Detective Max: Chapter 2 (part 1)

“You know” Jacobs says as he takes a bite out of his apple, “You hardly talk about your old home life.”

“What’s there to talk about?” I flip my omelet.

 

We’re just hanging out in my kitchen making breakfast.

 

“Well, your boy toy from college got me thinking. Who was Max before she was Max?” Jacobs waves his hands in the air like he’s some producer trying to pitch a bad Lifetime movie.

 

“Pfft, very funny. I haven’t changed much, college me just cared more about what people thought of her. Then, when I stopped caring, this Max was born.” I slide the omelet onto a plate.

 

“Oh, so you were one of those girls.” Jacobs pauses and then pulls out his phone.

 

I sit next to him at my counter… we’re really close to each other.

                       

“What are you looking at?” I glance at his phone.

 

“Your pictures on Facebook.” He replies as if it were normal.

 

“What!? Why?” I almost choke.

 

“Wow, you have changed. Your hair used to be really long. Are you wearing a dress in this one? Weird.” Jacobs says as he scrolls through my college photos.

 

“What do you mean weird?” I grumble trying to not avoid looking embarrassed.

 

My college days weren’t my proudest days. My freshman year, I tried hard to fit in with the college narrative.

 

I straighten my hair almost any time it showed any curl. The heat damage is very noticeable in pictures. But mom didn’t care because it was still long and “Black girls like you should be thankful to have such long pretty hair”. Is what she would tell me when I expressed my frustration over the lifeless burnt protein that I once called hair. I chopped it all off my senior year and haven’t put heat in it for over a year now. When mom saw the pictures she apparently cried the whole night.

 

She told me I was going through a phase and that I’ll regret cutting all my hair off.

 

            I don’t know when the regret will set in though.

 

            I was also OBSESSED with wearing makeup. I’d wake up two hours before class to do my hair and makeup. I wouldn’t say I’m a beauty guru or anything. As it took me forever to find the correct shade of foundation. I still can’t believe I let that lady from Sephora convince me I was 2 shades lighter than I am. Glad I deleted those pictures off Facebook…

 

            But over time, I just felt it was all just… too much. I hated eyeshadow and putting on concealer and foundation. So, by the time I was a senior, my routine went from a full face to just mascara and maybe some lipstick. I hated going to the hair salon and going every two weeks and paying a load of money. Though having natural hair isn’t easy, I’m not broke, and I can wash my hair whenever I please. It all felt so right, and it made me finally feel like I was me. Like I was Max again.

 

            “I’m not saying you look ugly or anything. But I’ll be honest and say you look like the type of girl I’d sleep with but not text back.” Jacobs explains.

 

            “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment…” I frown.

 

            “It’s not. I was an asshole in college. I was also a dumbass who got married at 22.” Jacobs sighs.

 

            “Oh yeah, how’s that going along?”

 

            Henry and I went down different paths our senior year of college. He got married to his (somewhat) long time girlfriend, Nancy. From what he’s told me, the two weren’t as compatible as they thought. So, he filed for divorce almost 2 years later.

 

            “Hm… it hasn’t been easy. Nancy has only been working temp jobs. A liberal Arts degree can only get you so far in this country. So now she wants a lot more spousal support than I’m comfortable paying. I don’t know what it is… But the divorce really changed her. It’s like she resents me for it. Even though I tried so hard to make the marriage work. It’s almost like she expected me to just deal with it. But I couldn’t, I could barely handle a year.”

 

            I don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to mention my engagement from high school. But, I rather not think about it right now. The look on Henry’s face tells me he has been hurting a lot over this. He notices my silence and forces a smile.

 

            “Enough about me. I want to know more about Ms. Maxine.” He leans on the counter.

 

            “Hm, I was in the Nursing program for like two semesters.” I shrug.

 

            “Really? That’s a different career than detective.” Henry chuckles.

 

            “I know, I changed to Criminology not long after. Mom was pissed but whatever.”

 

            “Why? She should be proud of you. You’re in a good field and a good detective.”

