The Price We Pay. A Life Is Strange Story.
"Are you sure? I don't know …"
"Chloe, it'll help. Trust me."
"Fine. Give it here."
"I'll step out, give you some privacy."
"Hey, Max?"
"Yeah?"
"I … Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now write."
October 26
I don't know what I should write about … but Max says I should start by saying hey.
Hey.
I'll be straight (not in life, haha) with what I'm about to say: I didn't want this journal. I don't like the idea of writing down everything that's going on in my head. It makes me feel like I'm just sitting around, wasting time. If I wanted to waste time, I would light up. But I guess I lost my weed when the storm hit the house. We only have a couple of go-bags between us. Photo I.D. Spare cash and clothes. Blankets. We've had to buy food and drinks on the road. Then, yesterday, we were in a supermarket and Max tossed this notebook in the basket. "It'll be useful," she said. I figured she wanted to take inventory of our stuff so that we didn't blow the budget. I didn't know what she actually meant until now. Four bucks for me to write down my feelings just like she does. But it was her idea for me to keep this thing, and I trust her and her judgment with every fiber of my being. Besides, she only started writing in hers again a few days ago. I wonder what she writes about, but I don't feel a desire to know. Maybe someday I will, and maybe she'll open that head of hers and turn the page. Maybe I'll share one of these with her. If I don't toss this thing out the window first. But hey, she's already changed my life so much, so I might as well give it a shot. I owe her that and more, and I can never do enough to thank her.
Maybe I should introduce myself properly. This is the first entry, after all.
Hey again. My name is Chloe Price. I'm nineteen. And it's been two weeks since my girlfriend Max Caulfield destroyed our home to save my life.
Fuck. Writing it down makes it seem more cut and dry than it actually was. Like Max had a W.M.D. and aimed it square at all those fucks who made our lives hell … and caught the few good Arcadians in the crossfire. In a way, I guess she did. If that's what you call saving me from death and inadvertently creating a freak storm and giant tornado to roll through Arcadia Bay. She didn't mean for that to happen, I know. She just wanted to help me. I didn't deserve it. I still don't deserve it. But I trusted her to make the decision between me and Arcadia. And I promised that I would stand by her, no matter what she chose – though it would have been harder for me to physically stand by her when the other option involved my imminent death. Then again, I've already died a bunch of times. Or have I? Ugh. Time travel's confusing. A large part of me was glad when Max swore to never use her powers again. If she still has them at all. Maybe since everything's come and gone – my deaths, the storm, all the chaos – her powers have gone too. But she doesn't want to risk testing them. Fine by me. It's been two weeks and nothing ominous has happened, but I think it's going to be a while before we actually feel like we're in the clear.
When we drove out of Arcadia for good, we didn't hear anything about the storm until later that night, huddled in the cab of my truck together underneath a blanket and listening to the radio. "A freak storm has devastated a rural Oregon town," the guy said. The report was vague – as in it barely had any important information. F.E.M.A. was responding, but there was nothing about if survivors had been found. I turned off the radio and we cried ourselves to sleep. We rinsed and repeated this for the next two days, until we heard a firm count of the death toll and the injured. A lot of people died that night. But apparently a lot of people also survived. We didn't know who exactly. Since then, I've thought about turning on my phone and calling Mom. But the fear that she didn't make it has kept it turned off.
There are days when I wonder why I promised to stand by Max's choice. How I could just stand by and watch as Max chose not to intervene for the many after she had done so much for the few. Should I have stopped her from tearing up that photo? But then, why don't I regret her decision as much as I think I should?
That's a hard one to answer right now. I'll get back to it later. And I'm tired. I guess the best way to end this first entry would be to talk about what we've done in two weeks of being on the road.
We've left Oregon behind. We cut straight through Portland and crossed the border into Washington. We stayed in a Vancouver motel for a night before getting back on the road to Olympia. I wish I could write about what happened that night in Vancouver, but I have to be honest and say that I don't remember. Max says we shared a bottle of vodka and fooled around for a little bit, but I was too drunk to even pull off my shirt, and she was close to passing out. So we slept and sobered the hell up the morning after. Funny enough, it took less time to get to Olympia than it had to get to Vancouver from Arcadia. Max called her parents the morning after the storm to let them know that we were okay. They were preparing to come down to Arcadia, but we were already on the road north. In the end, everyone was on the same page: we were going to Seattle to stay with the Caulfield family for a little while. But that trip is less than six hours, and it's been two weeks. Max told them at the beginning that we would be spending a week on the road, just taking some time together before we went up. Since then she's kept her phone off for the same reasons I have.
