Chapter Text
To say the least, the office that Max Caulfield currently sat in was fit for a queen. Or, the President of Caledon University – Yasmin Fayyad. The desk, shelves, and cabinets were all mahogany wood. The level of detail in the craftsmanship had Max convinced that each and every piece was handmade with care.
The wall behind President Fayyad was decorated with awards and diplomas. A BA in Psychology from Caledon University, a Masters of Business Administration from Yale, as well as several other degrees were proudly on display. She was clearly intelligent and highly motivated, and Max respected that about her.
Picture frames rested atop some of the shelves around the room. Most of them depicted President Fayyad with a younger woman. They bore some of the same facial characteristics, so Max deduced that the woman was President Fayyad’s daughter. Though, where President Fayyad’s face was sharp and serious, her daughter’s face was softer. In one or two of the pictures, her lips were pulled up in a crooked smirk and her eyes twinkled with mischief. In another, she stared down at a book, mouth pulled into a thoughtful frown.
The President’s daughter was pretty. Not that Max would say that aloud, of course.
President Fayyad herself leaned forward and handed back a several-page document to Max, making eye contact as she did. Max’s gaze dropped to the paper and she busied herself with reading it despite already having it memorized.
“It’s a good syllabus, Maxine. Though this is your first time teaching, it’s clear that you have a plan for how you wish to attack the semester. I’d like to meet with you once a week, if you’re agreeable to that. I’m interested in your progress as a first-time teacher and I’d like to extend myself as a resource to you should you have any questions or something you need from the university.”
“I wouldn’t want to take up any of your –”
“Time? Nonsense. I care deeply about this university and the people who bring it to life. Once a week. Let’s say Fridays at nine-thirty in the morning. I’ll have Vinh put it on my calendar.”
Before Max could respond, the double doors to the office swung open. Max’s eyes flicked towards the entrance just in time to see the younger woman from the pictures enter the room. Her long, jet-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was evidently in a rush. She stormed in with a purpose and scooped up a Porsche key fob from the desk.
“I’m taking the keys,” she said with finality.
There was a displeased edge to President Fayyad’s voice when she spoke. “Safiya, I am in a meeting.”
The girl – Safiya – turned her attention towards Max, as though realizing for the first time that there was another person in the room. Their eyes met for a moment before Max broke the contact. She looked at Safiya’s neckline instead, where a ruby hung from a gold necklace.
“Hi,” Safiya greeted, her tone warming. She extended a hand. “I’m Safi. I’m President Fayyad’s daughter.”
Max hesitated, her fingers twitching at her side, before she took the other girl’s hand and shook it. “Max Caulfield,” she murmured.
“Well, Max Caulfield, how’d you like to get out of this stuffy office and go on an adventure with me?” Safi offered with a raised eyebrow.
“Safiya, I’m sure Maxine would prefer to get settled in and prepared for the start of the semester. She still has to unpack her bags.” President Fayyad protested.
Safi waved her mother off. “I can help with all of that.” She gestured for Max to stand. “Come on, let’s go.”
Max looked over to President Fayyad, unsure what to do in this situation. Professionally, she knew she should decline and wrap up her meeting with her new employer. But, clearly, there was a power struggle that she was caught between and she didn’t know either woman well enough to know how it would play out.
President Fayyad huffed and crossed her arms. “Evidently, my daughter has taken an interest in you, Maxine. That, or she just enjoys messing with me. But, I suppose we’ve covered all necessary intricacies during this meeting. Why don’t you go have some fun? You’re in good hands with Safiya.”
Still uncomfortable, she didn’t move until President Fayyad gave a sharp, encouraging nod. Max stood, taking her syllabus with her, and followed behind Safi, who held the double doors open for her.
The doors swooshed closed behind them and, at the noise, President Fayyad’s assistant – Vinh Lang – poked his perfectly-combed head up from behind a computer screen. His scowl was aimed at Safi. “I told you that Yasmin was in a meeting. You were supposed to wait.”
Safi turned to Max and flashed a goofy grin. She jerked her thumb at Vinh as she walked past him. “I’m sure you’ve already had the pleasure, but that’s Vinh Lang. Don’t mind him.”
Before Vinh could respond, Safi was already gone, exiting the lobby and pivoting down the hall. Max lingered for a moment, debating whether she should say something, before she followed her new acquaintance.
Lining the long hallway’s walls were portraits of the previous university presidents. President Fayyad was the latest, and also the only woman in a lineage of men.
They exited the Administration Building and stepped onto the North Quad. It was grandiose, much like the rest of Caledon appeared to be. A statue erected in honor of Caledon’s founder depicted Thomas Caledon Junior sitting with a book in hand, a crow on each shoulder. It was the centerpiece of the quad, but there were several other art installments scattered about that Max hadn’t had the opportunity to examine yet.