            “Eh she was mad I did what I wanted and not what she wanted. Like my older brother, Steve, he works in accounting. I know he fucking hates it, but it makes mom happy.” I scoff.

 

            I could honestly rant about my mom for a while. But I don’t want to scare Henry off with my bitter words.

 

            “What about your dad?” Henry questions.

 

            “He’s neutral about everything. He doesn’t like to “pick sides” even though I’ve told him over and over that being neutral just means he’s choosing to ignore the situation.”

 

My mom is black while my dad is white. I love my dad, I really do. However, I think he just doesn’t understand that this “tough love” black parents love to express isn’t healthy. I’ve tried explaining it to him, but he would just say, “Max, your mother loves you. She was just raised to show it in a certain way.”

 

At this point, I’ve given up.

 

“Sounds like a dad. I mean, I wouldn’t know personally, my dad wasn’t around. So, I was mostly raised by women. My mom, sister, aunt, and my grandma. My grandpa died years before I was born. My grandma did have boyfriends, but they were all temporary relationships and all shitty guys. Like when I was about six or seven, she dated this guy named Carl. He would blow cigarette smoke in my face and laugh when I recoiled. It was like my grandma had a fetish for white trash.”

 

“Seems like it, what did your grandma do?”

 

“Nothing. This is going to sound terrible, but my grandma was a bitter old bitch. The only person she seemed to like was Gloria. And I think she was only nice because my mom threatened to report her for Welfare fraud if she weren’t.”

 

All this new information about Henry’s personal life makes me feel strange. Like, we’ve officially grown past our “colleague” relationship and are now genuinely friends.

 

I mean, I did let him crash at my place. But that’s because the last time I let him be because we were working on a case together. Since it was late I didn’t want him driving home sleep deprived. That’s my alibi and I’m sticking to it.

 

“Speaking of Gloria, how is she? She’s like 14, now right?” I ask.

 

“Yeah, she’s 15. She’s a good kid, extremely bright. I still can’t believe my mom named her after Gloria Steinem. I guess that’s the perks of having a women’s studies professor as a mom.” Henry laughs to himself.

 

“Do you and your mom get along?”

 

“Yeah my mom is great. She’s the reason I know all that stuff about feminism and women’s studies. It’s why I got so excited when you told me you focused on it in school. It… reminded me of her.”

 

“Really?” I can feel my face getting warm from blushing. It causes me to inhale the rest of my omelet.

 

“Yeah, hey! How about our next vacation we can go visit them? It’ll be great!”

 

Henry looks adorable when he’s excited. But, for some reason I can’t match his enthusiasm. Part of me is worried his mom and I won’t be on the same page. Sure, she’s a feminist. Yet, what if she’s one of those feminists who ignores the problems Women of Color face? Who thinks Taylor Swift is a feminist icon, but Beyoncé is ghetto and Formation didn’t make sense.

 

Maybe, I’m projecting? I don’t have a stable relationship with my own mom. And now I think all moms are enemy #1.

 

While I’m deep in thought with my ideals of feminists’ mothers. My phone starts to ring.

 

“This is Davidson.” I answer.

 

“Davidson, it’s Capt. Louis. We need you and Jacobs to come down to the station and conduct some interviews for the Peterson case from yesterday.” Capt. Louis explains.

 

“Okay, I’ll let Jacobs know right away.” I look over at him and he winks.

 

“Good, both of you keep up the good work.” Capt. Louis hangs up.

 

I rather not work on this case, it’s so heavy on my emotions. It’s as if I knew the victim. Despite my feelings, this is my job. This is what I signed up for.

 

“Duty calls.” I tell Jacobs as I get up.

 

“Yay, more work.” Jacobs speaks with fake excitement.

 

My soul is aching for me to stay here. But, my mind ignores it as I put on my jacket and badge. I can handle this, I know I can.

 

“This is what you signed up for. Don’t back down now.” keeps echoing in my mind.

 

I can do this.

But for how long?

 

 

 

We walk into the station and are met with instant tumult. Cases like this always cause a lot of drama for us. News stations blocking the entrance, family of the victims trying to barge in, basically anything that will make the case ten times harder to investigate.

