Max took me to Joe Muggs, wiping our table and seats off with a napkin before he deigned it appropriate to sit at.
"So," I said, wrapping both hands around my frappe. There is no way I was going to bust out a rant like that horrific one in front of Leaves and Michael. No. This time Mia Thermopolis keeps her lips shut.
"Michael and I used to come here and study," said Max quietly. "But once I got tired of trying to pound equations and stupid facts about Eisenhower or whatever into my head, we'd just talk about…everything. Did you know that he flunked a Calculus test when my puppy died? He spent the whole night comforting me instead."
He took another napkin and blew his nose. "I made a huge mistake," he said at last, looking down into his cappuccino.
Inwardly, I admitted that I had too. But I wasn't quite ready to own up to my mistakes out loud. Not when I was putting up my cool, uncaring façade.
"Why, though?" I found myself asking instead.
Max tugged at the collar of his polo, looking uncomfortable. "Michael's freaking brilliant. And…and…he's, like, the best kisser on the planet. He can get along with practically anybody. And nothing ever seems to faze him."
A small smile crept across my face. "You did."
His Adam's apple bobbed. "Ya know, he cried when I broke up with him—"
And many times after that.
"He asked what he had done wrong, and how he could fix it. And I just kept telling him that it was over. I'm the idiot, though. I'm the one who kissed my ex. I'm the one who couldn't tell Michael about Danny. I'm the one who sleeps with an old t-shirt of Michael's pulled over a pillow."
"He's perfect," sighed Max, concluding his sad little monologue.
"Yeah," I said, though my thoughts were on an entirely different guy. A bespectacled one, with a crooked smile, long eyelashes, and a cute little dimple in his cheek.
"Ya know," said Max, his tone growing more cheerful. "There's a certain loser moping around New York right now who I do believe desires your company."
"I made a huge mistake," I said, echoing Max as I buried my head in my arms. "He's got to hate me. How is he not even after me with a rifle right now?"
"Uh, because he loves you?" suggested Max, grinning impishly.
"He shouldn't."
"Don't be Leavesy. Have some brains, Mia! I had to throw him into the shower last week because he seems to think reeking and longing go hand-in-hand."
"I bet he was just too busy watching Almost Famous to sanitize," I said bitterly. If there was anything he loved more than me, it was that blasted movie.
Max laughed out loud at this, choking on his drink. "Wanna know why he watches that constantly?"
I only hoped he and Michael didn't have the same motive—fashion tips.
"Because you remind him of Penny Lane, duh."
"Um," was all I had to say.
SERIOUSLY! How COOL.
It was right about then that I felt extremely guilty about sitting there with the ex of my make-out buddy for almost a month and a half.
"Max?" I warbled, dangerously close to tears. It's just…he was being so NICE and FUNNY and I didn't even deserve it.
Oh, God. And I had to go and curse the whole Broderick house every night before bed. I'm certainly going to hell.
"I'm—I'm sorry."
Max's eyes expressed total understanding. "Hey, you were there for him. I wasn't. But, um, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go get my boyfriend back."
"Right now?" I asked. Did that mean I had to go talk to Leaves NOW? No time for pumping myself up with some delightful Hammer tunes and a Poptart?
"Nah, tomorrow. Plus, I have no idea what I'm going to say to him. I mean, what if he realizes that I'm not good enough? What if he won't take me back?"
I loved how scarily alike Max and I were.
"He will," I said, assuring myself at the same time.
We walked up to the register and Max slung his arm loosely around me. "Michael was right. You do rock. Muchos gracias, senorita."
"No, thank you," I said, watching as he covered my bill.
There's something I have to do.
And no, not dash madly over to the Brodericks' and kiss the hell out of Leaves. That's for later (I hope).
I've got to make up with Michael.
Make UP, not make-out. It's about time we learn the difference.
He seemed pleasantly surprised when I appeared in his doorway that evening, but didn't go for the usual hug or peck on the cheek. Instead, he nodded formally and invited me to step inside.
"I, um, I wanted to clear the air," I said, looking around at the chick flicks and angsty CDs that littered the floor around his bed.
"Oh, good! Me too!" said Michael, nodding vehemently, but not—thank God—making a move towards me. The last thing I need is Michael's gentle touch when I'm trying to set boundaries.
Not that we're animals in need of cages. We're confused. Sad. Lonely.
But not for long.
Michael broke the silence. "I can't not be your friend. Please don't make me."
One look in those earnest brown eyes and I was sold. "I wouldn't…I just…we need to talk about…stuff."
"Stuff," repeated Michael with a hint of a smile.
"Stuff," I giggled, feeling a glimmer of old times in the air. "And this stuff is kind of necessary if we're going to chill."
"Anything to chill," Michael grinned, though he did sound pretty serious.
"First off, I don't think it's the most terrific idea for us to use tongue in our condolences. And maybe looking for solace in one another could be more about comforting words than kisses."
Michael's face clouded over. "No more cuddling?"
I hesitated. "Probably not. It's not…not right. We've got other guys to do that with."
"We do?" asked Michael, searching my face carefully.
"Yes, indeed."
He shrieked gleefully and threw his arms around me. I was just about to reciprocate when Michael drew back as though he'd been burned.
"No more hugs either, I guess," he said sadly.
"I think," I said, actually contemplating. "That maybe hugs would be all right."
"God, I love you," said Michael softly. "As a friend, of course."
"Of course," I grinned. Isn't it funny? That would have induced gallons and gallons of tears mere hours ago.
With one more legal hug, I bid Michael farewell, hurrying back to the loft for major beautification. Do I have any Penny-Lane-ish clothing?