Harder We Fade (13 page)

Max shook his head and pressed the fingertips of both hands to his temples. “No.”

“Do you believe her?”

He nodded. “I cross-examined her big time on that. Jesus, I can’t fucking believe this.”

I curled my arm around his. “How did this start? What are they talking about?”

“He called her out of the blue one day. She said they fell right into talking about the past. About me, about their teenage years, their honeymoon. I guess all the good stuff they remember. All the stuff that happened…before.”

“Reminiscing,” I said.

“And in denial,” Max added, sharply.

“Maybe the loneliness will subside and she’ll stop talking to him.”

He turned to me and took me in his arms, pulling me in close. “I’m sorry I tried to smooth things over with your family.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t my place,” he said quietly, his chin resting on my shoulder as we sat in an embrace. “Some things are just unfixable.”

My eyes welled up. It was the truth. A very sad one.

“You try too hard,” I said.

He pulled back from me. “At what?”

“At everything. And most of the time it works out for you. But you can’t make people do things in real life like you can make them do on the page. That’s why you became a writer in the first place.” I shrugged. “So, now this is just more evidence that you can’t control what you can’t control.”

“Profound,” he said, cracking a smile for the first time that day. “You’re right. Anyway, we have too much work to concentrate on. That’s the important thing. But I am having someone keep tabs on all of this. If he shows up or if she goes to him, I’ll know about it.”

Max told me that he had called Carl, figuring a lawyer could put him in touch with a good private investigator, and by the time Max got home, the deal was already in the works.

“And then what?” I asked. “What are you going to do if that happens?”

He thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing.”

It sounded to me like the only viable option.

Max and I drove to his mother’s house the next afternoon.

“Let’s see how long it takes her to notice the ring,” Max said as he drove.

“What? That’s not nice. What if she doesn’t notice and feels bad?”

“Oh, she’ll see it.”

It was a gorgeous day, so Max had put the top down on his Porsche. He wore jeans and a black button-down shirt, untucked. Sometimes I couldn’t decide if he was sexier in casual clothing or something more formal, but I always came back to the conclusion that anything he wore was sexy, because his delicious body was waiting for me underneath.

I had to snap out of my sexual reverie as we approached his mother’s house, and I did so by turning my thoughts to the excitement of telling her we were getting married. Surely it had to go better than the way my parents sounded when I called.

She was waiting on the front porch as Max pulled into the driveway, and came down the steps to meet us as we got out of the car. She kissed and hugged Max first, then turned around for me after I walked over to the driver’s side of the car, dodging the dogs as I did so.

When we pulled away from each other, her hair caught on my ring. It was a comical scene for a moment, as she went from surprise and a quick shout of “Ooh!” to a big smile and a few tears while she looked from the ring to me, then to Max and back to the ring again.

“Well, that’s one way to surprise her,” Max said.

“I swear I didn’t plan that, Paula.”

She laughed and hugged me again. “I know you didn’t, sweetie, but I wouldn’t have cared if you did.”

Over lunch, Paula insisted on knowing every detail of the proposal, and Max let me tell the story.

“Nice touch,” she said to him, when I was finished.

“I thought so, too,” he said.

“But there’s more,” I said. “Remember when Max went to Maine for a location scouting?”

Paula nodded. “Just the one night, right before the Oscars.”

“Right,” I said. “Well, it turns out he didn’t go to Maine after all. He went to Ohio and talked to my parents.”

“Wow, Max,” Paula said, turning her head in his direction. “Quite the traditionalist.”

“Not really,” he said. “Olivia’s parents haven’t been my biggest fan, so that’s the only reason I did it.”

“It’s true.” I shifted in my seat. This topic still made me uncomfortable. “They always had this view of my life that was more like theirs. Well, you know what I mean, Paula.”

She nodded her head. “I grew up the same way. Listen, I wish I’d had your opportunities and your gumption, Olivia. I admire you.”

I felt bad now, watching Paula’s face drop to an expressionless mask as she no doubt felt regret about how her life had gone.

Max lifted his hands, palms up. “Wait a minute.” He looked at me, then at his mother, a smile spreading across his face. “If you had been able to go off and do…whatever it was you wanted to do, you wouldn’t have had me.”

Paula reached out and put her hand on his forearm. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Max lifted his drink. “Jesus, I might just have to write that script based on our family, after all.”

Paula finally went back to looking happy. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Max put his glass down. “Never.”

It was a tense topic, yet they handled it with ease and humor. I wish things with my parents had been like that.

