I'd Do Anything

“I can’t do this anymore.” She told Thomas shortly after he sat.

He blinked, as if it was the most unexpected turn of events. And as she started to tell him why – that he had insulted her friends consistently, that her aunt had died and she couldn’t handle his jealousy right now, and that she just generally wasn’t really happy with him – she started to realize that she was probably the first woman to dump him.

With how childish he was for a thirty year old man, was a sad harsh truth to reckon with. But it would explain his dominating personality, why he always expected to get what he wanted out of her. If he normally went after women who didn’t really fight back, then he’d never have to deal with someone like Trish.

And when he started to tell her about how much he liked her, how sorry he was, she mindlessly stirred the lemon and ice in her iced tea with her straw. She wondered why she thought this was all such a brilliant idea in the first place. To keep herself from getting too attached to Max again? Obviously a hopeless case.

She flushed at the thought of Max’s lips against her, and hoped to God that Thomas didn’t notice. Years of wanting and wishing, piling up into a final moment of nothing.

Maybe she should just take her aunt’s final example, spending her last twenty years alone. Who needs a man when you can run around and do whatever you want?

She shook her head at Thomas’ pleas. No, it wasn’t going to work. No, she couldn’t see him anymore. No, she didn’t even want to be friends. No, no, no.

Eventually she just stood, told him goodbye, and walked out. It was proving to be a warm day, and Trisha was glad she had put on her jean cutoffs. As she walked down the few blocks to the comic shop, she made a few more resolutions.

With the dark cloud of Thomas out of her sky, everything seemed a little lighter. It was still overcast, with Aunt Bridget gone there couldn’t be clear skies. But there was a chance of sunshine at some point.

She walked into the comic store, ignored Olivia texting behind the counter, and walked straight back to where Lana was getting herself set up for the day. Sophie and Paul weren’t in yet.

Lana looked up, shocked. “Trisha! I told you! Not until after the funeral.”

Trisha took a deep breath, and finally told her the truth. “I’ve been in love with Max since I was sixteen. Yesterday I kissed him and he rejected me for the second time. I dumped Thomas and for once I’m not upset about doing that to someone else. My aunt is dead and I don’t know when I’ll get over that, and you are my best friend and I love you.”

Lana had to laugh. It was the only thing she could do in that ridiculous moment.

“None of that seems like the end of the world.” She reassured, seeing the fear in her best friend’s eyes.

Trisha flopped onto the couch. “Didn’t you hear the first few bits?”

“I did. I knew the first part. Hell, everyone does. Even PJ at the bar. When Max is around, you actually smile.”

“I smile all the time!”

“You force smiles all the time, l’entincelle.” Lana rolled her eyes, using the old nickname for Trisha at the bar. “Always so angry and sad. Like a New Yorker. Max makes you really smile. And god only knows how he does it. And I really, sincerely doubt he rejected you, let alone twice.”

“He said it wasn’t right.”

“Well, Trisha, as you mentioned before, your aunt just died. Your aunt who was your favorite person in the whole world. He’d be a total asshole if things got out of hand because you needed physical comfort. You’d hate him for it, and you know it.”

“That is the most ridiculous, stupid, wishful thinking I’ve ever heard.” Trisha reached over and took a mini-Snickers out of the bowl on the coffee table. “And I just wrote a romance chapter.”

“You wrote an angsty romance chapter, which is exactly what you’re going through now. Angsty romance. It’s like a goddamn Sarah Dessen novel around here. Stop being such a cynic. I’m sure by the end of the summer, you and Max will be together.”

“We’re working all summer. All those comic cons.”

“Trisha, I will shove this pen so far up your ass you’ll be crying ink for a week.”

~*~

The funeral passed in a bit of a blur. One moment she was getting into Max’s SUV, careful not to wrinkle her dress or scuff her shoes. The next she was sitting between her parents, eyes fixated on the coffin infront of her. People talked, and she didn’t hear. Her father said a few things, and he cried, but she wasn’t sure why.

It was all so odd. She had known it would happen eventually. But like she had told Max, you couldn’t prepare.

