(80)

                                    

                                          
The apartment door opened and closed on Friday afternoon, two days after Lucy had been to visit. Max appeared in the living room where I'd just finished a phone call with the girls from rehab. 
                          
"I did some research," he said. "Turns out, Spanish dudes don't ask their girlfriend's father for permission to propose because telling anyone about the proposal before the bride, is a big no no. So, pretend you know nothing. Nothing." 
                          
"I mean, sure. But Amalia is American too. I'm sure she's not opposed to doing things differently."
                          
"Yeah I know that," Max said, falling into the couch next to me. "But Elias is traditional. So I'm not asking him for permission. As weird as that is." 
                          
"Fair enough."
                          
"Can't do it publicly like I was going to either."
                          
"Publicly?"
                          
"I was going to get the whole family together, hers and mine. But then I was like, na because she might feel pressured to respond a certain way. Don't want that." 
                          
"She's going to say yes." 
                          
He whipped his head toward me. "Did you tell her?"
                          
"No you idiot. I just know she's going to because she loves you."
                          
"Oh, right. Yeah, well, I hope so."
                          
He might seem young to some people, a lot of people, but Max is mature in his heart and soul. If he knows he wants to marry Amalia, it won't be the wrong decision because Max loves loyally and deeply. Amalia is perfect for him, their future will be beautiful. 
                          
There was a knock on the door and Max stood up. "I'll get it." 
                          
A moment later, Harley came trailing in behind him. We'd arranged to have some lunch and discuss ideas for social media. When I told him about the idea I'd talked to Lucy about, he was quick to offer his help. 
                          
It wasn't so much 'help' he'd said, more like wanting to be part of something meaningful. 
                          
"Can I get you a drink or anything, man?" Max asked Harley, wandering over to the kitchen.
                          
"I'm good thanks," he said and looked at where I was standing up from the couch, subtly admiring the swirls of ink on his warm brown arms. 
                          
"I need to grab a few things from my room before we go, wanna come?"
                          
"Sure."
                          
As we went to walk off, I looked over at Max who was gulping down a glass of water while he stared at me. Quickly, he twisted, averting his attention to the window. 
                          
I was fully expecting him to tell me to leave the door open. 
                          
Which, I did. Because there was no reason to close it and make the whole situation something it wasn't. 
                          
Harley stood in front of the collage of photos on the wall, a soft expression while he admired my friends and siblings. 
                          
"How's the rest of your week been?" I asked, stuffing a few things into my bag. A hoodie, my phone, some pain relief, because you never know when you'll get a random headache. 
                          
"Not bad," Harley said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his sweat pants. "Working heaps I suppose. You?"
                          
"Not working," I winced. It was sort of humiliating to admit that I didn't have to work and yet, I'd never have to worry either. "Well, not a regular job. I don't suppose you can count sitting on Instagram as a nine to five."