Safi led Max around the edge of the lake at the center of the quad and, in doing so, the two of them passed by a few students who sat on the surrounding benches and talked. It was a lively area; one where it seemed that everybody spent much of their free time.
“Where are we going?” Max’s question was no more than a whisper, but Safi must have heard it because she spun around and flashed a grin of pure white teeth.
“On an adventure. The only adventure one can go on in a small town such as Lakeport – the grocery store. I have to pick up a few things and then I’ll take you to get ice cream after.”
Max stood next to the hood of President Fayyad’s Porsche Cayman and watched a bent-over Safi sort through the car’s tiny frunk.
The parking lot outside the grocery store was a small one, but the limited space was irrelevant when the Porsche was the only car occupying the lot. Perks of a small town, Max supposed. She grabbed the last plastic bag from inside the cart and held it out.
“Damn fucking car has zero storage space. I always forget that,” Safi grumbled to herself. She stood up and spotted the bag in Max’s outstretched hand. “Thanks,” she said appreciatively before she once again leaned over the frunk.
“No problem. If you want storage space, there are better options than a 718 Cayman,” Max commented.
Safi threw her a glance over her shoulder. “You know about cars?”
Max shrugged. “I … knew somebody who knows a lot about them. Picked up a few things, I guess. Nothing special, though.”
“So, I shouldn’t come to you expecting you to have all the answers if this thing ever breaks down?”
“Probably wouldn’t be the best idea, no.”
Safi stood and grunted before closing the frunk. “Come on,” she declared, “ice cream is up next.”
“Strawberry, why am I not surprised?” Safi teased, pointing her plastic spoon at Max’s ice cream cone.
Fred’s Ice Cream, the local shop, was just as empty as the parking lot that they had been at ten minutes earlier. It didn’t look much different than any of the other ice cream stores that Max had visited during her travels over the years, but the person behind the counter didn’t look like they’d had their soul sucked out of them yet, which she supposed was an improvement. The plastic chair that Max sat on wobbled, as did the table that she rested her elbow on, both not properly leveled.
“I met you less than three hours ago and you’re already making fun of my taste in ice cream?”
Safi’s own order was so detailed - a scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough and a scoop of birthday cake with rainbow sprinkles and extra cookie dough pieces on top – that it would have collapsed like a leaning tower if she had gotten a cone instead of the cup that she was currently scooping out of.
“Hey,” Safi laughed. “I just call it like I see it. It’s just so … plain.”
“And yours is the exact opposite.”
“What can I say? I’m a mess, just like my ice cream order. I’m also as sweet as this birthday cake icing.”
Max’s gaze shifted to the right of Safi’s ear, focusing on the menu behind her rather than at her. Her ears burned lightly as she tried to deduce whether that was an attempt at flirting, but she elected that it wasn’t and dismissed it.
When Safi didn’t get a response from her, she pivoted topics, “So, you’re my mom’s new hire. What’s your profession?”
“I’m a photographer. She, um, hired me as the photographer-in-residence for the year.”
“Ah! You’ll be staying at Hellerton then. You’re going to love it there. One of the best houses on campus. Honestly, I’m a little jealous.”
“What, uh, do you,” Max grew frustrated with herself as she fumbled over her words. She wasn’t used to holding long conversations with people anymore, “are you a teacher yourself, or are you …”
Safi swooped in to save Max after she trailed off. “I’m a poet. I mean, I’m also a teacher’s assistant but, you know, the first thing is more important than the second.”
Max nodded and allowed silence to take over as she focused on licking her slowly-melting ice cream. She could feel Safi’s observant eyes on her. She did her best to ignore the attention.
“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” It was phrased as a question, but Safi wasn’t truly asking. She was stating an observation.
Max looked at her and then down at the cup in her hands. She nodded.
“Why is that?”
A flash. A gunshot that echoed, ear-splittingly loud, over and over. Backwards and forwards in time.
Blue hair on a cold and muted tile floor. Red blood pouring over a black skull centered on a white shirt.
“Why is anyone the way that they are?” Max countered.
“Touché.”
Hellerton House was everything that Safi made it seem. It was large – too large for one person, yet she had it all to herself. Most of the necessary (and even unnecessary) furniture had already been supplied for her.
The living room was home to a coffee table and a spacious couch that was angled towards the television – a flat-screen that was mounted on the brick above the fireplace.
The windows were tall and, though it was currently dark out, Max could tell that they provided a beautiful view of the surrounding lake during the day.
Even the kitchen, with an expensive marble island at the center, was stocked with a sleek refrigerator, more cabinets than Max could count, and an oven and stove that she had no clue how to use.
She knew there was a darkroom in the basement. President Fayyad had specifically mentioned it to further entice Max to accept the job offer. But the darkroom would have to wait until the morning. She had plenty of other rooms to begin setting up, and even more boxes to bring inside.
Speaking of boxes, Safi set another one down just to the side of the front entryway. She wiped at a bead of sweat on her forehead. “You know, I thought photography was a ‘pack light’ kind of job,” she quipped.