 

“You’re just in time, we got a few witnesses.” Det. Claire Newman approaches Det. Jacobs and I at our desk.

 

            Newman is one of my other favorite people at the station. She’s one of those no non-sense types who takes their job seriously. I mean, I think I’ve seen her smile maybe once? And I never heard her laugh.

 

            “Thanks Newman for bringing us some new men.” Henry jesters.

 

            Newman just gives Jacobs a blank stare before she turned back to me.

 

            “Anyway, it shouldn’t take too long. Det. Magalie and I are going to go back to the scene and see if there’s anything else we need.”

 

            “Thanks Newman.” I say before taking the list of names.

 

            “Ugh, that woman has a heart of stone.” Henry comments.

 

            “Or maybe you’re just not funny.” I smirk.

 

            “How rude, I am hilarious.”

 

            We go to the back and conduct the witness interviews. Many of them were neighbors who felt guilty they couldn’t have done something sooner. Or wish they intervened before the inevitable happened. I feel more like a priest who’s listening to sins rather than a detective. One woman, who looks to be about in her mid-30s is a mess.

 

            “I-I-I just wish I could have said something sooner. She was such a nice girl, and I always told her she was more than welcomed to stay with me if things got bad. But, due to my waitressing job, I’m always gone at odd hours. So, when I came home and saw all those cop cars. I was just praying ‘please let her be okay. Lord please let her be okay’. Oh god, I just oh God.” The woman begins to cry again and Jacobs hands her a tissue.

 

            The interviews weren’t a complete waste of time, but we didn’t get much information either. Some believe the boyfriend sold drugs, while others speculated he was pimping out the girlfriend. It’s a lot to take in…

 

            I look over at Jacobs who looks just as drained. I know this is my job and what I signed up for. But there are days where I wish I could just… sleep. Sleep and never wake up.

We walk into the station and are met with instant tumult. Cases like this always cause a lot of drama for us. News stations blocking the entrance, family of the victims trying to barge in, basically anything that will make the case ten times harder to investigate.

 

“You’re just in time, we got a few witnesses.” Det. Claire Newman approaches Det. Jacobs and I at our desk.

 

            Newman is one of my other favorite people at the station. She’s one of those no non-sense types who takes their job seriously. I mean, I think I’ve seen her smile maybe once? And I never heard her laugh.

 

            “Thanks Newman for bringing us some new men.” Henry jesters.

 

            Newman just gives Jacobs a blank stare before she turns back to me.

 

            “Anyway, it shouldn’t take too long. Det. Magalie and I are going to go back to the scene and see if there’s anything else we need.”

 

            “Thanks Newman.” I say before taking the list of names.

 

            “Ugh, that woman has a heart of stone.” Henry comments.

 

            “Or maybe you’re just not funny.” I smirk.

 

            “How rude, I am hilarious.” Henry tries to look mad but fails at hiding his smile.

 

            We go to the back and conduct the witness interviews. Many of them were neighbors who felt guilty they couldn’t have done something sooner. Or wish they intervened before the inevitable happened. I feel more like a priest who’s listening to sins rather than a detective. One woman, who looks to be about in her mid-30s is a mess.

 

            “I-I-I just wish I could have said something sooner. She was such a nice girl, and I always told her she was more than welcomed to stay with me if things got bad. But, due to my waitressing job, I’m always gone at odd hours. So, when I came home and saw all those cop cars. I was just praying ‘please let her be okay. Lord please let her be okay’. Oh god, I just oh God.” The woman begins to cry again and Jacobs hands her a tissue.

 

            The interviews weren’t a complete waste of time, but we didn’t get much information either. Some believe the boyfriend sold drugs, while others speculated he was pimping out the girlfriend. It’s a lot to take in…

 

            I look over at Jacobs who looks just as drained. I know this is my job and what I signed up for. But there are days where I wish I could just… sleep. Sleep and never wake up.

 

After work I check my phone as I walk to my car and see I have a few messages on Facebook from John.