Maya by Shayne Ford

2

MAYA

A few weeks later.

Cleaningup the mess in the aftermath of a separation is not an easy task.

Matt has become difficult and uncooperative.

I sense him annoyed and irritated with the process as if it’s my fault we’re going through this.

He wants what he wants when he wants it.

He’s childish and petulant, and all the traits I’ve hated about him these past few months have become more evident, getting on my nerves.

Being civil about it did nothing for him.

His short-temper shines through his clipped messages, dry wording, and eagerness to move on and pursue whatever he is after.

We avoid each other as much as possible, discuss issues through our lawyers, and pretend we’ve never shared a home together.

I hate every moment of it, and I bite my lip more times than I could count, trying to push back my vitriolic retorts.

Man-child is the word that comes to mind more times than I care to admit it.

He whines, procrastinates, and shuts me out when all we need to do is go through this together.

My phone starts ringing, pulling me out of my head.

I kicked a moving box to the side, pick up my phone from the windowsill, and answer the call.

I give the men directions to my old place, and the moving truck pulls in the driveway a few minutes later.

Hours later, the house is empty, my stuff is on its way to the storage unit, the furniture has been collected by a buyer, and Matt’s crap is headed to the address he’s given me.

The sunlight gleams across the windows, the sun moving toward the horizon.

This is the perfect moment to walk out of this house and never think about it ever again, but I can’t, so I drop my purse and my phone on the wooden floor and head to the patio.

I open the doors one last time and look at the space in front of me.

The lawn is pretty as it’s always been, soft light dripping from the trees, bugs flying over the grass.

Some time ago, I spent an entire afternoon cleaning up the patio, potting the plants, and hanging strings of lights above the doors.

I remember that night as if it was yesterday. Tara, my best friend, and I sat at the table while Matt was busy inside with other people.

Tara and I chatted while I had a smoke, and for a moment, it felt as if we were in high school again.

She had met a stranger that night, and he’d been amazing to her. I listened to her, spellbound, living vicariously through her story.

When was the last time a man had made me come instantaneously as it had happened to her?

Never.

It had never happened. Not in the beginning, and not even later when supposedly the sex gets better, or so I’ve heard, although not from Tara––in that regard, she’s generally had the same experience as me.

I say 'generally' because that man has changed things for her.

So, he was different.

Crossing my arms, I stare blankly at the lawn.

Neither of us has had a good hand at picking men.

In that regard, Matt and Josh could be brothers–not when it comes to looks, though, but everything else.

She was the first one to notice we had gotten into a rut, and things had become predictable, and it was too early to feel as if we’d reached the end of our lives.

I laugh, recollecting that moment.

I argued with her. Or she argued with me. No, it was me.

I said everybody was living like us, but something glinted in her eyes that evening, telling me otherwise, and it had to do with the man she had met.

That man knew so much about her, not her address or that kind of stuff but what lied in her heart.

That story shook her, and it shook me. My heart wanted to scream out at what she said about hitting a wall and living in a rut.

That mysterious man had set things in motion for her, and I was right there absorbing his thoughts expressed in her words.

We felt old. And it wasn’t even that. We felt unloved.

And somehow, him fucking her in a public space, convincing her to give in to her repressed desires, unlocked timid screams for help.

How ironic.

He did a lot more than showing her a good time.

He knew what she had missed, so he had given her what she had longed for in emotions and boatloads of sensual touch.

He loved her with his body before she came to me, and I read their story in her eyes.

That night, I felt free for the first time in a long while, and I realized how shitty my life had become.

And something else happened that evening.

I felt hope for the first time. It was hope for her, and maybe a little hope for me.

She didn’t know if she could see him again. She didn’t even know his name or see his face.

It was odd. Strange. Strange but good.

She knew nothing about him while he knew everything about her. And he had brought to the surface what she and I had experienced but couldn’t name it.

I sigh.

Josh, Tara’s then-boyfriend, is gone, and Matt is gone now too, and Shade, the man who started it all, is the man in her life.

My hope is restored.

Maybe something like that could happen to me too, but things are a little fluid right now.

I’m still at my mother’s house, but I’m making progress.

Here I am at my old place, closing up a chapter of my life, grappling with regret while experiencing mournfulness.

My dreams have died here.

I liked this house more than I liked him. Sometime in the past, I thought that I’d hear children’s voices in the backyard one day.

Our children.

I couldn’t quite place him in that picture, and kids were never a topic we discussed. Toward the end, I gave up on the idea completely.

Where did things go wrong?

Who knows?

What am I grieving, really?

A failed start. A crushed dream.

Tears prickle my eyes.

Biting my lip, I push them back and glance around this place with expressed love one more time, etching the last memories in my mind while timidly staring into a future I can’t wait to experience, despite having a hard time imagining it.

What comes next?

* * *

MAYA

“Hey… You look good,”Tara says, hugging me.

Grinning, I pull away from her.

“Says the woman who spent her time on Amalfi coast with the man of her dreams.”

