Cult Classic(73)

“The exes’ pact is not in blood. You could’ve talked to me.”

“I don’t particularly like being reminded of your capacity to end things. Haven’t you ever asked yourself why I don’t like talking about these people? It’s because they’re chapters so what does that make me? Chapters end, that’s what they do. And you could have talked to me, too. At any time.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? What were you going to say tonight? Were you going to confess to being half in love with every asshole in this city but the one you’re about to marry? Sounds about right. Clive showed me his ‘menu.’”

“I saw it too.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I completely did.”

“Lola,” he sighed at the arches, half smiling. “Okay, imagine a Russian nesting doll. I’m the bigger doll around you and Clive is the bigger doll around me. You’re ‘The Classic,’ yeah?”

I nodded.

“I’m ‘The Grand Sweep’: The chance to get your partner to get over their exes, once and for all, by having them confront and release their ghosts. That’s the one Clive is testing. We used me and your box to put a list together. It’s not rocket science. I mean, it’s not science science either.”

I puffed out my cheeks, sputtering as I exhaled, driving my fingers through my hair. Was this the most romantic or the most psychotic thing anyone had ever done for me? Was there a difference? Max stood like he was preparing to pace but kicked the leg of his chair instead, which squeaked against the floor. He wanted to be physically away from me. He hopped up on the platform and sat on his bed, which was more of a mattress with a lamp beside it, the kind of setup that wanted for a bachelor. Beneath the lamp was the glass hand. I was taken aback by how glad I was to see it again.

“Why would you torture yourself?”

“Because it wasn’t supposed to end like this!” he yelled.

“You can’t control other people.”

“No shit. You should write that down. Did you fuck any of these guys? Don’t tell me.”

“I did not.”

“I told you not to tell me! There’s a world in which you could have said no. You could’ve said, ‘Sorry, Clive, I don’t need a victory tour of the past.’ Vadis was like, oh, don’t worry, Max, oh, she just needs to get these dudes out of her system. And I wanted to believe them because I love you. But as someone who loves you, I know you better than these people. Your hang-ups aren’t in your system, they are your system. You think I don’t notice how you shut off when my friends tell college stories, like it’s so pathetic when your entire brain is old stories? Why would I torture myself? I don’t know, Lola. Why would you?”

“You were testing me. This is fucked up.”

“Yeah, well, right back at you. You know, I think most people go around praying to not be shaped by the bad things that have ever happened to them, by the people who hurt them. A normal person tries to take responsibility for their own choices. But I don’t think you’re normal. And I love you and it sucks.”

I said nothing, only watched him for a stretch of time as we moved through the dips in the silence, making ourselves at home in it before we ricocheted back into discomfort, talking in circles. It’s unfortunate, I thought, how some of the world’s most productive conversations are breakup conversations. People think, “If only we could have talked like this the whole time, things would’ve been different.” But you couldn’t have. That level of honesty requires a resoluteness achievable only by being within spitting distance of the exit. I didn’t know I was being watched. But Max had watched. He had seen me with an authority that I could never access.

I looked at the glass hand, an approximation of my hand. It looked funny on the floor, like it was attached to a glass body, reaching up from the grave. He’d been sleeping next to it this whole time.

“So yeah, sure, I’m the last one. Now what’s the answer to my question?”

“Which question?”

“Do you want to end it? Do you just not love me back?”

The lights blinked, giving off a crackle. The building was a hundred years old, okay, but how many gurus does it take to change a lightbulb? Still, the distraction was good. Good for me, who was being presented with a question, good for Max, who could look elsewhere while I took my time answering it. I found myself very badly wanting to touch his face, to pretend I knew where his pressure points were, but I didn’t move.

“Of course I love you,” I said.

It did not sound great. It sounded like habit.

Soon after we met, when I realized Max had an air of permanence to him, I introduced him to Clive. The three of us went to see a comedy show, which, in retrospect, was a horrible idea. The itinerary included ten minutes of waiting in line in the cold, stomping in place, an hour of Clive monitoring him to see if he laughed too much or not at all, and then twenty minutes’ worth of perfunctory martinis, over which no significant information was exchanged, save for the revelation that Clive and Max were both a little color-blind.

“Cool,” Max decided.

Not that there was a better response to be had, but I wanted him to shine for Clive. When the truth was that Clive should’ve been putting in the effort, making Max feel welcome. At work the next day, Clive came into my office, pulled up a chair, and sat there in silence until he could stand it no longer.