Anyway, we stopped in Olympia and had a break. We had lunch and some more coffee (it's called pumpkin-spice, bitches!) and we talked a bit. Okay, we talked a lot. Or maybe it wasn't that long, and it was all about what we talked about. And really, there were only two things to talk about. It felt too raw – and it still does, though we try – to talk about Arcadia and the choice she made. So instead we talked about … us. It was going to happen eventually.
I already knew that I was hella in love with Max Caulfield. I think she just needed to be sure for herself that she was in love with me too. We left the diner and she took me into an alley and we said those words again just to be sure. Then she kissed me. It wasn't like that first time in my bedroom, where I had half-hoped she would rise to my dare and was surprised when she actually did it. This was something else. It was cold, that day in Olympia. Her hands were on my waist and she kissed me like it meant the world to her. And I kissed her back, because I knew now she actually was the world to me. Then we cried. We were kissing in an alley in Olympia, tasting each other's tears. Our sadness. Our desperation. Our longing. Our love. Mushy emotions and all this other shit.
There's a knock on my window and I look up from the notebook. Max is peering in. She's not reading my writing. She's just watching me. I close the notebook and roll down the window.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" I say. She smiles.
"How's it going so far?" she says.
I decide to tell the truth. "I don't know how you do this. Take everything in your head and spill it all over a page."
She gives me a look like she's been shot. "It doesn't sound so great when you put it like that. Besides, you looked like you were flying along."
"Sorry. I'm just caught up with it all."
She nods.
"Hey, give me your hand," I say. She holds her hand out in front of me. I take it and kiss it delicately, like she's my queen and I'm kneeling before her.
"Why?" she says. She looks slightly happier.
"I just felt like it. How are you doing?"
She shrugs. "It's cold out here, and I want to lie down."
That's when it dawns on me that it's starting to get dark. How much time have I spent writing?
"Then don't mind me," I say. "Come on. Get in."
She comes in and lies across the seat, resting her head in my lap and looking up at me. We smile at each other, and I gently brush her hair out of her eyes.
"To be honest, I just wanted an excuse to do this," she says.
"You know you don't need an excuse to get on my lap," I say with mock seriousness. She laughs.
"I know. Hey, we're still going to get to Seattle, right?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
The smile fades from her face.
"I turned on my phone again."
I feel my heartbeat starting to race. I swallow. "And?"
"My mom and dad called. They want to know why we haven't made it, if anything was wrong. That they can come and get us wherever we are now, considering we're less than two hours away from them."
I let out the breath that I hadn't known I was holding. Not Arcadia … Just Seattle.
"Did you tell them that we've been taking a little time-out before we see them?"
"I did. They said that as long as we're taking care of ourselves and we aren't injured, it would be fine. I just have to keep in contact with them daily until we arrive."
"You know what you're risking, leaving your phone on?"
"I know. But this time we're spending together, disconnected from the rest of the world … it's precious to me."
"That's awesome to hear. So you're still happy with camping half a mile off the side of the I-5?"
"As long as we're in it together."
"Always, Maxine."
November 1
I guess I forgot to keep writing in here for a few days. Maybe that was so I could wash off all the mush from that first entry.
Hitting the road today! Yep, Price and Caulfield are off to Seattle, Washington. I can tell Max is looking forward to it, even though she's trying to hide it in front of me. But I am happy for her. And I'm hitching my wagon to her family anyway. Do I care that I still haven't heard from Joyce? Fine, I admit it. But that's a separate thing. Max's family wasn't in trouble. Mine was. It's a separate thing.
I had trouble sleeping last night, thinking about what it was going to be like, seeing Max's parents again after so many years and all the shit. But today, I'm a little excited. This is a chance for us to sit back and look at the road ahead of us. As nice as Max's parents are, I'm not planning to sit around in Seattle forever. I still want to see California someday. I want to get lost, and be ready for it. Not like this – we weren't ready for this. But if we had some more money, and an actual plan, and we set some shit up, then we could do whatever we want! Go wherever we want! Partner in crime and partner in time roaming without a care in the world! (Even though I'm trying to mellow out and Max still hasn't tested her powers – but whatever.)
I haven't talked to Max about this. I will at some point. But I want to see how she goes for the next little while. I worry about her. Now, more than ever. I think because we're now together together I'm just more aware of what she might be feeling. Of course she doesn't smile as much as she used to. Then those times when she wakes us up in the middle of the night, muttering and whimpering in her sleep. I get it. I wonder if that's happened to me too, and I just can't remember. It probably has. Does she hold me and calm me back to sleep before I fully wake up, just like I do for her?