She began to wake back up when she and her mother drove back to the too-big house. They were going to set out all the food and drinks while Stephan shook hands with mourners before joining them. Max was supposed to drive them. Trisha was setting out a heaping bowl of curried chicken salad when the doorbell rang. She balled up tinfoil and ran to answer it.

On the other side of the door, she found Max’s mother. The older woman immediately stepped forward and took Trisha’s face in her hands.

“Trisha. Look how beautiful and grown up you are.”

Somehow, that made her want to cry.

~*~

It was a small group that had gathered for the reading of the last will and testimony of Bridgette Gaines. Stephan was very clearly hungover, Maria was exhausted after cleaning her house all night, and Trisha was just emotionally drained. Bridgette’s third ex-husband, with whom she ended things on good terms with, was present, as was the third Gaines sibling, whom Stephan and Bridgette had never gotten along with and cut ties with after the death of their parents. But right now, Stephan was too hungover to ask his brother why he was here.

The lawyer was reading through the beginning of the will, which was mostly jargon, in slightly accented English for the benefit of the third ex-husband. Finally he cleared his throat.

“To my third husband Richard, I leave the Montreal apartment, as I know he has always loved it. The valuable contents of the apartment are to be sold at auction, with the proceeds going to a charity of his choice. All other items in the apartment are to be donated to Good Will.

“To my brother Stephan and his wife Maria, I leave a sum of fifty thousand dollars, to be used to pay off the rest of the business loans on the restaurant. If the loans are paid off by the time of my death, or less than this sum, Stephan and Maria are to keep the money and use it as they see fit.”

Maria was holding her hand over her mouth in shock.

“To my other brother Jacques, I leave a trust fund at the Banque du Montreal. This trust fund may only be withdrawn from in order to pay his child support. A letter has been sent to your ex-wife to inform her of this.”

Jacques flushed with anger, but Trisha felt little pity for him.

“Finally, to my dear Patricia, I leave the shore house at Sea Isle City, New Jersey. The house is not to be sold for a minimum of ten years, not that I think you would sell it Trisha, but may be rented out in order to help pay for the upkeep.”

The lawyer handed Trisha a set of keys, standing to reach her over his large desk. She studied them. One for the old truck, one for the front door, one for the back door. And a silly crab keychain with moving eyes.

“There are other small belongings and packages to be distributed to friends and family, at both the Montreal apartment and the shore house. I trust Richard and Patricia to see to it that they are delivered.

“All other funds are to be used to pay final expenses, and any remaining are to be donated to the Catholic Church. This is…”

He broke off into more legal jargon, and Trisha turned the keys over in her hands. The shore house had been her favorite place to visit. But now she couldn’t think of anyplace that would be harder to go.

Afterwards, Trisha said goodbye to her parents and walked to the metro. They had again offered her a ride, and again she just wanted to be alone around people. During the walk, she turned the keys over and over in her hands.

Aunt Bridgette’s instructions not to sell the house made her wonder. It made her think that for some reason, she had to go there. Aunt Bridgette wanted her to go.

On the metro, she stared at her calendar on her phone without really seeing it. When could she go? Jersey was a day’s drive, and it wasn’t really worth it to fly. She wanted to go alone but she wanted someone to be with her.

Trisha got off the metro, walked another block, and went into Old World Tavern. It was just five o’clock, a quiet transition period between the people who had been there since noon and the people getting off of work. That was good. Trisha needed a little more quiet time.

She was halfway through her beer before Annalise showed up for pool league.

“Hey.” Annalise said, surprised. “Aren’t you supposed to be at home?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Trisha asked.

“Well, Max was heading to your place with food…”

Trisha sighed and shook her head. “Jesus, why doesn’t he just fucking move in and be my fulltime babysitter?”

“Careful what you wish for.” Annalise smirked, pulling out her phone. “I’ll let him know you’re here before he starts blowing up your phone.” She glanced at her friend. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Just thinking about things, I guess.” She sighed and took her new keys out of her purse. “My aunt left me a shore house in Jersey.”

“Oh, cool.”

