Chapter 26: Questions without answers

Grace entered the kitchen, where Max was waiting. His demeanour was deliberately neutral, as if he had been practicing this moment ever since she left. She could see he had set the table with their nice plates, the ones they typically saved for rare occasions, and the flat smelt of herbs and garlic.

He remained standing at the stove and enquired, "How did it go?"

Grace placed the mail and her purse on the counter, giving herself a moment to think of a way to describe a discussion that had completely changed the way she saw the world. "It was complicated."

"Good complicated or bad complicated?"

"Both. Not at all. 

Mason turned off the hob and faced her directly. "Do you wish to talk about it now or after dinner?"

"Now, I think. Before I lose my nerve.

They sat at their modest dining table, the perfectly prepared food getting cold between them as Grace struggled to express what she had learnt. She told him about her father's reasons for authoring the book, his fears about Santos' techniques, and the potential federal penalties he could face. Max listened attentively, his demeanour becoming more contemplative with each revelation.

"So he wasn't just exploiting your trauma," Max replied as she finished. "He was trying to expose problematic law enforcement practices."

"Maybe. Or perhaps he's just adept at making his exploitation appear virtuous. "I don't know anymore."

"What do you know?"

Grace took the envelope her father had given her and weighed it in her hands. "I understand that everyone who purports to care about me has their own idea of what is best for me. Santos argued that using us as bait was permissible since it served the greater good. My father believes that exposing Santos helps justice. But nobody asked what we wanted."

"What do we want?"

The question hovered between them, carrying implications that extended far beyond their chat with Santos and her father's book. Grace realised Max was enquiring about more than just their current circumstances.

"I have no idea," she responded calmly. "That is the problem. I'm not sure if what I want is genuine or simply a reaction to all that has occurred to us."

Max remained silent for a long time. "Are you talking about us?"

"I am talking about everything. We, this flat, our engagement, and the life we're creating. What if nothing is real? "What if it's all just elaborate trauma bonding masquerading as love?"

"What would make it real?"

"I do not know. That is what scares me.

Max reached across the table and took her hand, his thumb tracing the engagement ring he'd put three weeks before. "Grace, can you remember the first time we cooked together? Really cooked, not just reheated takeaway."

"The pasta disaster."

"The pasta disaster." You insisted on creating the sauce from scratch despite the fact that we had perfectly nice marinara in the cabinet. And you burst into tears because it didn't taste like your grandmother's.

Grace smiled, despite herself. "You offered to order pizza."

"And you refused, since giving up wasn't the goal. The goal was to learn how to work together to create something wonderful, even if it required several attempts."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I'm going with the reality that Derek was already in custody when that occurred. Santos had stopped scrutinising us. There was no external issue that prompted your choice to spend three hours teaching me the difference between simmering and boiling. 

You wanted to communicate something significant with me, which is why you did that."

Something that Grace hadn't realised she'd been carrying began to release in her chest. "That's one evening."

"All right, so how about the two days you spent on the bathroom floor due to food poisoning? I didn't look after you because I felt compelled to or because of a catastrophe. The idea of you going through this alone was intolerable, so I took care of you."

"Max…….." "Or how about Elena calling at two in the morning last month to chat to someone after splitting with David? 

However, you wanted me to aid your friend, so you woke me up. You wanted to share the burden of taking care of the people you care about, not because you felt dependent or in need of protection."

Grace realised how long it had been since she had spoken any of this with her best friend when Elena was brought up. Elena had known her before Max, before Derek, before any of the difficulties and trauma that now characterised her existence.

"I should call Elena," Grace remarked abruptly.

"Now?"

"Quickly. She may have a viewpoint that I do not.

Max continued to grip her hand while nodding. "But first, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"If you'd met me at a coffee shop rather than a federal investigation, do you think you would have been more interested?"

Grace took the topic seriously, imagining Max Walker without the protective instincts and calm power that had drawn her to him throughout their crisis. "I do not know. You might have appeared overly serious. "Too careful."