“So your parents,” Paula said, looking over to me. “I take it they don’t approve.”

I shook my head and told her how it went down.

When I called my parents shortly after Max proposed, I already knew that he had gone to talk with him before asking me. He warned me and filled me in on how the trip had gone.

Which was, to put it mildly: not good at all.

I called them just after 11 am Pacific Time. We hadn’t been out late the night before, but we’d stayed up late together, making love. I woke up around 10 and that’s when Max told me about going to see my parents.

“You should call them,” he said.

I didn’t want to, but I needed to.

My mother answered, and my father picked up the extension.

“We can’t stop you, Olivia,” my mother said, “but we think you’re making a mistake. It’s too soon.”

I didn’t say anything.

“We appreciate the fact that he came and spoke to us first,” mom said, “but I hope he told you that your father did not give him his blessing.”

“His blessing?” I said, incredulous. And then it just poured out of me: “It’s 2013, not 1953. The only
blessing
we need is each other’s, okay? It’s a different world, you guys, and I’m living in it. This is my life, and I love Max. That alone should be good enough for you.”

Was it harsh? Probably. But there was no way I could even pretend to play the part of the approval-seeking daughter. I was a grown woman. Educated. Determined. Successful. I had met a great man who was good to me, and who I loved more than I thought possible. I knew what I wanted and I knew who I wanted it with. The only power they had to hold me back was power that I gave them. And I refused to do so.

“Olivia,” my father said, but I cut him off.

“No, wait. I’m not going to drag this out. We don’t have a date yet, but if you’re not talking to me by the time we set one, I’ll let you know when it is. The rest is up to you. I have a busy day ahead. I need to get going. Please think about what you’re doing.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Shock, no doubt.

“Goodbye,” I said, not in a rude way, but definitely a determined one.

I was feeling strong, but weaker as the call ended. Luckily, as always, Max was there when I needed him. I felt his arms wrap around me from behind and I grabbed onto his forearms, lowered my head and cried softly.

“I would have never known,” Paula said. “You don’t seem upset at all. And this just happened a few hours ago.”

I shrugged.

Paula said, “At least they didn’t call you and ruin the surprise before — ”

Max interrupted, “Mom, I said the same thing.” He shook his head. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of our lunch.”

Grace called a few mornings later as I was on my way to work. She started off with small talk, asking me what it was like driving such a fancy car into the heart of Hollywood to work on a blockbuster movie.

“I wouldn’t want any other life,” I said, and then immediately regretted it.

She let me have it anyway. “I wasn’t trying to start a fight with you, Olivia.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“And, just in case you don’t know, I wouldn’t want any other life than mine, either. But I don’t blame you for going after what you want.”

“You could have said someth — ”

“Wait,” she interrupted, “I know. I could have taken your side at Christmas. And maybe I should have. But you have to consider that I see Mom and Dad all the time and it’s a totally different situation for me than it is for you. I have to pick my battles.”

“Did you see Max when he went to Mom and Dad’s?”

“No. I didn’t even know he was here until the next day. And just so you know, I think I might have pissed them off when they told me.”

“How so?”

She laughed a little, then said, “Because I was so happy.”

I pulled up to a red light and noticed a police car in my rearview mirror. I must have been speeding as Grace and I spoke, not just because of the tension, but also because I wasn’t really paying attention to what I was doing.

“Oh, fuck you,” I said, the frustration coming to a head.

“What!?”

“No, no,” I said. “I’m sorry. There’s a cop behind me, I was speeding…never mind. That wasn’t meant for you.”

“I was about to go off on you.”

“Yeah, well, join the club.”

“Hey,” she said, sounding annoyed, and probably within all her rights to feel that way. “I’m trying to smooth things over here. Even if it’s just between me and you. Okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “Can we go back to like it was before?”

“Absolutely. As long as you promise we don’t talk about any of this anymore. At least until I’m ready.”

“Deal.”

Max was jogging on the beach one Sunday morning several weeks later when his mother called. I wasn’t all that surprised to see her name on the Caller ID. She sometimes called me rather than Max, and Sunday was our usual day to go to her house for dinner, even though she had cancelled that week because some of her neighbors were having a block party and she wanted to attend.

“Hi, Paula.”

“Olivia, is Max around?”

“He’s on the beach. But he always has his phone. Do you need to talk to him?”

“No, no,” she said quickly. “I need to talk to you.”

