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"Hey, are you the one in charge of the podcast?"
That’s how their first call unexpectedly began.
Max never used to call. And Amanda didn’t dare take that first step.
Max has always been one of those absent-minded types who leaves messages unanswered for hours—sometimes with an apology, sometimes with an explanation, sometimes with a reason. In the long run, however, the lines have blurred, and Amanda doesn’t even know which is which.
All that remains is the gut feeling deep in her mind and heart that Max used to do it on purpose. Because the answers she gave always left something unsaid, as if she’d been thinking about it for a long time.
And, if that were the case—if Max was knowingly ignoring her until she decided her answer was good enough—it didn’t really help. Did that mean Max cared enough to want to give her the right answer? Or did she just want to get rid of her?
And ever since they broke up, there’s been a considerable distance between them. Intentionally. Even though they try to pretend nothing has changed, even though they want to believe they can go back to the way things were.
Why had Max worked so hard to create a distance between them, to the point where they stopped meeting in the middle?
Amanda got a taste of what it would be like to have Max, and her life changed. For the worse. It’s a turning point in her life that she’s painfully aware of.
There’s something about Max—something completely intoxicating and irresistible that swirls around her like an extension of herself. Especially considering that sometimes her predictions come true, like a sixth sense that Amanda was initially afraid of, but… it’s Max.
Max, who’s so damn kind that she forgets she can say no, that she, too, can put herself first. If Max has this strange gift, Amanda believes her.
Max, whether she knew or not, is Amanda’s downfall.
She’s the kind of love people warn you about—the kind where you have to be careful or you might fall into a pit of emptiness that pulls you away from the rest of the world and isolates you. It’s the kind of love Amanda has been trying to heal from for years, and that constantly leaves her in limbo—even though Max is no longer hers, even though nothing romantic is happening between them anymore—because it’s hard to get her out of her heart, not without leaving deep scars that will take a long time to heal—or may never heal at all.
Now that this mysterious woman—Chloe?—has appeared, she can tell there’s a change in Max. One that Amanda has never seen before. One that tightens her chest with unspoken feelings, with words she has to bite back so they don’t slip out.
There is a lightness about her, though a heavy weariness and stress are evident in every step she takes. It always seems as if something is tormenting her, following her like a shadow—one that Amanda has never come to know.
Because Max keeps those dark parts of herself—the ones that would explain her character, her reasons, her motivations, her way of thinking—hidden in the shadows, as if she couldn’t face them, much less let anyone else know about them.
Amanda has seen that change in her gaze.
How Max’s blue eyes are so clear, so crystalline, that she could drown in their tenderness. Until they turn dark, haunted by ghosts from her past, sending shivers down her spine, as if something bad were about to happen.
Amanda still wants to get to know that side of Max. Just because... she wants to know her inside and out, to understand her completely, even if she gets nothing in return, even if she has to leave her heart adrift.
She wants Max to let her love her. Just because Amanda has already let her into her heart, because Max still doesn’t dare to love her.
Maybe Max will never love her. And Amanda will be okay with that.
It’s just...
Why does Max seem unable to let her go completely? Always letting their touch last longer than it should, with a gaze that lingers, with a constant presence that Amanda has begun to miss these days.
As if she wanted it to last even though there’s nothing left to do. As if, somehow, she regretted ending things between them.
Because it seems like their relationship isn’t really over—not entirely, not definitively, as Max intended.
Maybe Amanda is also to blame, because she keeps hoping Max will come back, that she’s willing to show her those ugly parts of herself and trust that she’ll love her back.
Maybe Amanda is just imagining things. Maybe Max has always been like this.
But there’s no way to know, is there? Because how can Amanda bring it up and only get the evasive answers that are so typical of Max? Can she even stand it one more time? Max’s silence and secrets? Especially when Max doesn’t give her a concrete reason to trust her, even though Amanda does, very much against her better judgment.
But at the end of the day, she looked her in the eyes and told her they weren’t right for each other.
That would be the worst part of it all.
Amanda has no right to demand answers that no longer belong to her. Her chance to ask her has surely passed, to put an end to this doubt that haunts her even into her dreams.
With the whole storm thing, Max always has that guilty look, as if she were to blame. As if she knew more than everyone else and decided not to say it, or simply didn’t want to say it.
Amanda has a bad habit of falling for women who aren’t emotionally available. She’s drawn to danger and mystery, as if she could weave her way through their problems and come out on top.
It’s something she was finally getting over—until a certain photographer… Well, it’s not Max’s fault that Amanda fell for her.
It’s Amanda’s own fault for rushing into a burning building yet again, knowing she’d come out with burns, soot, and something heavy in her lungs that she can never quite shake off.
It’s a hard habit to break. Wanting to help these women, wanting to understand them, wanting to be the first to love them the way... the way she’d like to be loved.
Because none of them has ever really wanted to or made an effort to love her the way she wants. No matter how much Amanda has given them, no matter how many times she’s lost herself for them, just to prove that she wants it all.
Not even Max. Even though she genuinely wanted to and probably could have… if she’d allowed herself to.