I'm not a writer. I'm rambling. Does Max go on this much when she writes in her journal? She's been doing it a long time. Probably knows how to keep things down to a couple of pages. Okay. I'm done. I'll come back whenever. See you in Seattle, fuckers.
I gently reach over and shake Max awake. It's 9.00 in the morning, and I've just walked back from a nearby roadhouse with some of the good stuff. After that, it's maybe an hour and a half to Seattle.
"Come on, sleepy," I say. She groans, but opens her eyes.
"What's up?" she says.
"Off to the Emerald City. So rise and shine, if you don't want me to eat all this breakfast I bought for the two of us."
She straightens up in the passenger seat and does a small stretch. Then she notices my bag and I swear I can hear her stomach growling. I pass the bag over to her and she paws through it like a squirrel, eventually coming out with a chicken roll. Roadhouse chicken is always dicey, so I made sure that it was all properly cooked before walking out of the place. Max doesn't give it a second thought and takes a big, eager bite. I barely realize that just watching her is bringing a smile to my face. It reminds me of the old days when she would wake up like a zombie after a sleepover. It's one of her old habits that I thought had slipped away, but living together in a truck cab for more than two weeks tells me no, it's still there – just gotta wait for it. In the wild, Maxine Caulfield must feel comfortable before poking her head out and showing these sides of herself.
"Your parents know for sure that we're coming today?" I say.
She nods and swallows the food. "Like I told you. They have the guest room set up for you and everything."
"Huh." I frown. "You know, we haven't talked about telling them about us."
She stops eating and gives me a strange look. "I haven't thought about it. Do you think we should?"
"Max, I'm not going to hide from anything or anyone. You know that's not me. And if your parents give us hell for being together, then I'm sorry, but so be it."
"How can you say that? Or how can you say it like that? Sure, I don't know how they'll react, but they're still my parents and they're giving us shelter until we can get back on our feet! Should we really risk it for your pride?"
"It's not just my pride. It's principle. How can I be comfortable even talking to them when I have to lie about something so important?"
She puts the roll down and scooches closer to me. She grabs my hand and looks at me with concern.
"Chloe. Think about it for a second. I said that I don't know how they would react. Even if they like you, they might still have a problem with me being with a girl. Going your way on this would be gambling with our future. I want to be with you, and I don't think we should risk what we have right now and what we could have later for the sake of grandstanding in my family's house."
"So you're saying we should just batten the hatches and wait it out? Who knows how long that could be …? But I think I see what you're getting at. And I don't wanna lose you either. Okay. And I guess I shouldn't even say that I'm with a nameless girl either …"
"Because they'll come asking questions of me, asking what I know about you," Max finishes.
"It's going to be hell, keeping you a secret after everything that's happened. But at least there's a little bright side to your plan." I grin. "A gamble could net you a jackpot."
She frowns again. "At the very least, we keep it a secret until we can get a feel of the situation and maybe predict what'll happen. And if you pull anything risky before we're sure of things, then you had better be prepared for me to get a little bit furious with you."
"Okay. It's your family, and I will heed your warning, Your Majesty," I say, and kiss her cheek. "Do you want to step out and pee or whatever before we go? We won't be stopping until we're there."
She stares at me like I've ended the conversation before its time. But then she squeezes my hand.
"Fine," she says. She lets go of my hand and hops out of the truck. "And don't think I won't notice if that chicken roll is smaller when I come back."
I watch her walking away and smile again. I start the truck and turn up the morning news radio.
November 10
More than a week since coming to Seattle. The bae and I are getting comfortable. In separate rooms, of course.
Max's parents have been interesting so far. Like they're not really sure if they should take their stages slow or unleash them all at once. The day we arrived, they were flip-flopping between smothering us in T.L.C. and interrogating us about what happened and why Max had had her phone off so long.
Max says that they still like me, and that I made a decent new impression on them. That they were happy that she wasn't forced to go through everything alone. If only they knew …
I can see it in their faces, though. They're stressed. They seemed to accept Max's explanation for having her phone switched off, but they still made it clear that she should've kept in regular contact with them.
I've been talking equally to them. Between asking about recent events, they like asking me about how I've been doing for the past five years, and apologizing for taking Max away from Arcadia just after my dad died. It's like we're catching up, but there's this all this unnecessary mess underneath the surface.
