on my part to find temporary lodging and it just kind of drives up in a green Kia and offers itself up to me.

  I don’t want to go to Max’s place to get my stuff right now. I’ve still got a toothbrush and some clothes stashed at Renee’s from way before I started dating Max, when we used to spend more time together. Before she got serious with Brian, even. Thank god she’s finally over that – not like she had any choice, seeing as Will shot him about a month ago after Brian broke into Renee’s apartment and tried to rape her. I’m still not sure that dating her ex’s killer is good for her sanity, but they’ve been together for about two months now and it seems to be working, which is more than I can say about my own relationship as of sixty minutes ago.

  “So what happened again?” she asks. We’re maybe halfway back to her place. It’s been less than ten minutes since I explained the first time.

  “Max got a promotion which involves travel. We decided a while ago that long distance relationships don’t work. Since we’re going to be in one, we decided to break up.”

  “We?”

  “He did. I agreed. I mean, he gave me a chance to try to convince him otherwise. Overall it was pretty reasonable.”

  “But if you really love each other wouldn’t you be able to make it work anyway?”

  “Not worth it,” I say. “It all falls apart in the cost-benefit analysis. Opportunity cost or whatever. “

  She stares at me blankly.

  “You started this,” I tell her. “In college. I didn’t do any of this nerding out over emotional crap until you introduced it to me.”

  “I don’t recall…” she says, slowly.

  “You suggested that basic impartial analysis would improve everything. This was back when I was beginning to date David, so I assumed you meant that I should step back and think about our relationship in less gushy terms so I could think more clearly.”

  Renee seems surprised. “You broke up with David because of that?”

  I nod. “It was clear that neither of us was actually getting what we wanted out of the relationship and he wasn’t willing to do anything to fix that, so I broke it off. Was that not what you wanted me to do?”

  “I thought he was a sleazebag, honestly, so I was happy to see you leave him, but I didn’t think…” She trails off. “How many of your relationships have I ruined with that little piece of wisdom?”

  “All of them,” I say. “I mean, I ended all of my relationships after that point based on me deciding that I’d be happier elsewhere. I don’t think that’s a bad thing –“

  “Jesus. All of them?” Renee looks shocked.

  “I don’t regret ending any of them,” I say. “Your advice helped me reach the right conclusions.”

  “I still feel—“

  I cut her off. “I would have broken up with them all anyway, for similar reasons. Just because I analyzed something logically doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t have arrived at a similar conclusion emotionally. In fact, I dodged a bullet on a few of them – Carl was cheating on me, if you recall, and I dumped him before I even knew because I just wasn’t happy anymore. You helped me avoid heartbreak. You didn’t cause any.”

  I’m defending Renee to herself, an hour after getting dumped. How does she do this? It’s infuriating. At least I feel better about the whole thing. Before I got into the car I was ready to pull a Carrie Underwood his ride, my agreement with his reasons notwithstanding. Now my anger has been replaced with a sort of bitter emptiness. Not that that’s any better.

  Of course, she has to ruin my momentary respite by diving back into it.

  “Do you feel the same about Max?” she asks.

  “I will in a week,” I say, trying to keep my emotions in check. I believe myself, mostly. It’s hard to tell yourself that your decisions are right when they hurt so much.

  Time to change the subject. “How are things with Will?” I ask, immediately reminding myself of my aloneness.

  “Fine,” she says. Of course things are fine. Why would things be anything but fine? When Renee has relationship problems, this hunk just comes out of left field and blows them to pieces with a rifle.

  Somehow, I steer the conversation and my mind off out of this gutter long enough to finish the drive. Everything goes okay after that – I gorge myself on leftovers and we stay up watching sitcom reruns until I’m too exhausted to think.

  It almost works. Lying on the couch, past midnight, I can only make out the faintest embers of depression before I finally succumb to sleep.

  5

  At work the next day, I’m trying to put the finishing touches on a story about some new local band while Jeremy hovers over my shoulder in the most frustrating way possible.

  “Wrong there,” he says.

  I glare at him.

