Maurice clears his throat and shakes his head once, and then twice. “I’m sorry, but just now, it sounded like you said you had sex with my daughter.”
“Yes, that’s what I said, and we fell in love too. Maurice, it wasn’t premeditated, nor was it something I planned. You offered me the cottage, and I went. But apparently, Mina told Rachel the house was empty and so coincidentally, we were there at the same time. Your daughter’s a beautiful woman, and one thing led to another.”
Maurice stares at me, a sweat forming on his upper lip.
“You’ve known her since she was born, Max.”
I nod.
“I have, but things changed. Rachel grew up, and when I saw her, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. Hell, she’s twenty-seven, so she’s well into adulthood.”
Maurice stares at me.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
I shake my head.
“No. I’m in love with your daughter, and that’s why I’m here. I lost my phone and when I finally got it back, she was no longer responsive. Rachel’s gone AWOL. She won’t take my calls, she won’t answer my texts, and I have no idea where she lives. I need her address.”
Maurice merely stares at me again. Now, his entire face looks sweaty, and sure enough, he’s turning an alarming shade of purple-red.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he sputters again.
I’m beginning to get desperate.
“Look, just give me her address, okay? I know Rachel lives somewhere in Manhattan. Just give it to me, and I’ll get out of your hair. We can talk about this more later.”
The pipe finally busts, and Maurice lets out a howl of agony, spittle flying from his lips.
“What the hell? You’ve been fucking my little girl? The one with the braids whom you literally used to give piggy-back rides to?”
Ugh, this is not going well, but my actions do sound really fucked up when he puts it that way.
“Yes. But I need her address. Now.”
Maurice lets out another agonized howl, which brings Mina running into the living room with an alarmed expression.
“Mo, what’s wrong? Oh, hi Max. How are you? Mo, Mo, calm down!”
But the howling won’t stop and Maurice literally curls on the couch and almost appears to be having convulsions. Mina rushes forward.
“Maurice, it’s okay! Just breathe, breathe! You know what the doctor said! Overexertion isn’t good for your heart.”
With that, my friend calms a bit, although his skin literally looks the color of an eggplant. Making things even worse, there are tears in his eyes.
“I can’t believe you did this,” he accuses in a wavering voice.
I pause, pinch the bridge of my nose, and sigh.
“I know, and I’m sorry. But I’m in love with your daughter, okay? Now please. Rachel’s address, I’m begging you.”
With that, Mina spins on me, but to my surprise, she doesn’t look angry. Instead, the middle-aged woman scrawls something on a piece of paper and hands it to me.
“We’ve known you thirty years, Max, and you’ve always been a stand-up guy when it comes to our family. If you love Rachel, then I know you’ll figure this out. Go find my daughter.”
I seize the paper and almost run out the door.
“Thank you, Mina. Truly. Your friendship means so much to me, and I just want to take care of Rachel. More than anything. You’ll see.”
With that, I dash down thirteen flights of stairs in pursuit of the woman who’s stolen my heart. After all, everything I said is true. I’m in love with Rachel Champion, and now, it’s time to tell the curvy girl.
14
Max
I rush to the East Village like a madman. I wouldn’t be surprised if my hair is on fire, I’m that desperate. But when I come to Rachel’s apartment building, I pause for a moment. There’s no sense in looking like a crazy person, even if I am one.
Fortunately, one of her neighbors exits right when I’m entering, so I don’t have to buzz up. Instead, I climb the rickety stairs to the third floor and stand before Rachel’s door with my hand poised. Then I knock in what I hope is a firm, assured manner.
To my surprise, the curvy girl answers immediately. She must have been expecting take-out because she’s got her wallet in one hand, already open. But then she gasps, her eyes wide.
“Max?”
I look at her for the first time in far too long and notice all the little things. She’s gorgeous. Her hair is in a messy bun piled on top of her head, and she’s in baggy sweats, but they don’t do anything to conceal those sassy hills and valleys. If anything, she looks better natural like this, and very much herself.
“What are you doing here?” she demands.
I growl, my expression furious.
“Why am I here?” I ask. “Why are you here? Why the fuck didn’t you come back to the cottage like you said?”