So it's been some kind of chill for ten days – of those ten, the rain came down pretty hard for five or six. We don't really know what our next step is. Max is looking for a job. Something in photography, but she won't tell me anything specific. But I have faith in her. I'm looking for work too. Any places that might be willing to hire someone who would rather be anywhere else? I'm taking one for the team by doing this. Sure, Max would probably stand a better chance in an interview, but I want her to keep her options open. And it shouldn't be too hard to find something. This is Seattle, after all. There's probably just as many hipster cafés as there are places to find fresh fish. So I guess I'm not too worried.
But is this going to be it? For now, maybe. But nothing's changed. I still want to pick up my girl and start a new life somewhere people don't recognize us, just the two of us making it happen …
I see Max heading up the stairs. With Ryan and Vanessa both at work, it's just the two of us for the whole day. Not that we've seen a whole lot of each other. She's had a lot on her mind, and takes to keeping her door closed to me sometimes since we've arrived. It's like she's working on something.
"Max," I say, hurrying up the stairs behind her. She turns to me, and I want to reach for her hand. She looks at me with a blank expression that pushes the idea out of my head. "Can we talk? In your room, just for a little bit."
"What's on your mind?"
I cross my arms. "I'm not going to have this conversation on the stairs."
I see the hint of a smile as she turns away and leads me up. She closes the door once we're in her room, and we sit together on her big bed.
I want to keep waking up next to you.
"So. What's on your mind?" she says.
"I have an idea. I think. For what we should do."
"Really?"
"Well … more of a deadline."
The expectant look on her face is killing me. I realize that I don't really have much to offer, and I consider retreating while I still can.
"Sorry, forget what I'm saying—"
I get up, but she grabs my hand pulls me back down.
"Chloe. It's fine. Just tell me what you've been thinking about."
I should say the same thing. It's reassuring as fuck.
"Okay, I was thinking that we set a deadline to leave Seattle around the new year. If you aren't doing kickass photography for some Seattle magazine or newspaper, that is."
"The new year? And where would we go?"
"NorCal. We probably won't be able to afford the rents in the Bay Area, but we could probably pull something together just across the border."
"Hmm."
"I know it's not solid," I admit, "but I don't want us to still be here come January. Your parents are great and all, but this is an opportunity. We can be together and make our own way through it, just like I've been saying from the beginning."
"Chloe … I'm sorry."
My heart sinks, and I feel like a part of me is about to be crushed.
"I don't think we should go to California. Not for a while anyway."
She says it softly, trying to cushion the blow. Because she knows and I know that she's putting the brakes on a dream that I've had since the days I spent with Rachel Amber, the angel who ended up a victim of Arcadia Bay's darkness, same as Max. Same as me.
Max continues, "Mom and Dad were going to sit down with both of us tonight so that we could start properly talking about what's going to happen. But we did talk, just the three of us, last night. They're going to help us."
"But—"
"Chloe, I know you want us to do things on our own, and I know how why California is such a big deal. It is for me too. But if we're going to end up in California someday, we have to take steps to get there."
"How about a leap of faith?"
"It's called a leap for a reason."
I don't even try to hide how disappointed I am.
"I'm sorry," she says again.
"No …" I look up and try to smile. "No, don't worry about it. I get it. That's one of the reasons I love you, because you always keep things straight."
She scoffs and places her hand on my thigh. "No I don't."
"You know what I mean. You've always kept me in line. And this is just another one of those cases. But what about you? What are your parents planning?"
"They're going to help us find a modest place. An apartment somewhere. They want us to stay in Seattle, but I think we can negotiate some distance. We could go back to Olympia, or even further down, back to Vancouver on the border. And we'd leave in January."
"Then what?"
"Then …" she says, "we find work. They're willing to take care of rent, so all we have to do is worry about our expenses. Look, I know what you're thinking. But it's a start for us. We'll be living together, in a little space of our own. Even if they are taking care of our rent, that doesn't mean they have to know what we're up to. We can have the sort of distance where they have to call days in advance if they want to visit. And isn't that you wanted before we even came here?"
She's got me there.
"It's not perfect," she continues, "but we'll be together, just the two of us, and we'll make it work. With some help, sure, but it'll still be the two of us."
November 28 (Thanks-fucking-giving)
What number entry is this? Three? Four? Whatever. This'll be short, because I'm waiting for a certain someone and I haven't done one of these for a while.
So what's happened in the last two and a half weeks? Not much, and that's mainly why I haven't been writing. Oh, but Max and I found jobs. And of course, because this is Seattle, we're working together at the same hipster café, waitressing and busboy-ing and occasionally coffee-making. We got hired because they were still looking for holiday staff. I don't think they expect us to stay long after the new year, and I don't expect them to extend their offer past it. But hey, what the fuck, right? We're getting paid in good old single figures and tips, but I guess it's better than not having money at all. I have to responsible for once in my life, for what's to come. We need every cent before we move, and I can't fuck this up.
