“Nothing.”
“Tell me. I’ll close my eyes, and it’ll be like I’m listening to a message from you.”
This makes me laugh. Our back-and-forth voicemails are a weird habit, but he talks about them like they’re totally normal. And maybe it’s because we’re here in a booth at Sal’s, where we’ve sat hundreds of times before, or maybe I sense some pleading behind his eyes, but something tugs at my insides—makes mewantto talk about the hotel and my life and everything in person.
“Hotel management wasn’t my goal.” I rub my lips between my teeth, contemplating the right way to explain my feelings. “The Mirage was unexpected. You know, I’d always thought I might grow up to be a ranger or maybe a wildlife biologist and work in the park nearby. Taking over The Mirage…it just happened.”
It happened because the alternative was unthinkable.
“You’re happy?” he asks, his head tilted to the side like he’s reading between the lines.
“Knowing her dream is alive in the world makes me happy.” Some days I want to pull my hair out, but I don’t manage the hotel for me. “People can go to this beautiful place she created and experience the love she had for Harlow…that makes it worth it.”
Max pauses. “She was a legend.”
“She was,” I say, holding my glass up.
“I know you told me not to come to the funeral, but I…I feel terrible about missing it. For you.”
“Don’t. It was an overwhelming time.” I swallow. “I appreciate you respecting my wishes.”
Although my mom slots into the conversation easily with Max, I’d love to keep things light between us. That rules out benign “How’re the folks?” questions—he’s always been at odds with hisparents, and I’ve already told him through our voicemails about adjusting to my dad’s not-so-new girlfriend.
“How’s work?” I ask to change the subject.
He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “I’m, uh, actually between jobs right now.”
“Like a different…they’re called pop-ups, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the new one?”
“No, I, um…” He rolls his sleeves up, exposing forearms etched with lean muscle. “I’m not working for that company anymore.”
“So a new job?”
“Not quite. My work kind of blew up, and I’m…figuring some things out. Long story,” he says, waving his hands like he wants to wipe any mention of this from my memory. “Just don’t Google me, okay?”
“Well, when you put it like that, Googling you is all I want to do.” I make a show of pulling out my phone.
“Daze.” My nickname on his tongue makes me shudder. “I’m serious. I’ll tell you later, but for now, let’s just…have a nice time.”
As much as I wish he’d stop being secretive and just explain what happened, I don’t want to badger him. “Fine.” I hold up my pointer finger, and he tracks my movement as I make an X over my heart. “So how long are you in town?”
“Not sure.”
Our eyes meet, and I wonder if he can hear the questions bouncing around in my skull. What doesnot suremean? A few days? A few weeks?
“Art curator openings aren’t exactly overflowing on LinkedIn,” he goes on, “but I’m looking for jobs.”
“Some place’ll wanna snatch you up.” I nod, a wave of relief and pain surging through me. “Who knows, maybe you’ll be evenfarther away than Ireland this time. You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”
Max was the opposite of me growing up. While I struggled in school and never found my calling, he was bound for something great. Straight A’s, talented, charismatic. Too big for Harlow. Whatever he’s dealing with, he’ll overcome it.
“Anyway.” He thumbs the condensation on his glass. “I always have a backup career as the private driver for The Mirage.”
“The Hollises mentioned you by name in their Yelp review. First and last.”
