Ann Aguirre - The Shape Of My Heart

I submerged the impulse to ask, Isn’t there anyone else? Because I knew the answer already, and I wouldn’t force-feed him that vulnerability on top of the shit sandwich life had already forced him to sample. But I couldn’t just pack a bag and ride off without some basic fact-finding. “How long will we be gone?”

“It’s a twelve-hour drive, but we’ll take regular breaks since you aren’t used to a long haul on the bike. I’m guessing five days, including travel.”

“Wait, we’re taking the motorcycle all the way to Rhode Island?”

As he turned his head, the moon popped out from behind a cloud, illuminating his smile. “You said we . So I guess so.”

“If I’m crazy enough to do this, you owe me some insider info on why.”

“Why?”

“You know what I’m asking. Why can’t you be polite long enough to put your grandfather in the ground? Or whatever you shegetz boys do.” I spoke the last sentence in a teasing tone.

Max got out his phone and turned it on, bright enough to startle me, then he pushed back the tumble of black hair, revealing a thin white scar. The screen flickered off, leaving me with the impression of his tan skin, dark eyes and the mark in sharp contrast. “I got that from my dad when I was eleven. Beer bottle. He chucked it, I didn’t duck in time.”

“Damn.”

“It’s not the only childhood souvenir.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “But that’s not why I can’t forgive him.”

“What happened?”

“Right now, I need an answer. Will you come?”

Angus and I didn’t have jobs, unlike Max and Nadia. Even if they disapproved of me, my parents still sent a regular allowance and paid my tuition. So there was no reason I couldn’t go to Providence with him; I just wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Some intuitive part of my brain sensed that it would change everything.

“Okay,” I said.

“Thanks so much, Kaufman. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Because you don’t want to miss the services?”

Max shook his head. “My brother will be there.”

Before I could ask, he pushed to his feet, dusted off his ass and offered his hand. I took it and let him tow me upright. We retraced our steps back to the bike as I pondered how bad this was likely to be. My family might not be perfect, but nothing like this; it was only a matter of me refusing to conform to expectations, and my mother’s weapon of choice was guilt. He swung onto the motorcycle and I got on after him, troubled for reasons I couldn’t articulate.

The ride back to the apartment felt faster, probably because I knew where we were going. Angus still wasn’t home, so I just nodded a good-night to Max and headed to my huge, half-empty room. He surprised me by following, pausing in the doorway as if waiting for an invite.

“You can come in,” I said.

“I wasn’t sure. But I just wanted to tell you to be ready by seven.”

“Oh, my God. It’s already midnight. Go to bed, Max.” After setting my alarm, I got ready, packed a backpack and followed my own advice.

In the morning, Max tapped on my door as I was lacing up my boots. I’d packed a black dress and some flats, along with clean panties and a few spare T-shirts. The cargo pants would have to last until we got back. Fortunately, riding on the back of his bike wouldn’t even faze my hair, no need for curling iron or straightener. That made it easier to travel light.

“Ready?” he asked as I stepped out.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Thanks.”

“You said that last night.”

“I want to be sure it comes across. There’s no way I could go back by myself.”

A small, curious part of me noticed that he didn’t say home but it seemed like the wrong time to dig into his motivations. Pausing in the kitchen, I rearranged the fridge magnets to read: Gone. Back Later. I’d text Angus at a more respectable hour and explain the situation, assuming this wasn’t top secret for reasons unknown to me.

“We can’t do this in one day,” Max said as he stuffed our bags in the top box. “Or you’ll be too sore to move afterward.”

“Promises, promises.” It was the sort of joke I always made, expecting him to goof back with me.

Max paused, frowning. “I don’t think that’s hot. Or funny.”

“Huh?”

“Fucking a woman so hard it hurts her. The idea makes me sick, actually.” That was more sincerity than I generally got from Max in a week, but it was too early for me to parse.

“There’s a difference between being pleasantly tender, the result of good, rough sex, and crawling away from the bedroom all bruised and bloody.”

“I know, sorry. That’s just...one of my hot buttons.”

Pausing, I wondered about that story, but it wasn’t the time to ask. “No problem. Shall we roll out?”

The weather was perfect for taking to the open road, sunny sky in summer blue, not a cloud in sight. After two hours on the bike, I understood what he meant, though. It wasn’t like riding in a car; my arms were tired from holding on to him and my ass was numb, both from the pavement and the vibrations. Just past ten in the morning, he pulled off at a rest plaza in Ohio. The place was huge, almost like an auto-mall, plenty of parking, three fast food places, picnic tables, a strip of green for pets. I stumbled as I swung my leg over, and it hurt when I straightened my back; I had been leaning forward, pressed against Max for too long.

“Sorry. I should’ve stopped sooner. You hungry?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have anything before we took off.”

“Me, either.”

“I need the bathroom first, so I’ll meet you in the food court.”

I used the facilities, washed my hands and stopped, drawn by my reflection. Mirrors were too honest, showing me a woman with a sharp nose and deep-set eyes. I used the purple hair to distract from my face, like a male bird strutting his colorful plumage. My body wasn’t bad, though I carried extra weight in trunk and saddlebag. I’d long since come to terms with the fact that I didn’t attract looks from across a crowded room. In fact, I was pretty used to being the grenade a wingman would fall on in order to give his buddy a shot at my hot friend.

But on a global scale, problems like that were minuscule, and I was smiling when I found Max waiting with my favorite breakfast sandwich. Pretending to check it over, I sat down across the table from him. “Hmm. Bacon. Egg. Cheese. This passes inspection.”

“Glad to hear it. I didn’t know if you wanted coffee or juice so I got both.”

“Then I’ll drink both. How’re you holding up?”

“You make me sound decrepit. We haven’t been riding that long.”

Dropping my voice, I leaned forward, as if I was about to whisper a dirty secret. Max met me halfway. “I meant emotionally.”

“Oh. Then I’m wrecked.” The flat tone belied the truth I glimpsed in his eyes. “I don’t even know if my brother will talk to me.”

“What happened?”

“You want my sad life story in a travel plaza?”

Put that way, it sounded wrong, but I couldn’t deny my curiosity. So I ate my breakfast sandwich and followed him back outside, where I stretched for, like, five minutes. Max did the same, then we continued the trip. Though he was considerate and stopped every two hours so I could move around, by the time we hit the middle of Pennsylvania I was ready to call it quits. I’d have paid big money for a hot tub, but we stopped at an interstate motel, no Jacuzzis to be had, and I’d rather eat a bug than risk a yeast infection by soaking in a strange bathtub.

Max offered to spring for my room, but it seemed stupid for him to pay double. “Just get one with two beds. It’s not a big deal.”