Oh yeah, we're moving straight after the new year. Like, the first week. Ryan and Vanessa want us to stay in Washington state. Max is fine with it, and I think whatever, because I know that I can trust her.
So after hours of serving lattes and late nights sneaking into each other's rooms, this is where we are. Turkey day, motherfuckers. We've already had dinner with Ryan and Vanessa. It was just the four of us – I think they felt like too many people in the same place would be stressful on us or something. I appreciate it, but they didn't see yesterday's morning rush. Now I'm waiting for that nerdy superhero of mine to come and steal me away. Her parents are letting us out for a while so we can have some time on our own, away. As soon as she's done whatever she's up to, I'm shutting this entry down.
The last bits of news have come from Arcadia. The "experts" have no idea how the storm came about, even more than a month later. A lot of people are still missing and by now that means they're probably dead. I thought once names started being released that Max was going to be recognized, but no. She's pretty much anonymous. On the other hand, I've still heard nothing from Arcadia. And I think that's it.
Sorry. I don't like writing about Arcadia Bay. I've been avoiding writing all the meaty information, like having it on a page makes it more real than it seems, if that makes sense. I'm trying to keep my focus on how we move forward and leave everything behind – going back is the last thing
"Hey, you ready to go?"
I stop writing mid-sentence and shut the notebook. I try to force a smile and tell Max that we can go. I grab my keys and follow her down the stairs. I can hear the T.V. in the living room, Ryan and Vanessa watching the Thanksgiving game. Max calls to them that we're going out, and they let us go without trouble.
She skips ahead of me, like she's excited for what's to come. It makes me wonder if she has something planned for us. If it were up to me, we would just be going to bed together. But that won't be happening for a while longer.
We get in the truck and I notice the two containers between us. I raise an eyebrow at her. She checks a backpack at her feet. Then she just smiles and mouths, "Wait and see."
She navigates as I drive. After a while, I can tell that she's directing me to the beach, but I let her keep navigating because I know she's looking forward to this.
I pull up in the empty parking lot. Max tells me to reverse into the space, so that the pickup's bed is towards the water.
"You want us to go outside?" I say. "It's pretty much winter."
"I came prepared," she says, opening the backpack. She pulls out the blanket that we used on those nights when we slept together under the stars. We bought a lot more blankets after leaving and put them down in the tray, weighted down with bricks and large stones that we found while camping. She hands me the blanket and we step out of the truck. She takes the containers and her backpack and we toss them into the bed.
"And besides," she says, "if it gets too cold, we'll just go back inside. But this is nice, don't you think?"
I look at her, then out at the water. Even though it's dark, she's right. There's something eery but soothing about the scene she's picked. The last time we were in front of a beach, we were joined by a supernatural tornado. So this is nice. We climb into the bed of the truck and Max throws the blanket over us. We sit against the back of the cab, and she takes the containers out. Now I have to ask.
"What did you get for us, Maxine?"
She opens them up and reveals giant slices of pumpkin pie. Duh! We never had any dessert after dinner with Ryan and Vanessa. Of course it makes sense that Max would have urged them to let her save it for when we were alone.
"My god," I say, practically drooling as she hands me a container and a fork. "Maximum Caulfield, I love you. Where did you buy this from?"
"I made it," she says simply.
"What? How? Wait, when?"
"Guess."
I only have to think about it for a second. "You weren't at work yesterday, you sneaky child."
She grins. "I had Mom help me get the mix right, but I think it turned out really well. Go on, have some. I want to see your reaction."
I don't know what sort of face I make when eat a piece of the pie, but she laughs anyway. "You love it, I can tell."
"I'll have your pieces if you're just going to keep talking," I warn her.
We sit like that for a while, eating pie and making small talk and gently bumping our legs together underneath the blanket. We finish eating before it gets too cold, but one look tells me that she also doesn't feel like going home just yet. I take charge and start kissing her. Then she straddles my lap and shifts the authority the other way, her hands on my cheeks. The blanket falls from her shoulders and bunches around her waist, but my hands were already there first and she doesn't seem to notice. I slide my hands under her shirt and keep them on her skin, and the warmth of her body so close to mine is the most natural thing in the world.
She breaks the kiss long enough to whisper: "I want this …"
"Me too," I whisper back. Then her hand moves to my breast and we're kissing again.
