The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara
Fifty-Nine
All is lost. It’s too late. I shouldn’t have waited. I should’ve talked to him at six in the morning. Or yesterday when I first suspected who he was.
I’m not crying, although I feel like crying. I think I’m too much in shock and my body is numb and my brain is numb too. I can’t feel anything but desperation. I have failed.
I walk through Carmel, not knowing where I’m going or what I’m going to do.
My cell rings. I have to do this once and for all. “Hello, David,” I say.
“Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you for ten days. I’m still in denial; can’t believe you left. I’m sure we can fix whatever is wrong. Just come back and let’s talk it through.”
“I’m not coming back, David. I thought I made that clear in my note.”
“Where are you? I know you’re not in Hartford. Your mother told me.”
Ugh, Mom. I told her not to answer his calls.
“It doesn’t matter where I am.”
“Why don’t you want me to know where you are?”
“What is that saying? What you don’t know can’t hurt you?”
“Wha—?”
“Don’t call me again. Don’t call my mother. We’re done.”
“Maya, I—”
“Goodbye, David,” I say and hang up.
A few minutes later, my cell rings again. I’m about to block David’s number when I see it’s not him. It’s a local number and although I haven’t saved it on my phone, I recognize it. It’s Ethan. If I answer, hell shall be released on him. My fury knows no limits now. I reject his call.
It’s maybe a couple of hours since I started walking. My feet hurt, my head hurts and I still have no solutions. I don’t think there’s any way out of this. I call Alisa, but her phone is turned off and when I look at the time, I realize it’s been way more than two hours. More like four. It’s almost five o’clock, which is one in the morning in London. I have no one to talk to and I don’t know what to do. I should get my things and go back home. It’s done. I’m done.
Ethan calls again. I’m about to reject his call again, when I hear footsteps behind me.
I turn and it’s Ethan. My jaw drops. The nerve! “What are you doing here?”
“I just came back to Carmel.”
“No, what are you doing here?”
“Celine told me you left the café, so I came looking for you.”
He sounds calm. Of course he’s calm. Why wouldn’t he be calm?
“Why would you look for me?”
He clenches his jaw. “She was worried about you.”
“Please, go. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
“Maya, look—”
“Don’t Maya, look me. I saw the newspaper. Celine saw the newspaper. And what’s worse, Aaron saw the newspaper. Are you happy now? I assume you’re happy.”
He smiles and I feel like punching him. Again. “Don’t worry about Aaron.”
“Don’t worry about Aaron? Stop patronizing me. Who do you think you are?”
“All I meant is that it’s not Aaron. Max is not Aaron.”
“Max lives in Carmel and there are only a handful of Lift drivers here. It has to be him.”
“You’re wrong. Max doesn’t live in Carmel anymore. He moved out last year.”
“W—what? Why would I believe you? Why would I believe anything you say?”
He shrugs. “For one, because Aaron’s been in love with the same woman for years.”
If Aaron is not Max and Max doesn’t live here, how could I possibly find him? Is there any other way that doesn’t involve Ethan? There’s none. None.
I take a deep breath. “OK. Let’s say I do believe you; Max is not Aaron. Then who is he? Why won’t you tell me? Why are you so against me talking to him?”
He stares into my eyes and although I’m furious at him and a minute ago I would’ve physically taken him on, I find myself calming down. And that same feeling I had the other day in San Francisco, when we were looking at each other, wraps around me like a warm blanket. What is it about this man? I’ve never been so conflicted, so torn in my feelings for someone. Ever. One minute I could just stare into his eyes and get lost in them like a teenager, the next I’m attacking him. I have all the reasons in the world to hate him right now. He stands between me and the man I fell in love with a year ago. He stands in the way of my happiness.
“I will tell you who he is if you tell me why you came back to Carmel. You said I was wrong thinking it was to advance your writing career. Prove me wrong. Tell me why you came back. But I want the truth.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything, Ethan. Why are you getting in between us? We’re not kids who need a chaperone. He’s a grown man who can take care of himself.”
“I already said. Because I don’t want him to get hurt again. He’s been hurt enough.”
“Has he? By me? I read your novel and that’s not what happened.”
“I’m not even going to ask what strings you pulled to get an advanced copy.”
“I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”
“So what is the lie in my story?”
“Everything about how it ended.”