  “It’s ‘their’ as in ‘the amps they own’ as opposed to ‘the amps in that location,’” he says. “This is like fifth grade English stuff.”

  He’s right. Normally the word processor picks this stuff up. I must be slipping. Maybe it’s the constant looming presence that’s interfering in my work. Nah. Couldn’t be.

  “Don’t you have something better to do?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “I’m supposed to help you. Since you haven’t told me how I’m supposed to do that, I’m stuck here watching you. I don’t like this any more than you do. Do us both a favor and assign me something. Share the load.”

  “Okay,” I say, turning around. “Do this article.” I hand him my notes and requirements for the piece on the Korean band Phil assigned me earlier this week. “You’ve got two days. Go.”

  “This is your article,” he says. “I’m not supposed to just do your work with no help from you. You’re supposed to ease me into this.”

  “Phil said I could use you however I wanted,” I say. I don’t actually remember any such thing, I’m just bluffing. “Of course I’m going to review it and monitor you a little, but you came really highly recommended. I doubt a little buzz piece like this will give you any trouble.”

  “I’m going to check with him first,” he says, standing up. Fuck. Second day with Jeremy and he’s already going over my head to override me. Things are turning out just great.

  A minute later, Phil is standing over me, shaking his head. “I wanted you to do that article, Jeanine,” he says. “You’ve got a unique insight into this sort of thing. Let it through. Jeremy can do your regular column.”

  “But I’ve got that almost complete,” I say. “He just has to –“

  “You’ve got too little on your plate as it is,” Phil says. “There’s more than enough time for you to complete the other article before we print Friday. Don’t go throwing all the hard work on the new guy.” He turns and leaves before I can rebut.

  I bury my head in my hands. This looks bad for me – it’s not that Phil is wrong about anything in particular, just that the whole point of this was to give him something to do to get Jeremy off of my back. Now, he’s just proved that he’s got more sway with our boss than I do.

  “You heard him,” Jeremy says. “E-mail me what you have done so far for that article. Also your notes.”

  “What?” I say. “It’s just a little column. He said you should write it. I’m basically finished. If you put your name on it at this point it’d be plagiarism, straight up.”

  Jeremy glances in Phil’s general direction. “Do you want me to –“

  “No,” I say. He’s made his point. “Whatever. I’ll do it.”

  Half an hour later, when he’s finally done browsing Facebook, he edits
my name out and hands it to Phil. If the plan was for me to be productive, it failed: I’ve spent the whole time glowering in Jeremy’s direction. I certainly haven’t stopped now. The way Jeremy just circumvents the normal order of operations and hands off MY article right to the boss, bypassing every edit, check and balance in the process is both baffling and offensive.

  The worst part about this is that if Phil doesn’t like what Jeremy hands in I’ll get blamed for not teaching him right.

  Being frustrated isn’t getting me anywhere. I try to focus on my work. I’ve got a few sources and a contact for a possible interview so far but not a lot else. The good thing about Jeremy bringing the boss in was his choice of words about me doing the article. I’ve been thinking about this as a little fluff PR thing, but as I finally bring myself to do some research it turns out there’s actually something going on here – maybe not something newsworthy in itself, but I can spin it to create a narrative. I need to be sure on my facts first, though, which means doing things and not pretending I have heat vision and I’m incinerating our new hire.

  Jeremy comes back, reminding me that I’m not going to get a chance to do any of that no matter how much I might want to.

  “Phil loves it,” he says, smiling. “He says I’ll fit right in here. I can’t thank you enough.”

  I somehow resist the urge to drive my fist through his skull.

  6

  Later that night I’m venting at the bar with the girls, which is a rare occurrence. I don’t think I’ve talked for this long straight since that time Alice brought her latest fling to our weekly meet up last year, and that didn’t have the same emotional release I’m experiencing right now.

  Of course, it all comes crashing back down when I finally finish my tirade and get a look at my friends’ reactions. Alice is looking bored and making eyes at the new bartender. Tiff looks vaguely concerned, but it’s a cold, clinical concern that reeks of dead rats and one way mirrors. Renee is half asleep, trying to hide her phone under the table and use her lidded eyes as misdirection.