December 14
Life is getting in the way of things again. The other day, Max asked me how my journal entries were going. I told her I was writing a lot, and I didn't point out that her journal is still in the glovebox of my truck, where she left it when we arrived in Seattle. So I guess there's something we're both lying to each other about.
The truth is that I think I fucked up. I broke one of the promises I made to Max. I outed myself to her parents four days ago, and now I feel like broken eggshells are scattered all over the floor around me whenever Ryan and Vanessa walk by. Max won't talk to me or even answer when I knock on her door.
It wasn't even a big moment. It just slipped out during small talk. Here's the thing. The first night we were here, they asked me if I had a boyfriend. I was careful and that was the same day I'd made the promise, so of course I said I had a boyfriend back in Arcadia. And four days ago, they asked if I'd heard from my imaginary boyfriend since coming to Seattle. So of course, fucking stupid idiot me goes ahead and scoffs and says that no no, I'm with a girl. And then I asked Max to pass the salt across the dinner table, and she stared at me like I'd just lit the house on fire. I think that was the moment I realized how much I'd fucked things up. Vanessa just said, "Oh really?" and no-one said much of anything else for the rest of the night. They did ask me why I'd lied in the first place, so I just said because it meant less explanation. They ended up telling me that it was okay and saying all those P.F.L.A.G.-brochure things, but I knew it had caught them off guard. Hell, it caught me off guard.
Have they asked Max about me? Probably. Asking if she knew at all, had any idea. I've fucked up and put her in a shitty position, and she could be holding our fate in her hands with what she's said to them. I mean, the ideal end would be if she came clean and spilled the truth to them, but I don't think so. She's probably told them that no, she didn't have any idea. Would they believe that? We've been friends for so long, they might not. She could just say that yes, she knew about me, but then that might ramp up the pressure.
Who the fuck am I kidding? This is my fault. I've put the pressure on us. Whatever happens from here is a result of my fuck-up. And only a few weeks away from getting out of here as well! Idiot.
I close the notebook and put it away. Then I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling with a hand on my forehead. There's a knock on my door. Not that it's necessary, because I've started leaving the door open.
"Chloe, we need to talk."
It's Max. Who else could it be?
I look over at her, how she crosses her arms. It looks weird from my angle. "About what?" I say.
"Us."
"Hmm. That sounds familiar, for some reason." I stare at the ceiling again.
"I'm sorry for not speaking to you. I didn't want to make you feel like I was letting you twist in the wind. But I needed a way to punish you, and you aren't in any position to be mad at me about it."
"I know."
She comes in, closing the door behind her. She sits by me on the bed, looking down on me. I shift my gaze to her, and she sighs.
"You weren't thinking," she says.
"I wasn't thinking."
"And you weren't being careful with our story. You forgot about protecting us. Do you remember? That we decided to keep all of this from them so that we could keep us safe? So that we could keep it all under the radar until we left?"
"I remember. I wasn't being careful."
She sighs again and strokes my hair, brushing it out of my face.
"Just so you know, I haven't told them anything," she says.
"What? Haven't they asked you about me?"
"Only once. After you went to bed that night. I kinda just shrugged and left."
"Is that okay?"
"Like I said, they've only asked me about it once. So I guess they're leaving it alone."
"I feel like they're treating me differently. Yesterday, Vanessa – sorry, your mom – tried to ask me about how long I've known I was gay. But she did it in that really cringey way where I could tell she was trying, but she was trying too hard and didn't know the right way to ask her questions."
"Cut them some slack. After five years in Seattle, they've turned into those suburbanites who acknowledge that gay people exist but never bring them up unless they're prompted to. Those people exist everywhere …"
"Living in harmony with their gay and lesbian neighbors …"
"Exactly. Chloe, you've left me with a lot of responsibility. I have a choice to make."
"And this time, there's no rewinding."
"Mmm."
"What do you want to do? I'll follow you, whatever you decide."
She chuckles. "That also sounds familiar. But I mean, what else is there to do now? You know … in the end, there is no choice. I only see one way for us to go. And I mean 'us'. We'll fix this together."
"Oh." I sit up, realizing what she's implying. "So you want to?"
She nods, and kisses my lips. "This doesn't change the fact that I'm still mad at you."
December 26
I have a buzz like you wouldn't believe. You know that feeling where you wake up the morning after a big night but you're still drunk enough to not be hungover, and at the same time you have enough awareness to do basic things?
It's ungodly early and I just needed something to do. I slipped out to use the toilet, then I came back and found that someone had sprawled herself all over the bed, so now I'm sitting on the floor against my side of the bed and writing this all down.