“I guess. I’m going to have to go down and clean it out before I rent it. That means I should probably go next week while Lana goes to Vancouver to see her parents. Stay for two weeks. Then I have all these conventions, so I won’t be able to throw the pool party until like the end of July.”

“That actually works really well for me.” Annalise shrugged. “Lars and I are going on the grand meet-the-parents tour. My parents, then his. Thank God I work at a school, otherwise I’d never be able to take that much time off. And of course we have to fly out of Newark not Buffalo, so that will mean a layover.”

“If you want to save money on the flight, you could kick it on the shore with me.” Trisha said, grasping at the opportunity for company. “I mean, I’ll want a week alone there. But the second week, if you guys want…”

“That would actually be kind of perfect.” Annalise nodded. “Yeah. I’ll talk to Lars about it. You inviting Max as well?”

Trisha grimaced, but before she could make up her mind the door opened and more members of the pool team entered. Annalise went to practice before actually playing. Trisha started looking for a car rental situation that made sense.

“Hey.”

Trisha looked up at Max and smiled. “Oh, hey. I heard you were looking for me.”

He held up a plastic bag. “Sheppard’s pie.”

“Oh, wonderful.”

He sat down next to her and gave her a round foil take out container and a fork, then took out his own. They talked as they ate, about the conventions she had to go to over the summer and the charity events he would be doing. They talked about the Stanley Cup finals, and the Sunday Softball that was starting back up that weekend.

“I knew it.”

Trisha turned around at the familiar voice. It was Thomas. His eyes were glassed over and his accent was heavy with liquor. Trisha turned back around, ignoring him. Max eyed Thomas nervously, shifting his body to shield Trisha as best he could without standing.

<<Je savais que vous dormiez avec lui.>> (I knew you were sleeping with him.)

His voice was raising, and Trisha closed her eyes tightly. She was done. She thought she had made that clear. And now Thomas had stumbled into her favorite bar drunk, probably knowing he’d find her eventually, to berate her and her friend. The bar fell quiet as they watched it play out.

<<Je te parle, putain.>> (I’m talking to you, whore.)

“Don’t call her – “ Max started.

<<Garce. Fou-toi.>> (Bitch. Fuck you.) Thomas snarled at Max.

Now Trisha turned around and stood. <<Laissez maintenant.>> (Leave now.)

He put his hands up and gave her solid shove, pushing her back against her seat. <<Ecoutes-moi!>>

Max grabbed Thomas by the shirt and pushed him back a foot. Half the bar stood and across the room Annalise menacingly changed the grip on her pool cue, stepping forward.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Max growled.

“Let him go.”

Max turned around and looked at Trisha, who was standing perfectly still after steadying herself. “Trish?” he asked uncertainly.

“Let him go Max.”

Max slowly released him. Thomas grinned sloppily at him.

“Big shot hockey player is the little girl’s bitch, huh?” he mocked.

Trisha’s fist swung up and caught Thomas in the jaw. He was so drunk that he stumbled back, tripped, and fell. His head hit the floor with a rather satisfying clunk. Dazed and groaning, he rolled over and pushed himself off the floor.

“Leave.” Trisha advised.

~*~

Trisha spent twenty minutes dealing with the praise and congratulations of everyone in the bar before she finally took a cigarette from Annalise and went outside to find some quiet. Max followed her.

“That was badass.” He said.

“Oh, shut up.” Trisha scowled, flexing her fingers. It had been a long time since she had punched anything.

“Just like your comic book characters.”

“Please.” She sighed and looked at the sky. “Guess I’m no better than Lana, huh? Hitting him.”

“Hey, come on. You aren’t standing here trying to convince me you love him. That makes a difference.” She still looked unhappy and he nudged her. “Hey, cheer up. He won’t be coming around for a long time.”

She sighed. “I’m going to the shore house next weekend.”

Max didn’t say anything, but Trisha could feel his eyes on her.

“I just need to get away for a bit.” She said. “Aunt Bridgette left it for me and I think she wanted me to go. But I have to do it alone.”

“Alright. I mean, if that’s what you want.”