Max has definitely come around with Dylan. As for any contact with Scarlet . . . you'll pretty much get the answer to that in this part.It appears that Max is really coming around with Dylan.
Has he had any contact with his daughter??
Yes, it's unfortunate, but people do judge. And Maria's always had so many insecurities that stem from her young motherhood.I can only imagine how Maria feels being the youngest mother in the school. People do tend to judge not matter what.
Sara:
I get that. Completely. It's really kind of sad, too, because Michael loves Maria; Maria loves Michael. That will never change. But Maria always feared that she would hold Michael back rather than push him forward. She always worried she'd end up influencing his life in a negative way rather than a positive one. And right now, even though that's not her intention at all . . . that is what's happening. He's starting to screw up again, and that's really hard to see after he's been doing so well for so long. With Sarah.So as I am saraMMlover I usually rally around the michael and maria....however, I am completely uninterested in maria at this point. I don't hate her, I just think she is bad for Michael. I am in love with your Sarah character and think she pushes MIchael to be better and it always seems like he wants to be better for her until you put Maria back in the picture. I am glad Maria and Max BOTH stood up for Michael but it still feels like Michael is regressing once more.....not good.
Thanks for reading and leaving feedback!
Part 14
It was barely 10:00 that night, and already, Michael found himself exhausted, falling asleep on the couch. He leaned back on the middle cushion, his right arm dangling halfway over his face and off the back. Even though the bed was only steps away, he seriously felt like he could fall asleep right there.
Sarah sat down next to him, snuggling up to his side, and he lowered his arm to put it around her. She wasn’t wearing any sexy lingerie tonight, just white drawstring shorts and a pink tank top she commonly wore to bed. Her hair was damp and smelled like that floral shampoo she used.
“I’m tired,” he told her.
“I never would’ve guessed,” she joked.
He laughed lightly, keeping his eyes closed as sleep kept tugging at him. Chances were, she’d fall asleep right along with him. They woke up on this couch together frequently in the middle of the night. When he was the only one to wake up, he’d carry her to the bed and sleep the rest of the night with her there.
“So that’s good news about your practicum,” she said quietly.
That one word made his eyes open. “Yeah, it is,” he agreed. When he’d gotten home, he’d tried to downplay the whole thing by telling her that Vanessa had simply changed her mind and decided to give him another chance. But she’d been mentioning it off and on all night.
Sarah cuddled with him in comfortable silence for a few seconds, but then, as if something was bothering her, she moved back a bit and sat up straighter. Looking closely at him, she softly asked, “Michael, are you okay?”
Just the fact that she even asked that made him feel guilty. “Yeah,” he answered plainly. “Why?”
“Because . . .” She smiled shakily. “Lately, you just haven’t seemed like yourself. You’re punching people in the face and getting hit by cars. I’m kinda worried about you.”
Of course you are, he thought. Sarah was the kind of girl to think about others more than she thought about herself. It was natural for her to sense that something was off and be concerned about it.
“I’m fine,” he assured her, and really, it was true. Now that he had his practicum back, he had this whole Maria/Dylan/Max situation under control. His life was still his life, and everything was fine.
“I know it’s been hard,” she said, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “trying to keep on like normal when there’s this crazy stuff going on with your sister.”
Tina. God, he felt like a fucking jerk for pushing that to the back of his mind lately. But he couldn’t deal with the stress of that situation while he was trying to handle everything else. “I just need to focus,” he said, parroting what adults had told him all throughout high school.
“Yeah,” she agreed, “on school and your job and stuff.”
She wasn’t selfish enough to include herself in that, so he did it for her. “And you.” He waited until he saw a small but happy smile, and then he leaned in and gave her a kiss. She wasn’t the kind of girlfriend who craved or demanded attention, but she sure as hell deserved more attention than he’d given her as of late.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The sweet, delicious smell of pastries wafted into Isabel’s nose from the moment she entered Liz’s bakery. How was it possible to work there day in and day out without getting fat? Everything smelled so damn good.
“Hey, Liz,” she greeted uber-cheerfully, hoping to put herself in a good mood today. Jesse had been grumpy this morning, and she was determined not to let it rub off on her.
Liz was carefully and diligently placing multi-colored sprinkles on top of a white-frosted doughnut, but she did glance up from that task briefly. “Isabel,” she said with noticeable less cheerfulness. “Long time no see.”