We had drinks last night. Just the two of us. It's a good thing I look older than I am, because Max would never have been able to fool that guy at the store. Ryan and Vanessa said that they thought we were responsible enough to handle ourselves. It's not like we were planning to go to parties or have a big night out. So I sat with Max out on the back patio and we drank and talked and ate snacks and even made out, for a long time. Now, if Max had been wearing a giant red bow, it would have been a perfect Christmas. But it was a little bittersweet. We said words for Arcadia Bay. We said words for the survivors. We said words for those we hadn't heard from since. And we said words for moving forward.
I just took a minute to go through the last time I wrote in here. Almost two weeks? Sounds about right. But that means I haven't written about everything that's happened. The day after my last entry, we came out to Ryan and Vanessa. And by "we", I really mean we did it together. Actually, Max did most of the talking. I was more there for moral support, and to chip in whenever I felt like I should.
After my screwup and their reactions to it, I figure there was maybe only a few ways that it could go. It wasn't going to be a big thing of drama. It wasn't going to be a Hallmark card moment. It was like we were just educating them, and explaining ourselves. It felt strange, to be having a proper conversation about it. Like it was an adult thing, as in mature or whatever. We could have been sitting back and chatting about it over a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies.
In fact, I think we were having coffee and cookies. Or maybe it was just me.
They're giving us freedom, and it's good to see that they aren't just treating us like we're a pair of horny teenagers. It's not like we're that exciting anyway. They let us have our privacy and sleep in the same bed and they don't get bugged out if I kiss Max on the cheek in front of them or hold her hand. Not that I even do it that much, but hey, that's coupledom.
Other than that, we've been working. Taking extra shifts, turning it up for the tips, that sorta thing. The café's closed today and on New Year's, which leaves a total eight days to get what's left of our shit together. We're leaving for Vancouver on the Monday after next. Everything's sorted out after Ryan and Vanessa put us in touch with an old college friend who runs an apartment building there. Max has an interview for a photographer's job at some publication or other scheduled for the day after we arrive. I don't have anything lined up, but that doesn't mean I won't be looking for anything. And leave Max to fend for both of us? Fuck off!
After I'm done writing, I head past the guest room which has been more or less empty for the last week or so, and I go down into the kitchen for some breakfast. Ryan is already there, reading on his laptop, and we chat for a few minutes while I pour two cups of coffee. He asks how we're holding up after last night, and chuckles when I say, "I'm fine, but we'll wait and see how Max goes before I give you the official line."
I head back up to Max's room with coffee and a couple pieces of toast. She's still lying in bed like a stone, on her side and facing me. I put our breakfast on the bedside table and silently debate whether or not I should wake her up. I peer over at the clock on the wall. 7.30. I shrug and sit down on the bed.
"Max," I say softly, leaning close to her. "Maxine, wake up."
That's when I truly see her expression. She's frowning; she looks upset. And she's not still at all – I put my hand on her arm and feel the trembling.
"Max?" I say, raising my voice. I forget all about breakfast as I feel my heart beating faster and the worry starting to build up. I take her hand and squeeze. "Max, wake up!"
She wakes with a jolt, a gasp stifled by her pillow. She looks at her hand, and then up at me. "Chloe?" she says. "You're here."
"Of course I am. I'm here, okay? I'm not leaving you," I say, relieved. "You had another one, didn't you? Is that the first one since we came to Seattle?"
She nods, and I can see her turning on the waterworks.
"Max, it's okay," I coo. "Look, I'm here." I get under the blankets. She wraps her arms around my waist and buries her face into my chest. I stroke her hair and assure her that everything's okay. She tries not to cry when things are like this, and I always encourage her that it's okay to let it all out.
I haven't done this since we were camping off the I-5 outside Olympia. I wondered if she had gotten through them, but I guess not. That's fine. She was doing this for me as well for a little while. I know how it all gets to her. The things she's had to do, the things she's seen … I don't know what I would do if I had to watch her die over and over and over again. I don't know that I would have made it this far, after making the choices she's had to make.
But saying those things to her isn't how I help her get through this. It's not how we help each other. This is what we do. We hold each other. Become someone to lean on. We don't yank or shove each other forward. We push and we pull – there's a difference.
You used to not like this mushy shit, Chloe. Yeah. Before I started falling in love.
January 5 (2014, fuckers!)
We're off! Well, almost. It's the day before we hit the road again. Max and I just got home from our last day at the café. Now I'm waiting for her to finish showering so we can go down and have dinner. Vanessa made burgers, and tomorrow morning I'm making waffles for breakfast.
