The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara

Fifty-One

The rest of the day passes incredibly slowly, and I keep watching the door more often than I care to admit even to myself. It’s not that I want him here, but at the same time it feels weird not having him around. Now that I’ve somewhat calmed down, I’m more confused than mad. I want to talk to him and tell him I’m almost one hundred percent sure Aaron is Max and get him to confirm.

I look over at Celine, who’s serving a customer. It makes me sad knowing I have to move out. I’d gotten used to having her around and I like our evenings—out movie nights and dinners. But I’ll have to leave once she finds out the truth. Plus, I can’t continue living in the same house with Ethan. It would be beyond awkward. Where would I move to though? The inn, to be close to Aaron?

It’s late afternoon now and still no sign of Ethan.

Evening.

“Where is Ethan anyway?” I ask as casually as I can.

“On his way to Lake Tahoe, if he’s not there already,” she says.

“I didn’t know he was going to be away.”

“He texted me earlier. Said he needed some air.”

“When is he coming back?”

“Not sure. Last time he went to Tahoe, he stayed a week or so.”

I nod dumbly, because I don’t know what else to say.

She tilts her head and looks at me. “I know. I’m sad too. I was hoping he’d stick around longer this time,” she says. “Especially since—”

I hear her talking, but I’m not listening anymore.

Sad? Is that what my face is showing? Sadness? Hah. I’m anything but sad. I’m pissed off he left without a word. Like a five year old. He stomped his feet, took his toys and left.

He can’t just leave. He owes me. I need answers. About Aaron, about the photos.

Back at the cottage at night, I almost expect Ethan to be here, although I know he can’t be.

“Hey,” says Celine, “Ethan left something for you.”

“What is this?” I ask, as she gives me a small package, wrapped in matte yellow paper.

“Open it. Let’s see.”

I rip the paper open and inside, there are two boxes. I open the first. It’s a beautiful, leather-wrapped notebook. The smaller second box holds a silver pen, just like the one I saw at the fancy writing store.

There’s also a card.

I wanted to give this to you on our return from San Francisco, but things didn’t work out the way I planned. So…

I stare at the notebook and pen and I have no idea how to react or feel about it. What is the point of all this? Does he think he can buy me with gifts? Wait, buy what? What am I talking about? Maybe he was trying to ease his conscience then? Knowing SF was about to happen. I don’t know.

Celine just looks at me and smiles but doesn’t say a word.

“Do you mind giving me his phone number? I want to text him and thank him.”

“Sure,” she says.

It’s not true. I mean, it is, in a way. I want to thank him, because I’m not a barbarian, but I also want to ask him about Aaron. Just because he’s not here, it doesn’t mean my plans change.

Ethan, thank you for the gift. You shouldn’t have.

I hit send and wait. I hope he answers. He does, five minutes later.

You’re welcome. I hope you will write many amazing stories in it. Maybe your next novel.

I wish we could’ve talked about this face to face, but since you’ll be away for a while, I was wondering if you have news about Max. I also wanted to see if I’m right about this: Is Max’s name Aaron?

Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. I haven’t heard from him yet. He didn’t confirm it’s Aaron but he didn’t deny it either. And my thoughts go back to today. The whole thing. How Ethan left, what happened in San Francisco, our conversation. A few minutes later I text him again.

I hope you didn’t leave your house because of me. If anyone should go, it’s me.

Don’t read too much into this. Any of it. My departure has nothing to do with you. I’m not the runaway type, even when things get complicated. Just need to take care of some stuff.

That felt like a slap on the face. Way to go, Maya, assuming the world revolves around you. He basically put me in my place. Ouch!

I tell Celine I’m tired and I’ll head straight to bed, then say good night and go to my room where the first thing I do is to tear open the envelope and take out the book.

The cover is amazing! Eerie almost. Two silhouettes, a man and a woman, with their backs to each other and holding their phones.

It’s us. Oh, my heart!

I open the book, breeze through the chapters Alisa said were about his life before that day, our day, and get to that morning.

June After Midnight: By Ethan Delphy

Chapter 15

I snicker when she says what she’s wearing. I thought I was the only one still into Guns N’ Roses.

I don’t like Lift pool. There are too many stops, and they all cram in like sardines, but it’s the most popular option, it seems. It was after I dropped off the third person at Embarcadero in San Francisco, and I was getting ready for the final stop of the trip, that I started hearing that nagging sound, like a sonar. On and on and on. I just assumed it was the client’s phone.

“Is that your phone?” the guy in the back asked, sounding annoyed, and that’s when I realized it wasn’t his. It wasn’t mine either, because mine was on the dashboard. The ringing stopped. But just as he got out, it started again, so I pulled to the side of the road and following the sound, I eventually found it in between the back seat and the door.

I wasn’t planning on answering and definitely not texting back. My first reaction was to file a report with Lift, but then I saw the texts and I just felt I had to say something.