"And now?"

"Now I know that your seriousness comes from a profound dedication to whatever you do. Your calm stems from a desire to get things right, not a fear of getting them wrong."

"Those are the same qualities."

"However, the situation is different. If I'd met you at a coffee shop, I might not have taken the time to understand the difference."

"So maybe the crisis gave us something real……..the chance to see each other clearly under pressure."

"Or maybe the crisis created artificial intimacy that we're mistaking for compatibility."

Max let go of her hand and relaxed back in his chair. "Grace, do you want our relationship to be trauma bonding?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you looking for excuses to question what we have because doubt feels safer than trust? Because questioning our connection shields you from the risk of trusting in it?"

The observation struck her as a physical blow. "That's not fair."

Isn't it? You've spent weeks hunting for evidence that our connection isn't genuine, rather than looking for evidence that it is.

You've interviewed experts, investigated our psyche, and questioned our motivations. But when have you questioned yourself if you are happy?"

"Happiness isn't the same as love."

"No, but it's a pretty good indicator of compatibility."

Grace glanced at him, realising he was correct. She had been so concerned about diagnosing their relationship that she had neglected to assess whether it was truly working.

"Are you happy?" she enquired.

"Are you with me?" In most cases, yes. When you're not delving into psychiatric explanations for why we shouldn't be together."

"And when I am spiraling?"

"Then I'm concerned about you, but I'm still glad you feel safe enough with me to share your doubts."

"Even when those doubts are about us?"

"Especially then. Because the fact that you may doubt our relationship without ending it indicates that you trust me enough to fight through uncertainty together."

Grace felt tears well up behind her eyelids, not from sadness, but from relief at finally expressing

the anxieties she had been holding alone. "What if my father is correct? What if we're just traumatised and too psychologically wounded to recognise it?

"Then let's sort things out together. And if we feel our relationship is unhealthy, we will make the necessary changes. But Grace, what if your father is mistaken? What if we're two people that met during a crisis and decided to create something real despite the circumstances?

"How would we know for sure?"

"We wouldn’t. That is what faith is: choosing to believe in something you cannot verify.

Grace rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I've never been good at faith."

"You have faith in Elena." You believe in your work. You even believe in your father's good intentions, despite everything that has happened between you."

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because romantic love feels like it has bigger stakes. If I am mistaken about Elena or my job, I may change. "If I'm incorrect about you, I'll lose all I've built my life on."

Max remained silent for some minutes, contemplating her remarks. 

"Grace, what if you are not mistaken? What if the life we've created together is precisely what it looks to be……….two people who care for each other and choose to confront uncertainty together?"

"Then I'm wasting time and energy questioning something good."

"But what if you're wrong? What if our connection is trauma-bonded and we end up breaking up?"

"Then I survive it and move on."

"Right. In any case, you will survive. So perhaps the true question isn't whether our relationship is genuine or fake. Maybe the true question is whether you want to spend your time establishing something with me or figuring out why you shouldn't."

Grace looked about their flat, seeing the minute nuances that had collected during months of shared living. Max Placed his culinary knives on the magnetic strip he had installed. Her books

were arranged on the sofa table he'd made from reclaimed wood. Photos of Elena's birthday party, their engagement celebration, and calm Sunday mornings spent reading together.

"I want to build something," she finally admitted.

"Even if you can't guarantee it's psychologically healthy?"

"Even if I can't guarantee anything."

Max smiled, the first calm emotion she had seen from him in weeks. "Good. Because I was tired of being analysed.

"You never said anything."

"Because I knew why you had to do it. But I am delighted you are ready to end."

They ate their reheated meal and talked about practical matters like forthcoming work deadlines, weekend plans, and if they needed to go food shopping. Normal conversation felt revolutionary following weeks of existential relationship investigation.

After supper, Grace called Elena.