“Yeah.” Isabel smoothed her hand over the glass countertop and looked around, not recognizing much of anything. There were a bunch of old clocks and paintings on the brick walls that she couldn’t recall seeing before, and there were more tables than she remembered, too.
“You know, I’m not officially open yet,” Liz commented, but Isabel barely even heard her.
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” she raved. Overall, the vibe was nice. It sort of looked more like a coffee shop than a pastry shop, which was nice. It felt relaxing and chill. “It looks different than I remember it.”
“I don’t know why. I haven’t really redecorated.” Liz finished up with the sprinkles of the last donut and then slid a whole tray of them onto an empty shelf beneath the counter.
“Hmm. I guess I haven’t been here for a while,” Isabel acknowledged. “What have you been up to?”
“Oh, you know . . .” Liz shrugged. “Work, motherhood. I’m taking a business class now, too.”
“Huh.” Isabel had to admit . . . she was surprised. Not because Liz wasn’t driven or capable, but just because . . . well, she’d survived young single motherhood, come out of it relatively unscathed.
“What about you?” Liz asked.
“Oh, same old stuff, you know? Classes, boyfriend . . . porn.”
Liz looked down, almost as if she were disappointed, and just mumbled, “Right, of course.”
“Anyway, I just thought I’d stop in.”
“Sure.” As if the porn tidbit had pushed things too far, Liz shifted into professional mode and inquired, “What can I get for you?”
Isabel smiled hopefully. “Scarlet.” It had been way too long since she’d seen or gotten to hold her niece.
“Um, I don’t actually sell her here. But maybe . . .” Liz opened up a paper sack for Isabel and let her see the delicious treat inside. “Bear claw? They’re Alex’s favorite.”
Isabel pushed aside the momentary resentment that Liz and Alex were still close enough for her to know what his favorite doughnut was and forced a smile instead. “I’ll bring it to him then,” she decided, taking the sack from Liz. “I have his class today.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.” A few seconds of awkward silence settled in, and Isabel couldn’t help but ask, “So Scarlet’s not here?”
“No, she’s at daycare today,” Liz replied.
Isabel pouted. “Darn. I know it’s been a while. I just don’t want her to forget her Aunt Isabel, you know?” It was bad enough that everyone else already had. “I mean, I don’t ever get to see Dylan, so maybe with Scarlet it can be different.”
Now it was Liz’s turn to frown. “Well, don’t you get to see him more now that Max moved back?”
It was such a casual question, but it wasn’t one Isabel had been anticipating at all. “What?” she said. “What do you mean?” Last she’d heard from Max, he was still in Texas. If he’d moved back to New Mexico . . . surely he would have told her.
“Oh, um . . .” Liz’s voice got really quiet then, almost as if she didn’t want to be the one to have to tell Isabel anything. “Max came to Carlsbad at the end of the summer. With Maria and Dylan.”
Isabel’s eyes bulged in disbelief. With Maria and Dylan?
“I thought you knew,” Liz said softly.
Isabel pressed her lips tightly together and mumbled, “No, I didn’t,” averting her eyes in embarrassment. If she and Max were living in the same town and he hadn’t even bothered to make contact with her, that probably meant he wanted nothing to do with her. And that hurt her feelings.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
In the midst of unpacking groceries, Max heard a knock on the front door. Probably the cable guy again. They kept having problems with their satellite dish, and he kept coming out to the house to work on it, but he never actually fixed it. It was all pretty annoying at this point.
Max left the grocery sack half unpacked on the counter, though, and went to answer the door anyway; but much to his surprise, it wasn’t the cable guy standing on the other side. Far from it. Isabel stood there, looking annoyed in her own right.
“Well, well,” she said, “look who it is. My big brother, former resident of the Lone Star state, current resident of the Land of Enchantment. Who knew?” She huffed. “I sure didn’t.”
“Sorry,” he apologized quickly, figuring it was the easiest way to deflect her anger. “I meant to call you once we got settled in.”
“Which was months ago, end of July,” she stated accurately. “At least that’s what Liz told me. She also gave me your address since I was still under the assumption your address would have a TX in it.”
He sighed, sensing that she was more than a little pissed. Hoping to dissolve some of that, he stepped to the side and motioned for her to come in, which she eagerly did.
“So,” she said, looking around, “this is your house.”