Amanda frowns, holding her phone at arm’s length to make sure Max really meant to call her. There’s her name, clear as day and impossible to misread.
"Max?" she asks tentatively, resting her phone on her shoulder as she finishes drying a glass. Only then does she register the last word she said. Podcast.
She knows there’s a podcast epidemic all over Caledon. Amanda has tried to remove every podcast flyer and poster from her bar, but they always seem to multiply. The only one she leaves up is Loretta’s, because the student body deserves to know what’s going on at Abraxas.
Fuck, how many times she’s torn up and ripped apart Colmenero’s flyers, only for him to bring a hundred more every single time.
But why is Max talking to her about podcasts and asking if she runs one?
"Exactly!" Max replies, drawing out her words. There are shouts in the background, people talking too loudly, laughing out loud, and cheering others on. Her voice sounds strange, in a high-pitched tone.
"Listen, making grilled cheese isn't easy, okay? There's a whole science behind it that's complicated. I mean, what temperature does the pan actually have to be? What kind of cheese actually melts? What's the difference between using oil, butter, or mayonnaise? And how long does it even have to cook? It's ridiculous!"
What did she just hear? Did she hear that right? Did Max Caulfield just admit that she doesn’t know how to make grilled cheese?
Amanda blinks, her gaze fixed on the King towel in her hand. That doesn’t sound like Max at all.
Not because she admitted she doesn’t know how to cook, but because of how she said it. Exasperated, as if Amanda herself had said something to her about it before. Eager to defend herself as if it were something to be ashamed of.
Still, should she laugh or worry about that woman’s inability to figure things out?
Max doesn’t wait for her to answer. “And cheese is treacherous! Very, very treacherous. Why even put it in food? It’s just curdled milk with too much salt! It’s not my fault!”
Amanda can’t help but let out a little giggle. Cheese must have played some nasty tricks on Max for her to talk like that, with such contempt.
“Okay? Are you lactose intolerant or something?”
"It was only a short while ago!" Max protests, visibly flustered. "It doesn't matter. I can handle it just fine, okay?"
Amanda sets down the glass, tossing the kitchen towel aside as she adjusts her phone. Her amusement quickly fades.
"Hey, hey, I'm not making fun of you," she says, as honestly as she can. "It's shitty."
Max sighs. “It is.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Amanda grows restless, coughing discreetly. Even though they aren’t looking at each other, she can still feel the tension between them. It follows them regardless of distance or form, as if they were connected, entangled in the threads of uncertainty.
The same tension she’s felt for a long time, practically forever. The kind that makes Amanda wonder if she’s done something wrong, if there’s something Max isn’t telling her.
That tension Amanda wants to break. She just can't figure out how. She tries to get a handle on it to find its source, to bring it to the surface, but the current keeps pushing her away.
She thinks they’ll never be able to get past it. Is it something worth trying to save?
Given the lack of trust and communication between them. Will they ever be able to get past it, to talk the way they were supposed to from the start?
It’s as if they were on separate roller coasters, running parallel to each other, close but unable to touch, no matter how much they stretch their bodies or reach out their arms.
Gravity won’t let them meet.
In sync, if Amanda takes a step forward, Max takes a step back. If Max takes a step forward, Amanda takes two steps back. Both too scared to face what they might end up having.
Or maybe they’re too afraid of what they might lose if they let themselves get close, of how one wrong move could send all their hard work down the drain.
Still. For the tension to ease, they both have to do their part… and it’s obvious they haven’t gotten there yet.
“Wait,” Amanda says softly, stepping away from the bar. “Where are you?”
Max snorts. “At the Fremont house?” she says questioningly.
Amanda blinks. “What?”
The name rings a bell.
Fremont Street. The Fremont House.
The Fremont House.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
The same house Max was asking about just a few days ago.
The same one that was almost demolished. Probably with Max inside.
Oh, shit.
Why does Max always end up risking her life? Does she value being alive so little?
There’s a pause, as if Max were thinking about something. Amanda can’t say she judges her.
"You sound familiar," Max finally says, as if she were frowning.
"You sound like Amanda," she says her name softly, as if she still cared for her.
Amanda smiles, much against her will. Even though it’s obvious Max is drunk or something like that, the fact that she’s thinking of her in that state...
"Is that a bad thing?" she dares to ask, a little afraid of the answer.
"No," Max hastens to reply, as if she didn’t even need to think about it.
"It's reassuring. You know, I miss her. I don't regret sparing her the pain and discomfort of being with me, and I'll never be good enough for her to love me, but selfishly, I miss her. But you're not going to say anything on your podcast, are you?"
Amanda holds her breath, her heart racing. She feels a swarm of emotions.
Max misses her.
Max Caulfield misses her. Even though she admits she doesn’t regret the breakup, the fact that she misses her… It feels like she can breathe again.
Amanda shouldn’t be overthinking this as much as she is right now. Because she misses Max, too.
She misses her so much it’s ridiculous, as if it were a mockery of her progress in therapy.
When she first saw her at the Turtle, accompanied by Safi and Moses, with that cautious, calculating expression, Amanda knew she wanted her. She wanted her badly.