I drive to the airport. When I get there, it’s madness, as always, but it doesn’t take me long before I see her. I park right across from her.

She’s beautiful in such a natural way. And so innocent-looking. What would a girl like her be doing with a meathead like him? The guy’s neck was almost as big as his head.

Just as I’m about to get out of the car, she texts me.

You know what? I don’t want his phone. You can keep it. Throw it away for all I care. I have more important things to worry about now.

I get out and just stand there, looking at her.

Like what? I reply.

Like sleeping in the airport tonight and eating vending machine food. My return ticket isn’t for another day. God, this is the worst birthday ever!

She puts the phone on the bench next to her and wipes her cheek with her hand. She’s crying. It breaks my heart and I feel so guilty. If only I hadn’t texted her back, she wouldn’t even know. She’d be oblivious to what he was doing. But then again, wouldn’t I want to know? If this was happening to me, wouldn’t I want someone to say something?

It’s your birthday?

Unfortunately, yes, and I’ve had some depressing ones, but this is the worst by far.

Instead of cutting short the conversation, getting in the car and driving away, I let myself be swept away in this chance encounter. It’s hard not to; she’s gorgeous. And now she’s all alone here. And I’m in a way to blame for this, right?

You shouldn’t stay at the airport on your birthday. Why don’t you just go somewhere for the day? There are so many nice places in the Bay Area.

The only thing I wanted to do here was to see the ocean and spend five minutes on a beach. Anyway, my funds are very limited so it’s not like I can afford to get around or stay in a hotel. I heard everything is super expensive in California.

I can give you some money and you’ll Venmo me back some other time.

I’m afraid you’d have to wait a long time. I just lost my job and without Dan, I also lost the apartment. So I’m jobless, penniless, and homeless.

That sounds like a lot. I’m sorry. I don’t mind if I have to wait. I just want to help.

That’s very nice of you to offer. Thanks, but no, thanks. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t even know you.

It’s true. She doesn’t. A minute later, she texts back.

Maybe I shouldn’t even go back. What would I go back for?

Then don’t. Stay here, I text back. It’s just a thing I say. I don’t even know why.

The moment I hit send, I realize it makes me sound like an ass, so I text again.

Anyway, wherever you go, you can get a new job, apartment. As for the boyfriend, I’m sure a woman like you will have no problem finding one. A better one.

Judging by the way she looks, getting interest from men is the least of her concerns.

A woman like me? Thanks, I guess, but you don’t know me.

What am I doing? She’s right. I know nothing about this girl, and here I am, getting all friendly. Yes, she’s gorgeous, but I’m not looking for anything and let’s not forget the only reason she’s talking to me is because I told her about her douchey boyfriend, so she’s definitely not looking for anything either. And even if she were, it wouldn’t be with me.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything. Just trying to boost your morale.

Is that part of the Lift services?

Sometimes.

OK, well, I’ve kept you long enough. Thanks for your help, I appreciate it. It’s nice to know there are still kind people in this world. I’ll go back to the airport. Have a nice day.

I start to type, ‘OK. You too’, then delete it. I start the text a couple more times only to delete it. She’s sad and I feel crappy about the whole thing. Just seeing her there and thinking that she’ll spend all day at the airport. What an awful way to celebrate your birthday.

Nobody deserves to be stranded in an airport on their birthday. I have an idea. If you want, of course.

I watch her read my text, wanting to reply, then changing her mind. No answer.

I know a place, a hundred miles from here and it’s just like you said you imagined California. Ocean, beach. If that’s what you dreamed for your birthday, you should totally do it.

What’s the name of the place?

Carmel by the Sea. You probably never heard of it. It’s small.

I haven’t. And while this is a nice idea, I just don’t know. I’m not used to being by myself. I don’t know anyone here. What would I do the whole day?

I can pick you up and go with you if you want.

This is beyond forward and I’m not sure what’s gotten into me. I think I’ve been spending too much time being serious, and following a routine, and now I’m overcompensating.

I see her reading the message, but she’s not texting back. I freaked her out. Great job!

No offense, but I don’t know you. Sorry, I know you’re trying to be nice, but…

I just offered because you said you didn’t want to be alone. I think you should go… even if you’re by yourself. What’s the alternative? Sitting on a plastic chair for twenty-four hours?

She gets up, and paces and paces. OK. I’ll go.

I can’t believe it. She said OK. This is by far the craziest thing I’ve ever done.

OK. Great. You need to take a shuttle to Carmel. It’s $40. Just follow the signs to the bus station and you’ll see it there. By the time you get to Carmel, I’ll have sent you an itinerary.

She puts the phone to her forehead then texts.

Why are you being so nice to me?

Because nobody deserves to be alone and unhappy on their birthday.

Thank you! And sorry if I seemed a bit antisocial. I’m not pretending to be, that’s just how I am ha-ha. I’m a bit of a mess. Don’t like being alone, but I’m not great with people either.

Don’t worry, you’re doing great. And, you’re very welcome.