“Loser?” Max asks, glancing up at me, brow furrowed like I just insulted him.
I roll my eyes. “You’ve never seen Mean Girls? We’ll have to fix that. Get in the car, big dude.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to fit,” he says, opening the door.
The thing about my car is that it looks small from the outside, but from the inside it’s surprisingly roomy. I get in the driver’s seat and buckle up, starting the car right away to get the heat flowing for the big ginger. I watch as he shoves the seat back and then presses his large hand against the ceiling.
“I guess I do fit,” he remarks, then stares at his knees pressed up against the glove compartment. “Barely.”
“Buckle up,” I tell him, just as Karen O’s cover of Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song comes blasting from the speakers. Then I burn it out of the parking spot, the car sliding on the icy road for a moment before it gets traction.
Max’s eyes go wide and I laugh, zipping across lanes as we zoom below the monorail tracks, heading further into downtown before we can exit to the I-5.
“Trying to undo the work you did, Blondie?” he asks. “AKA, kill me?”
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I know I speed. It’s hard not to in this thing.”
He stares out the window, wincing as I nearly take out a cyclist. “It’s not just the speed, it’s that you’re playing real life Mario Kart. I reckon you always chose Wario.”
“Actually, it was Princess Bitch. Sure, her top speed sucked, but she was pretty.”
Max laughs. “Princess Bitch? What did Peach ever do to you?”
I grin at him as we pull onto the highway. “Bitch is a compliment. I have to say, I’m surprised you’ve played Mario Kart and yet haven’t seen Mean Girls.”
“That’s because I’m an enigma,” he comments, then he turns up the volume as Karen O screams. “I haven’t heard this cover. Pretty cool. Not as good as the original of course. Though this one time I saw them, Bonham did an industrial sounding drum solo in the middle of the song.”
“Hold up. This one time you saw them? You saw Led Zeppelin? More than once?”
“Darlin’, have I never told you about the time I was a photojournalist in the seventies? I was on tour with fucking Zeppelin. If I ever get my stuff back, I have a million photos in my albums.”
My mouth drops in awe. Wow. I guess I never really gave Max and his past that much thought. Though now I’m snagged by the idea of him getting his stuff back.
“Wait, what stuff back? You have stuff somewhere? In Portland?”
His expression turns grim and he looks out the window. “New Orleans.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and I’m sure that means he doesn’t want to talk about it, but we have a four hour drive ahead of us and I aim to use that time to get every tidbit of information about him before we pull in front of my house and drop him off at the next door neighbors.
“Have you talked to Rose? You know, let her know you’re alive?” I ask.
He gives a slight shake of his head. “No.”
“No!? Max, you have to tell her. You were living with her in New Orleans, weren’t you?”
He rubs his lips together and gives me a furtive glance. “It’s not that simple. It wasn’t simple then and it sure as hell won’t be simple now.”
I consider that. “Okay, perhaps you showing up in her life three years later might need some explanation, but she’s going to be happy you’re alive.”
“Perry contacted Rose,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Rose never responded. So I decided to try. Her number changed, which is why Perry never heard back from her. So I went on Facebook. She never defriended me there…would have added insult to injury if she did.” The way he doesn’t finish his sentence makes me realize that this isn’t going to have a happy ending.
“Did you message her?” I ask hopefully.
“No.” He clears his throat, undoing his scarf. “Not yet. I’m not even sure I will. She’s engaged to some guy.”
“What?!” I almost drive the car into the other lane, correcting at the last minute.
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this while you’re driving,” Max says wearily, his palm pressed against the ceiling to keep himself in place.
“What do you mean she’s engaged? It’s only been three years!”
I am aghast. Who does that? Who moves on that fast after they learn their loved one has died?
“We weren’t together,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “Not really. I don’t know if you remember, but she nearly died. Lost her memory. I stayed with her in Nola and took care of her. It was like starting over again…could have been romantic, but it didn’t go that way.”
“But Perry told me she eventually remembered everything.”
“Oh, she did. But that didn’t mean she changed her mind about me. We were close friends…fuck, I don’t know. It was complicated.”
“Were you in love with her?” I know I might be overstepping my bounds here, but I don’t really care.
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
“That’s fucking rough, dude.”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “Yeah. It fucking is.”
“And you’re still in love with her…”
He tilts his head and seems to think it over. “I don’t know. I think so. I don’t think I’ll know until I see her again. Everything is just so…strange. To come back and have the world move on in your absence. To feel like centuries have passed in one way, and in the other you expect everything to remain the same.”
“Is that what it felt like in…there?” I don’t want to say the word Hell for some reason, like I’d be tempting it or something. “Like centuries?”
Max gives me a