It was impossible not to fall for those blue eyes that reflected a life full of pain, for those lips that, despite being soft, held so many words she refrained from speaking, for those hands that held gently, even though they were covered in calluses and scars.
Amanda was never good at being patient when she wanted or needed something, and it was something that everyone, including herself, considered a flaw. One that has affected much of her life. From comments like "Amanda, calm down" to "Amanda, you have to understand that you can't."
With Max, it wasn't hard to be patient for even a second. Both because Amanda is working on it and because Max has that air about her that suggests she needs a certain amount of patience—the kind Amanda demanded of herself.
When they broke up, Amanda’s resolve broke too. Now she has to clench her fists and swallow her patience. Because it’s not up to her to make Max open up.
Oh, the fact that Max misses her heals a part of her she didn't even know existed.
Max seems to take her silence as a sign to keep going. "Now that Chloe's back, I can't stop comparing them. I mean, how lucky am I to have both my exes in the same place, right? Classic Caulfield, right?... It’s just... they both ended up fearing me, and I know that’s understandable, but why did they even think I’d hurt them? I've always shown them I'd give anything for them. Have I let them down? Am I worth so little that they wouldn't want me? I don't get it. I really don't get it. The worst part is, I can't even tell them. I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to say? 'Hey, the reasons we broke up are stupid, let's get back together'?"
Max lets out a forced chuckle, her self-loathing written all over her voice. Amanda’s chest aches, as if Max had accidentally stabbed her in the heart.
Did Max really just admit that she compares Amanda to her ex, Chloe? Seriously?
More importantly: what the hell is Amanda supposed to do with that information? Because it’s not a competition since they both ended up losing, right?
When did Amanda ever imply that she was afraid of Max? Of what? Of breaking her heart? Of disappearing from her life without warning? Those are common fears, and it seems like Max was referring to something else... something deeper? More private? Something only Max knew about her and Chloe.
Amanda licks her suddenly dry lips, glancing toward the bar to make sure there are no distractions before sighing deeply. “Max, I don’t think it’s all your fault. There are two or more people in a relationship... And if you feel like your secret is making them afraid of you... I think you should find a better way to say it."
"No matter how many times I do it, they wouldn't get it. Fuck, not even Moses really gets it. Safi is the only one who gets it and... you know. She's been keeping me in the shadows and seems kind of mad at me. What a surprise, right? Me making people miserable."
The fact that there are already people who know her secret and have stood by Max... can’t be a bad thing, then. That calms her down a little, though she feels a twinge of guilt in her chest.
It feels as if she’s forgetting something important, something fundamental that fully explains who Max Caulfield is.
“So, Max, what do you want to do?” she asks in a low voice, her mind wandering with doubts.
"I don't know! Ugh, this fucking sucks. It really sucks. I have to look Amanda in the face and pretend it doesn't hurt me that she's happier without me. Pretend I don't want more than what we had." Max's voice cracks, clearly letting her most intimate thoughts slip out—thoughts that seemed to have been forgotten.
Amanda feels a lump in her throat. She has to blink a couple of times to keep from crying.
That... that’s more than she’s ever allowed herself to fantasize about.
Amanda feels the same way. That Max seems happier without her, that she, too, wants more than what they had.
"Have... have you tried telling her?" she whispers, already knowing the answer.
“And for what? She’s very happy without me. I can’t take it away from her again. I can’t. I can’t.”
She hears Max’s heavy breathing, and Amanda grows even more worried. She’s about to comfort her, but then she hears Max start to forcefully control her breathing, as if she already knows how to calm down.
That breaks her heart even more. The fact that Max has survived breakdowns all on her own.
"Ugh, fuck," she grunts, her voice breaking. "Listen, I know you don't like me, and honestly, I can't say I don't understand why, but don't say anything on your podcast, okay? If not for me, do it for Amanda, at least. She doesn’t deserve to have her name dragged through the mud because of me.”
Amanda sighs shakily. “I promise, Max, I won’t say anything on my podcast. This… this stays between us.”
Max hums, as if nodding. "Uh, thanks. Thanks for... whatever happened. I think... I think I have to go. What was the password again?" Max mutters at the end, hanging up.
Despite hearing the beep signaling the end of the call, Amanda remains clutching her phone, as if holding onto it a little longer might help her process all the information that had just come crashing down on her.
The worst part is that she’s sure Max wouldn’t remember. Meanwhile, Amanda would have her hopes sky-high again, ready to give herself to her.
What the absolute fuck?
How is she supposed to move on now, knowing that Max probably wants her back almost as much as she does? That Max is protecting her from herself, without even telling Amanda why?
Max Caulfield, she reminds herself, is her worst downfall.
She can’t just imply that she shares Amanda’s feelings and thoughts and then brush it off again, as if it were something forgettable.
Amanda won’t forget it. Ever. Not even on her deathbed.
For now, she has to finish her shift, and when she gets home, she’ll meticulously remember every bit of her conversation with Max, make a list of what she’d like to bring up, and then decide if it’s worth bringing the subject up.
She can hold out just a little longer, right?