Her tan makes me jealous. Her blue eyes pop. Her smile is brighter than ever.

A sleeveless white dress highlights her toned body.

The hostess shows us to a table on the terrace.

We order wine, salads, grilled fish, and scallops with butter sauce before looking at each other again.

“How are things with you?” she asks, flashing a bright smile.

“Good. Okay…” I say softly.

She sets the napkin over her lap before sipping wine.

“I’ll start a new job on Monday.”

“Oh… That’s great.”

I hardly share her enthusiasm.

She knows I have a long-lasting love and hate relationship with jobs in general.

I worked as a waitress to support myself through college, and I took an office job for a little more money after graduating with a sociology degree.

It wasn’t my dream to work as an office manager, but those student loans won’t pay themselves. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but I had to pay my bills.

This job is no different.

“It’s okay,” I mutter.

“Hey. Look at the bright side. At least you’ve got a job. I might get fired soon.”

I look at her.

“Still having problems at work?”

She smiles.

“Oh, yes. And it’s so worth it.”

I grin, amused.

“How is Shade?”

She moans, recollecting some steamy moments––I imagine–– with her new boyfriend.

Her gaze meets mine, her eyes looking like postcards from the sunny coast of Italy.

The Mediterranean Sea gleams in them, along with the growing love for the man she is so smitten with.

A smile claims her lips, beaming in her eyes.

She looks down, for a second looking overwhelmed––it must be really good.

“I can’t even express how good he is to me.”

The waitress brings the food to the table, and we start eating when she continues.

“These few days in Italy felt as if I’d wasted my life before him.”

I know Tara well. We grew up together.

She’s never been dramatic. She doesn’t use empty words to make a statement. If she says something so outrageously shocking, it must be rooted in reality.

“Hmm… Shade Hennessy,” I murmur.

“Yes… That’s how I feel,” she says.

She sets her elbows on the table and stares blankly at her drink.

“I don’t want to brag…” she says.

“Please brag. I haven’t had sex in months, and I’m so over my vibrator, so please go on.”

We laugh.

Her smile subsides, a nostalgic look gliding over her face.

“He is different than Josh…”

She stops, pinning a vacant stare on the table while I’m gesturing impatiently.

“That’s not even news. Please go on.”

A smile curves her lips.

“You know how we talked about men in the past and tried to figure out which kind was the best for us, and stuff. And then we realized it didn’t quite work out for us with those we’d picked.

“I’m on the edge of my seat. Spill it out, already.”

A cheerful laugh falls from her lips.

“I’m doing it. Just chill.”

I flash a smile at her.

“Josh didn’t work out for me. And Matt didn’t work out for you.”

I flick my hand up and nod in agreement before focusing on a piece of food as she keeps going.

“Before Josh, things were so… I don’t know…”

“He didn’t pay much attention to you,” I murmur, sticking my fork into a piece of lettuce.

“Yes,” she blurts. “I mean, he did.”

“I know how he did it. I’ve experienced it at home. Maya, do this. Maya, do that. I was always in the wrong. I’ve never done enough for him, and it was always about the house, the parties, his work, the bills, the backyard. It was never about us as if we didn’t matter.”

“That’s right. Josh avoided the most important topics too,” she says.

“I think…”

I take a swig of wine, casting a critical eye on my now-defunct relationship.

“I think it was infatuation.”

I put another bit of food in my mouth.

She looks at me, waiting for me to continue.

“Yes. We’ve checked their boxes, and they’ve checked ours. It made sense, sociologically speaking.”

She laughs while I grin.

“You find it amusing?”

She gestures at me.

“The way you put it is funny.”

“But I’m right, right?”

She purses her lips and resumes eating.

“Yes.”

For a few seconds, we’re chewing the food in silence.

“So back to him…” I say.

“Yeah, back to him. The man is so young.”

“Younger,” I correct her.

“Younger. And the age gap is at odds with what I know about men. I always thought an older man would be more capable of catching the nuances and meeting my needs. But he knows stuff I don’t even know. It’s scary in a way.”

She puts the fork down and runs the napkin over her lips before leaning back in her seat.

“He has an old soul,” she says.

“Mmm… I love a hot man with an old soul,” I murmur, setting my fork down as well.

“That’s the thing,” she says, revisiting a memory. “These few days that we spent in Italy, we lived a different life,” she says, no longer smiling, going back to the memory of those days she already misses. “He was hot…” she adds, smiling transfixed, trying to center her focus on me but failing. “The sex was hot, but when he made love to me––and yes, he did––I felt everything about him… His heart, and his emotions, the way he was inside. He had me naked on a private beach and murmured poems in my ear while making love to me. Time stopped at that moment, and it was only us, two lost souls in the world.”

Her eyes glint with a bittersweet smile.

“He wants so much love from me, and that is unexpected and riveting at the same time. I never thought a man would open up to me that way.”

She sighs. And I sigh as well, my heart heavy and my eyes a little wet since I know exactly what she means.