“It is,” Max replied bluntly. “I kept most of my things in storage. I only took a duffel with me.”
“Storage, right. Silly me.” Safi gestured towards the porch behind her. “I think there’s still a few more until everything’s inside. I’ll go grab another?”
“Thank you.”
Safi jogged down the porch steps and Max took the moment of solitude to walk up the staircase to the upstairs landing that overlooked the living room.
A queen-sized mattress and bed frame, sans sheets and pillows, awaited her at the top of the stairs. Next to the bed was a nightstand and, along the wall, was a dresser that looked to be handcrafted by the same people who made President Fayyad’s furniture. There wasn’t much missing from the space, other than her own personal touch, which would be remedied after the hours of unpacking she had ahead of her.
She heard the sound of footsteps downstairs and walked over to the railing. Leaning over it, she watched Safi struggle with the weight of the box in her hand. Max opened her mouth to offer assistance, but then her eyes narrowed when she spotted the box’s label. In big, black block letters were the words: A.B. MEMORIES.
For the first time that day, Max felt something more than a surface-level emotion. “Don’t touch that!” she yelled.
Her volume caused Safi to jump in fright. Her grip slipped and the box lurched forward. Max’s heart leapt in her throat as the contents were jostled. She winced prematurely, expecting to hear a loud thud as years of valuable memories crashed to the floor. But, when she opened her eyes, Safi had wrestled the box into a firm grasp.
“Jesus,” Safi chuckled nervously. “You fucking scared me.”
Relief hit Max like waves crashing at the beach. The box hadn’t fallen. Its contents were safe. She took a breath, trying to calm herself, but her respite was swiftly swept away by the return of her anger. Her palms pressed against the railing beneath her hands, her fingers curling tightly into cool metal. Before she even realized what she was doing, she stormed down the stairs.
Max yanked the box away with an unnecessary amount of force. Safi hesitantly stepped backwards, her eyes wide in surprise at the sudden aggression.
“Sorry,” Max mumbled. It was half-hearted, and she didn’t mean it, but she also didn’t want to scare the other woman off.
“No.” Safi put up an apologetic hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know there were things I wasn’t supposed to touch. That’s my bad.”
“I mean, I didn’t tell you.”
Max turned her back to Safi and gently set the box on top of the coffee table. When she turned back around, Safi stood in the exact same spot, except her left hand was wrapped around her right bicep, pulling her arm close to her body. She looked unsure of where to go from here, or of what to say.
Shit, good going, Max. You went too far.
After several tense moments of silence, Safi asked, “So, uh, is there another box that I should grab? One that I’m allowed to?”
Max sighed and shook her head. “That’s okay. I can take it from here.”
“Are you sure?” Safi tried lightening the uneasy air between them with her next sentence, “You know, there’s typically two parts to moving into a new place. Bringing the boxes inside is just step one. Step two is, you know, actually unpacking.”
“I’m sure. Thank you for your help tonight, Safi. I really appreciate it. And … I’m sorry that I snapped at you.”
Max bit into her bottom lip and risked direct eye contact, hoping her pale blue irises conveyed her sincerity.
They must have, because Safi’s response was a sharp nod of understanding. “It was good to meet you, Max Caulfield. I’ll be seeing you around.”
Hours later, when the clock on the microwave was set to sometime passed midnight, Max sat on the couch in Hellerton House’s living room with a glass of wine in hand and a half-empty bottle on the coffee table. The lights were off, but she had no desire to turn them on, despite the fact that it was difficult to see. She took a long sip from her filled glass and tilted her head back, letting the alcohol swirl in her throat before she swallowed.
Without Safiya – Safi, she reminded herself – there to fill the space with her presence and the air with her words, Max was ending the day just as she started it. Alone. She was used to that, though. She’d spent every day for the last year-and-a-half by herself. She flexed her jaw side-to-side as bitter emotion soured her tongue.
The flickering lights were bad enough but, even with them off, she wasn’t a deep enough sleeper to block out the whirring of the ceiling fan. So, she was stuck staring at the rotating blades above her head.
The motel mattress was cold against her back, too. Too cold. The dip in the mattress wasn’t right, either. At least both of those problems would have been solved if Chloe was here with her. Her girlfriend’s – ex girlfriend’s – body would provide warmth. Her weight pressed against Max’s back would fix the incorrect depth of the mattress dip. Her soft breathing would give Max a sound to focus on that wasn’t the damn fan.
Max stared. And stared. And stared, as though staring enough would stop the noise.
Why had she even paid for a room with a king-sized bed if she was the only fucking person sleeping in it?
Max’s eyes traveled to the landing, where her bed awaited her. Earlier, she had haphazardly tugged sheets over the mattress and pillowcases over a pillow in preparation for her first night’s sleep in her new home.
But now, with the whirring of that motel ceiling fan spinning in her mind, she decided that the couch would do for the night.