Tuesday & Max

21

THERE'S A MOUNTAIN BETWEEN US

BUT THERE'S ONE THING I'M SURE OF

THAT I KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT YOU

He wants to kiss her. It's in his eyes.

There's not a lot of space left between them, but what few centimetres remain are persistent. When Tuesday's eyes flick to his lips and then back up, she can suddenly see why. His expression is subtly different; unsure of itself.

The space between them is Jack.

Shit, Jack.

Tuesday fumbles to sit up, trying to act as though she's stretching instead of escaping the very real atmosphere that hangs over them. Somehow, it still feels wordlessly acknowledged by them both.

The sound of light footsteps fills the hall.

Max's mother knocks faintly and then gently opens the door. Her hair is tied back and her eyes are sleepy. Tuesday tries not to look guilty, for a myriad of crimes she both has and hasn't committed. She hopes Diana doesn't notice the ice-filled glasses now on Max's bedside table and guess what was in them. If she does, she chooses not to comment.

"I didn't mean to sleep that long," she confesses, leaning against the doorframe. "Are you two okay?" The new space between Tuesday and Max feels fabricated, like a cover-up.

We didn't do anything, she absurdly wants to say.

The only anything she's ever done was with Jack; clumsy, mortified fumblings in the dark, curtains braced against the see-all light of the late afternoon, Tuesday's eyes on the ceiling, waiting for it to be good. Does it ever get good? Her eyes fall to one of Max's hands, fingers clenched lightly in the bedclothes. Everything about him is starting to set her on fire. She can't imagine anything not being good with him.

"I was thinking we could order dinner soon," Diana says as if she wasn't expecting a response anyway. "Chinese? Indian? Pizza?"

Tuesday doesn't know where to begin thinking about food. The gin and her own guilt sit heavily in her stomach and she looks back at Max's blank gaze expectantly.

"Well, you just do it on the computer," Max's mom tells him after a beat. "You know what I like. Order whatever else you both want." She smiles. "I'll see you downstairs in a bit."

She leaves the door slightly open behind her as she goes.

Tuesday doesn't know what to do. The almost-kiss moment was real, wasn't it? She hadn't imagined it?

Or had she?

Max gets up immediately, sitting at his desk and flipping open a laptop. She spots the familiar logo of Just Eat glowing back at him, igniting the fine baby hairs on his ears.

Maybe it was just the gin the whole time. The gin and these feelings she's tried to ignore for the past five months.

God, you're so stupid.

"What do you fancy?" Max asks, still facing the computer.

Fighting the completely absurd urge to cry, Tuesday suggests Chinese food. "Chicken chow mein," she offers, and by the time he's completed the order, she's pulled herself together.

☂

Dinner goes smoothly. Diana is funny, talks a lot, and when she listens to Tuesday, Tuesday feels as though she's really paying attention; like everything she's saying matters. There's no glazed eyes or occasional competing for who can get the quickest word in, like there sometimes is with Julia.

Diana signs a copy of Julia's favourite novel happily, urging Tuesday to tell her to email if she has any questions or wants to chat, and refuses all of Tuesday's efforts to help clean up at the end with a wave of the hand.

In the sitting room afterwards, Max apologises for 'the fortune cookie thing'.

Tuesday had barely noticed, but the three fortune cookies that came with the order had all been eaten by Diana, their fortunes lined up in front of her. She frowned to herself as she read them, then sighed and swiped them all into the bin together.

"That's okay," Tuesday tells him quietly. "Julia does weirder stuff than that at every meal. I liked her. She was nice."

"Yeah," he replies. "Thank God."

He offers to walk her to the train station but she declines, fearful of that moment at the end. The goodbye. The moment with the hug, without the hug, or something more. The temptation to be close to him upstairs is enough for today. She needs space, time to think. She needs to see Jack.

The train is quiet. She hops nervously over the perpetually too-wide gap and navigates carefully down the aisle as the floor begins to move. The seat she chooses is by a window, facing the direction that the train rushes. It lulls her with its rhythmic rocking, calms her remorseful heart.

Jack is good. He's good for her. How would she feel if the tables were turned? If she knew that he'd lay beside Naomi, forcing himself not to kiss her, to run his hands through her hair, when it was becoming all he wanted to do?

She unlocks her phone, navigates to Messenger and hovers over his name. Before she taps it, a new message slides her list downward. It's from Candice.

Sleepover soon? xo

Relief floods her. Perhaps this is an opportunity to finally tell someone how she's been feeling, to get some advice that isn't self-inflicted.

What are you doing tonight? On train home now, be back in 20

Nothing! I'll be over at 8 xxx

Thank God.

Bring food