Narcissism

It was late, and Maxine couldn’t sleep. She flipped her pillow and pressed her face into the cool side, trying to relax enough that the subtle gravity of sleep would catch hold of her. It wasn’t there. She sighed, and opened her eyes. She could just make out Max’s features in the darkness—cheek smeared against the pillow, lips pulled into a rubbery snarl. Did she really look that goofy when she slept? She smiled. Yeah, Maxine was always finding little puddles of drool on her own pillowcases in the morning. She was no different.

She glanced around the room, eyes drifting over a half-dozen blinking LEDs and the digital display on an alarm clock. Fuck, it was late. She considered getting up, which was a bad sign in and of itself. Nobody who’s about to fall asleep ever thinks, “hey, what if I got up.” Sigh. She carefully lifted the sheets and wiggled out from under them, doing her best to avoid waking Max, then crept out into the kitchen.

She noticed a miniature plush Hawt Dawg Man sitting on a bookshelf, and winked at him. It was kind of uncanny. This was Max’s apartment, not hers, and everything was arranged differently, yet it felt deeply familiar. All of her stuff was here, all the evidence of her quirks and habits was plainly on display, and still this just wasn’t her home. The whole thing felt like a Maxine Caulfield museum exhibit assembled by a stranger. The apartment was sprinkled with cute, Instagram-ready curios, carefully placed to distract from all the clutter that had been stuffed out of sight. A vase of wildflowers sat on the counter next to a bowl of photogenic lemons, while dirty dishes lay piled in the sink and the kitchen garbage overflowed with hot pocket wrappers. Maxine’s lips twitched into a smile. The only things missing were some candles in mason jars and a mini herb garden or two. She could bring those next time—she had plenty to spare back at her place.

Maxine opened the fridge and glanced around the shelves, waiting for something to catch her eye. The cool air felt nice, and she lingered for a minute with the door open before grabbing a plastic container of pasta and sitting down with it at the counter. She didn’t microwave it—the pasta was perfectly good cold, and the microwave might have been loud.

She was too sleepy to think and eat at the same time, and so she ate almost meditatively. The leftovers were already half gone when she heard a doorknob turn. She looked up, with a mouthful of salmon, to see Max peering out from a crack in the bedroom door.

Maxine swallowed apologetically. “Did I wake you up?”

“It’s fine,” said Max, almost too quiet to hear. She left the doorway and walked to the counter. The lights were all off, save for a night-light plugged into the wall, and Max looked ethereal in her flowing XL Nirvana t-shirt. The effect was totally ruined when she came close enough that Maxine could see a big crust of dried spit on her cheek.

“What?” said Max, as Maxine broke into soft peals of laughter. “What is it?”

Maxine grabbed a napkin. “C’mere,” she said, reaching for Max, who squinted and tilted her face away like a put-upon kitten. “You’re covered in drool.”

“I can do it myself! Jeez.” She snatched the napkin from Maxine’s fingers and wiped her cheek a few times before realizing that she had no idea if she was getting the right spot. Maxine laughed at her; she rolled her eyes and sat down. “Gimme that pasta. I’m hungry.”

Maxine slid the container down the counter, and let her eyes drift over Max’s messy hair and past the crook of her shoulder before coming to lie on her bare legs. She kicked her foot out and stuck it between the legs of the other chair, resting it against Max’s calf, where it stayed until the pasta was all gone. Max pushed the empty container across the counter, scootched her chair over, then scootched it a bit further, until they were right next to each other. She shifted, leaning her head against Maxine’s breast, and curled up in her arms. Maxine stroked her hair.

“That pasta was yummy,” murmured Max into her shirt.

“Yeah I definitely need the recipe,” replied Maxine. She scratched the back of Max’s neck, and Max shivered and nestled closer.

The bedroom door creaked, and they both looked up to see a brunette with tired eyes poking her head out into the hallway.

“Come back to bed,” said the third Max.

“Can’t sleep,” said Maxine.

“Neither can I, actually. Do you mind?” said someone from across the counter. Maxine twisted to face her, and found a grouchy Max glaring blearily back from an armchair.

“Is anybody still asleep at this point?” came a muffled voice from the far side of the room. A silhouette sat up on the sofa, lifting its face from the chest of another Max (a Maxine, actually) lying on her back. “Let’s just get pizza. I’m hungry, and you guys ate all the pasta.”

“Pizza sounds good!” said the Max in the armchair, before being loudly shushed by a chorus of other Maxes.

Maxine sighed, and her Max snickered softly in her arms. Ugh, they all deserved each other. “Does anyone mind if we order some late-night pizza?” she said. “I’d be up for pizza.”

There were a few grumbles from the Maxes in the most comfortable spots, but most of them were in sleeping bags on the floor and that wasn’t so restful anyways. The Max on the sofa fished her phone out of the cushions, ignoring her partner’s complaints about her cold hands, and phoned the pizza place to ask for six extra-large something-somethings. Maxine didn’t hear which toppings she picked, but it didn’t really matter, since they all had the same preferences. Unless that was the Max who always wanted Hawaiian, in which case there’d be hell to pay.

Wisps of conversation burbled up around the room. Someone turned on a lamp, and a half-dozen Maxes rolled over in their sleeping bags to try and catch a few more minutes of rest. Some of the friskier ones paired up and began peeling off each other’s clothes. Maxine grinned and slid a hand under her Max’s oversized t-shirt, eliciting a soft gasp. So much for sleeping.

Fifteen minutes later, somebody’s phone started ringing, and an argument ensued about who was the most clothed and the least indisposed and therefore the best person to go get the pizzas. The Max with the phone couldn’t even answer the call, on account of her mouth being full. Eventually Maxine got sick of it (“Oh my gosh, I’ll go! I’ll go, just stop fucking arguing.”), pushed the other Maxes off her, and stood up, groping around in the shadows for her shirt. She decided it was gone forever, and walked over to the washroom to snag a bathrobe. She ignored the protests of the Maxine who was using the toilet. There were two Maxes in the shower already anyway, so it’s not as if she’d had privacy in there to begin with.

Maxine walked back down the hall, pulling on the bathrobe. She stepped up to the the apartment door, pulled it open, and was shocked to find that, rather than six pizzas (which had better not have been Hawaiian), an attractive young woman with bright blue hair and a suitcase had turned up on their doorstep instead.

“Oh shit! Chloe, what are—”

“Yeah sorry to wake you up in the middle of the fucking night like this, I’m just so—” she yawned, “—so fucking tired, I think I lost my fucking keys at the airport. The company sent me home early and this is the only flight they said they’d pay for, if you can fucking believe it.”

“Okay, wait, don’t—” said Maxine, before Chloe gave her a heavy hug and a peck on the lips.

“Good to see you too babe,” she said, before pushing past her into the apartment. “Hey what’s that noise, are you watching TV or someth—”

Chloe rounded the corner and dropped her suitcase.

“Hey Chloe!”

“It’s Chloe!”

“Why is Chloe h—”

“Chloe!”

“Chloe? What are y—”

“Hmmph Chloompch—mbluh—Chloe!”

“Hey, were we expecting Chloe to—”

“—ou doing here, you said—”

“Hi Chloe!”

One voice, shrill and bewildered, rose above the rest: “MAX, WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

Maxine peeked into the living room and sheepishly glanced around until she made eye contact with someone. She waved at the other Max, and they walked over to her, skirting awkwardly around Chloe (who was too baffled to even notice).

“What’s the plan?” said Max.

“We kiss and make out a bunch,” said Maxine, sagely. It wasn’t her Chloe anyway.