It's been hectic since the new year started. Packing. Packing. More packing. I had no idea just how much crap Max had lying around this house. I guess I got used to her lugging a backpack around. In any case, she's mainly taking clothes. Ryan and Vanessa bought her a new camera to go with the hipstamatic I gave her back in Arcadia, so at least now she has one which is practical for work. But I know she's going to hold on to the polaroid thing as long as she can. I also got a bunch of new clothes for Christmas. I think they all chipped in for them, Max included – who else would think of getting me a T-shirt with a rainbowed-out U.S. flag on it? I didn't even know they had shirts like that. I think I'll wear it tomorrow.
Yesterday, I talked to the landlord of our place in Vancouver. She wanted to make sure that we were still coming tomorrow, and she said to call when we got there, so that she could show us in and give us our keys and do whatever paperwork we still have to do. I had to go into another room and ask if her building was gay-friendly, just in case. She said: "Honey, you said that you and Miss Caulfield are renting a one-bedroom. I thought it was implied."
Well, it didn't hurt to ask.
I'm going to keep doing these. I'll try to be a bit more regular with them, but no promises. Sometimes, it's helpful to just sit and write about the shit in my head, to try and make something out of all the nonsense.
And Max had another one last night. She screamed a little bit when she woke up. I held her and talked to her until she went back to sleep, and then I watched her for a while, making sure that she was calm. Can I handle worrying about this girl for the years and decades to come? Yeah, of course I can. It's part of the love thing.
This is it. Morning of. We've packed the truck, we've eaten and showered. We've checked and double-checked our rooms to make sure we're not leaving anything behind. All that's left is literally for us to leave. I walk out back to see Max brooding on the patio.
"Ready for Vancouver?" I say.
"Yeah … but before we leave, there's something I want to try," she says, pointing to her hand.
"Oh?" I take a step back when I realize what she's talking about. "I see."
She stares down at her hands, her face resolute. "I have to know. If my powers are gone for good, then we can put it all to rest."
I'm not sure how to feel. "And if you still have them?"
She looks up at me. "Then it's not like I'll be going back to using them. But I'm confident they're gone."
Another surprise. "How come?"
"Chloe, I never told you, but … after the storm passed, I collapsed."
"I remember that. But you only blacked out for a few seconds or so. You said you were tired."
"I know I did. But I didn't tell you that when I woke up, I felt different. Like … I don't know. It was like something was missing, but at the same time it was like I wasn't missing it. Like I just felt normal again. At that point, I suspected. But I didn't test to see if I still had them. I was scared. But now, like I said, I'm confident. I feel like the powers are gone, and now I'm ready to make sure of it."
I walk over and sit with her.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she says.
"And I forgive you. You were scared. And now you're confident. Okay. Do you want some privacy while you do this?"
"No, no. I want you here."
"Good," I say, "because I'll always be here for you."
I settle back in the chair, but I'm worried that I look nervous somehow. I don't want to distract her. She closes her eyes, opens them again, and then she holds her right arm out, like she's reaching for something only she can see. It's not something I ever remember seeing.
After five seconds, she stops. She lets out a deep breath. I put my hand on her knee. She smiles at me, and I recognize her expression of relief. I give her a questioning look. Still smiling, she nods and takes my hand. She gets up and pulls me to my feet. We walk together, and she stops for a second to give me a kiss.
Max's parents are out front, checking that everything's in the truck, checking that we have enough food and enough of my leftover waffles for the road. When they see us come out, they ask if we have everything ready. They tell Max to call when we get to Vancouver, and they tell me take extra special care of her. We say our goodbyes.
Driving back out to the I-5 for the millionth time, I think about what they said. Are you ready? Sure, they meant something different. But we are ready. We've never been more ready to keep moving forward. It might take a little longer for us to get where we want to go, but it is how it is, and it's about when we'll get there, not if. We're both a little fucked up, but that's just an awesome thing about us.
I glance at Max, bundled up beneath a blanket, her eyes half-closed against the morning sunlight, a waffle in one hand. She looks content. And cute, let's not forget that.
Then, with my eyes back on the road, I notice a waffle edging its way into the corner of my vision. I glance back at Max, and she's holding her waffle in front of my face, looking expectant. I bite off as big a piece as I can. She does her best to look offended, but she's grinning. And then we can't help but laugh.
Image credit to summerfelldraws on Tumblr. Obtained and used with permission of the artist.
Happy Holidays!
Truly Yours, Kalico.