Her voice didn’t sound normal. She sounded almost out of breath.

“Is everything okay?”

She let out a sigh. “I need to ask you something. It’s a very touchy subject, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him any of this.”

Oh God. I hated being put in positions like this. Over the last several months, I’d seen it in my professional life — mostly from agents — but nothing could be worse than being shoved in the middle of a situation like that between family members. My work experience in this regard had taught me one way to handle it, so I tried it with Paula.

“If it’s something that bad,” I said, “maybe you shouldn’t tell me at all.”

“But I have no one else to talk to,” she said, laying the guilt on thick.

I didn’t want to dismiss her. I couldn’t. She would soon be my mother-in-law and for all intents and purposes, she already was in a practical sense.

“Okay, Paula. Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“If it’s this hard to tell you, I can’t imagine how Max is going to take it.” She went silent.

“Paula…”

“I’ve been in touch with Max’s father.”

I almost dropped the phone. “What? Since when?”

“Around Christmas.”

I pulled out a barstool and sat. “Oh my God, Paula.”

“I thought the same thing at first,” she said. “But he’s not the same man he was when Max and I left.”

I found myself glancing around, making sure Max hadn’t come back into the house yet. “Ah, Jesus. Hang on.” I made my way upstairs, so at least I could hear the door and have time to end the call if I needed to.

I went to the far side of our bedroom, which was entirely glass and provided a complete view of the beach where the steps led up to our backyard — the way Max would surely come home.

“Okay,” I said. “Tell me why.”

“It’s so hard.”

“Just tell me.”

“It’s hard not to talk to him. He was my first love, my only love. He’s changed. He’s…calmer, low key. Just like he was when we met as teenagers. Something changed him for the worst. But, Olivia, he’s had two heart attacks and survived them both. I loved him. I always did. The man I married went away for a while, for some reason. But he’s back now. We’re both much older… You wouldn’t understand this, at least not yet, anyway — ”

“Paula,” I said, interrupting because she was thinking dangerously. “That may all be true. I have no doubt it’s true, actually. But that’s not the same man you
fled
from.”

“But — ”

I cut her off again. The one word she got out was carried on a tone of weakness and desperation, and it made me sad. “Paula, think of Max.”

“I was hoping you would talk to him about it.”

Now I was getting frustrated. She wasn’t going to budge. That much was clear. “No.”

“Please, Olivia, he’ll listen to you.”

“I’m sure he would,” I said, “but I can’t support you on this, Paula. I just can’t.”

“Then please keep this between you and me,” she pleaded.

“That’s not fair. I tell Max everything. Paula, listen to yourself. Do you really want to go backwards? You’re doing so well. Max has made an incredible life for himself. And for you, I might add.”

“Now that’s none of your business.”

“Actually, it is. And I’m sorry I have to be so blunt about this, but remember,
you
came to
me
with this. If you’re just looking for someone to back you up, I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I know exactly how Max will take it, and so do you. I’m not going to be part of that. And I’m not going to lie to him.”

She was silent, and I gave her about thirty seconds to speak, but she said nothing.

“Paula, think long and hard about this. And when you’re ready to make the right decision, let me know. But if you need someone to talk to Max, that’s going to have to be you. I have to tell him, but I’ll give you a week to do it yourself.”

And with that closing statement to the conversation, I had dealt with Max’s mom just as I had dealt with my own parents — putting the ball in their court.

It wasn’t easy telling Max, and it was even harder watching him that day when he came home from visiting his mother.

I had waited until the end of the week, and then broached the subject over dinner. Max demanded to know why I didn’t tell him immediately, and I explained what I had told his mother, that she would have to do the talking, and that I would give her a week.

Max didn’t blame me. In fact, he comforted me.

He saved his fury for his mother, and when he called her, I was sitting right next to him and heard the entire conversation. It was brutally heart-breaking, listening to Max’s voice go from stern to almost cracking, and watching his face droop as if he’d just found out he’d lost a family member. That’s how it felt to me, too.

Max drove up to her house alone and got home around midnight. He had called ahead to let me know when he was leaving, and I sat in a front room, reading a script and killing time, so I could see the headlights pull into the driveway.

I went out to meet him on the front porch.

When he got out of the car, he looked like he’d been through hell, and that’s just how he characterized the conversation with his mother.

We walked inside and sat on the couch in the den. I curled up next to him, trying to comfort him, but his body felt rigid.

“She’s lonely,” he said. “That’s what it all boils down to.”

“Has she seen him?”