The Lies About Truth(26)

“You won’t want it yet, but I want to be there when you do.” Then he kissed my temple, a tiny peck, and walked around to the other side of the van.

I touched the place where his lips had been and looked at the sack. It was from a store where I used to shop. I peeked inside and saw Max’s purchase.

A tank top.

Across the front was the popular “You Only Live Once” saying. Bold lines marked through all the words except Live. Cutting my eyes to the back row, I mouthed a polite thank-you.

“That baby blue will look awesome with your eyes,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Wear a tank top in public. It was first on my list.

Max’s optimism concerned me. What if this thing that had grown between us was based on who he thought I might be someday rather than who I was? Even though he’d lost his brother, his progress looked like an ascent rather than a plateau. So far, I hadn’t figured out how to accept the new story of my life. Should I shut down this hand-holding, heart-holding kindness before it heaped more heartache on us both?

I didn’t want to.

I wanted to put on a tank top and walk in the sunshine with Max. All the way home, I imagined a world where I could.

When we pulled into the driveway, I surprised everyone by following Max into his house instead of mine. I didn’t want to try on jeans or put away clothes or see my traitorous bird. I wanted company.

That was a good change.

We sat in each other’s space, close enough that we shared a couch cushion. After a year apart, happiness was the comfort of being able to hug each other anytime we wanted. Sonia popped kettle corn and put on an old version of Peter Pan. We didn’t watch much of the movie, but we did discuss all the films and television shows he’d missed over the past year. Everything from Woody Allen to Christopher Nolan to Wes Anderson to Aaron Sorkin. Max made a “Must Watch These Together” list. It would take ten years to get through all the titles he wanted to see with me. I liked that idea.

“You know my favorite show of all time—”

“Is Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” he said.

“Did I tell you that before?” I asked, thinking about Big.

“No. I’m just observant.”

Or was he covering up a little slip?

That thought made me switch the topic to his life in El Salvador. “Speaking of observant, I want to see all your El Salvador pictures.”

After scrolling through a thousand photos, we ate BLTs at the kitchen counter and talked until his voice was gone and I didn’t have much to say.

By six o’clock, a heaviness made our twosome a threesome. Without a word, Max led me into Trent’s room, and we both curled up in his bed. Him on one side. Me against the wall. I was in a bed with my boyfriend, and we were both thinking about his brother. It wasn’t romantic; it was exactly what I needed.

“I’ve been sleeping in here,” Max said.

“I took a nap in here once while you were gone.”

We tried to hold each other, but we were both stiff, unyielding. “You know why I sleep in here?” Max asked.

“No.”

“This room is full of mysteries.”

I rolled over and watched him. Max was flat on his back, hands squeezed into fists, eyes locked on the ceiling. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

“What do you mean?” I asked, and flopped on my back. Above me, a pattern of glow-in-the-dark star stickers shone. I focused in on them and listened.

Anger, and maybe . . . guilt, crept into Max’s tone. “Like, there are pieces of him I didn’t know or understand. We shared a frickin’ bedroom wall. How did I miss . . .” He exhaled, but it was a beginning rather than an end. “When did he build that Lego temple-thing on the desk? Who gave him the card he kept between his mattress and box spring? Gina? Was it her? Was it you? Someone else? They loved him, whoever it was.”

I didn’t dare interrupt, but I inched my hand closer to him.

He continued. “What happened to his YOLO paddle? Where did he get that black leather jacket? We live in Florida, for God’s sake. When would he need a leather jacket? And those damn tennis shoes with the toes in them, when did he stop wearing Scotts? Did you know he kept a journal? And did you know he ripped out more than half of it? Why? What was in there? God, I shouldn’t have even looked at it.”

Max had so many questions that his voice dissolved into scratching sounds rather than words. He rarely spoke in paragraphs, opting for clipped answers that saved his voice. I pieced together the last thing he said before he went silent. “He would bust my ass if he knew I went through his stuff.”

I nodded a yes at the last comment, but really, I nodded at all of the questions. I knew some of the answers, but letting Max know I knew, when he didn’t know, felt cruel. Still, I offered him the only truth I understood.

“I think maybe everyone is a mystery. Even the people we know really well. If I died”—he turned toward me, fear splashed across his reddened face, and latched our pinkies together—“and you went through my stuff, you’d have the same type of questions. Why I kept one thing but not another. What I was hiding and telling and hoping and believing. We all have that stuff, and it’ll drive you crazy if you fixate on it. I know. In a different way, I’ve been doing the same thing with Gina and Gray. Acting as if answers will change feelings. I’m not sure it works that way.”