The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara
Sixty-Five
June 13
Last night I slept poorly again. Kept waking up and then struggled to fall asleep.
I shouldn’t have called Alisa before I went to bed.
I picked up the phone and put it back on the nightstand a few times. I wanted to call and tell her what happened, but something made me hesitate. Realizing she’d know something was off if I missed our call two nights in a row, I dialed her number.
“Finally,” she said. “I was about to send MI6 after you.”
I told her about the last two days but kept it to a minimum because I knew it would be hard for her to understand our arrangement.
“So, Aaron isn’t Max and you’re basically back to square one.”
“Sort of. It’s just a matter of days before I find out his name though.”
“And this is the reason why you guys watched a movie and today went for a drive?” she asked casually. “So you can find out Max’s real name?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” she asked a bit bluntly. “I don’t get it.”
“What do you mean why? I told you. Before he tells me, he wants to make sure my intentions are good.”
“Like in an eighteenth-century chaperone type of thing? Is Max a tween?”
She had the exact same reaction I had when Ethan refused to tell me who Max is. But, since then, things have changed, I think. I see things differently now.
“He’s just looking out for his friend,” I said, realizing how it sounded.
“Isn’t this the same man who plastered a photo of the two of you kissing in a paper, not caring about his friend’s feelings? Now he cares? What’s going on with you, Maya?”
“Nothing is going on,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “And it was his publishers who put the photo in the paper. Besides, you told me I should be more open and make friends.”
“This is not what I had in mind.”
“You know what? Me neither. But sometimes it doesn’t work exactly as you plan.”
“Hello? Is my friend still there? Who’s talking? I hear the voice, but I don’t recognize who’s behind it,” she said and I know she was trying to joke but it wasn’t too far from the truth.
That was why I hadn’t wanted to call her.
“I’m going to ask the obvious. Why are you not talking to Celine about this? Ask her if she knows who Max is.”
Smart Alisa.
“I thought about that too, but I’d have to explain too much and hurt her feelings, probably for nothing since she doesn’t seem to be that involved in his writing.”
“That sounds like an excuse to me,” she said.
“I’m beat,” I said. “Have to get some sleep. Long day tomorrow.”
“Another impromptu adventure?” she asked sarcastically.
“I doubt it. I think it was a one-time thing.”
“As if. Either way, there can’t be that many adventures left. He’s leaving in a few days.”
Her words fall like rocks on my head. It was as if I had put that part out of mind. But the reality is that, yes, there are only a few days left. I wish she hadn’t reminded me just yet.
In the morning, we all get up at the same time, which is unusual. And as Celine and I are leaving, Ethan comes with us.
Celine doesn’t act surprised, so I follow suit.
Ethan and I don’t talk much on the way there, but from time to time we look in each other’s direction and when our eyes meet, we both smile. Celine seems oblivious.
He helps us open up the café and then goes to his table and I see him taking out my manuscript and reading.
An hour passes. Two. He’s still reading. He takes a break for a while and writes or edits his latest book. After lunch, he takes out the manuscript again.
I found things to do around his table way too many times today, but every time I got close to him, it’s as if he had eyes in the back of his head. He’d turn the page on its back, and I couldn’t see where he was and he keeps putting the pages he finishes back under the manuscript.
It’s early in the afternoon and there’s no line; the dishes are washed. Celine is out back on the bench, taking a break. I’ve tried to write some more of her story but haven’t been able to focus. I tried everything I could to keep my mind off Ethan reading my work. Everything.
“I see you prefer to get to know the quiet version of me,” I say, pointing at the manuscript.
He looks up. “I didn’t know if the talking version could stomach me two days in a row.”
“Wasn’t that bad, was it?” I giggle. What’s next, batting my eyelashes? What’s wrong with me?
“Not for me,” he says.
Celine comes from the kitchen and I walk away from Ethan’s table and as I do, I see a blond guy, sitting at one of the tables outside.