“Yep.” It wasn’t anything like what they’d grown up in, but it was nice enough. All one story, just two bedrooms. Just big enough for him and his family.
“It’s nice,” she said, but that was all she said about the house. And then she was glaring at him accusatorily again. “So let me get this straight,” she said. “You keep in contact with Mom, with Liz, but not with me?” She made a face. “What gives, Max?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . .” He didn’t know how to phrase it so it wouldn’t piss her off even more, but he had plenty of valid reasons for keeping her at a distance these past two years. “Your lifestyle, everything you do . . . it doesn’t mesh with my lifestyle anymore. I can’t be around any negative influences.” He’d worked too hard to turn his life around to let it be derailed by anyone, including her.
“And you think I’m a negative influence?” She laughed at that. “Seriously? I’m not the one here who’s a drug addict.”
“Neither am I,” he declared proudly. “Not anymore.”
“Okay, and good for you,” she said. “You turned your life around. But I’m not a complete train wreck. I’m not gonna mess everything up for you.”
“I know, but still . . .” He headed back into the kitchen, keeping his back to her when he said, “I’ve got Dylan to think about now.”
She followed him, not letting up. “Oh, so that’s who you don’t want me to be around. Because you think I’m a big whore or something.”
“Isabel . . .” He spun back around, growing frustrated with her. Sure, she was his sister, and he loved her because of that fact. But they’d spent the better part of their lives separated from one another, and that was probably for the best. He had his issues, and she had her own, but he was working to overcome his while she was basking in hers. He wasn’t going to have Dylan anywhere near that.
“Forget it,” she dismissed. “I don’t wanna fight. I’m glad you’re in Carlsbad, Max. I’ve missed you.” Even though it was totally out of place given how the conversation between them had started, she smiled and got close enough to him to hug him. He hugged her back unsurely, relieved when she took a couple steps back and let him go.
“So . . .” she said. “Are you taking classes?”
“No, just working.”
“As a lawyer?”
He gave her a look. Did it look like he was working as a lawyer? A lawyer would have a nicer house, nicer clothes, nicer everything. “No, as a construction worker. And a painter,” he replied.
Her eyes lit up with excitement. “Like an artist?”
“No, like a . . . house-painter.” Nothing exciting or glamorous about it, especially because he painted fences once in a while, too. But for whatever reason, Maria seemed to hate his construction job more than his painting one.
“Oh.” Isabel looked down at his jeans, probably starting to notice the paint stains there now. “Not exactly the career path I would’ve pictured for you.”
“Yeah, well . . . I could say the same.” He had to be careful about what he searched for online these days, because he didn’t want to accidentally stumble across one of her ‘films.’
“I’m still gonna be a writer,” Isabel insisted. “I’m taking classes.”
“Good for you.” He’d believe it only when he saw it, though. At this point, Isabel was pretty well entrenched in the pornography industry. No one would be able to take her seriously as a writer after this.
“Yeah, things are going pretty well,” she bragged. “Jesse and I are still together, and we share a pretty nice house with our friends.”
“Yeah? What about Mom?” he asked. “You ever talk to her?”
A flash of sadness zoomed onto Isabel’s face. “No,” she said. “She doesn’t . . . we don’t talk anymore. And she’s basically gotten our entire family to shun me. She just can’t get over . . . everything I’m doing.”
Any reason why she should? he wanted to ask, but he held back.
“Some people just can’t forgive and forget,” she said, obviously trying to conceal just how bothered she was by it. “But from what I hear . . . Maria DeLuca sure can.”
Max sighed and rolled his eyes. Just how much about his life had Liz spilled to her?
Isabel grinned leaning back against the counter. “How’d you do it, Max? How’d you get back in her good graces?”
He shrugged. “Lots of hard work.”
“Right. Rehab.”
It bothered him that she made it sound so simple, because it wasn’t simple. Rehab had only been the start of it. “Once I got my life back on track, I met up with her in Houston, told her I wanted to be a part of Dylan’s life.”
“And so she just welcomed you back into her life with open . . .” Isabel looked down into the grocery sack and raised an eyebrow as she took out the box of condoms he’d purchased today. “Legs?”
He reached out and seized that box from her. It was none of her business.
“Wow,” she said, laughing. “I can’t believe you’re with her again.”
“Listen, I know she might not be your favorite person . . .”
“Understatement.”
“But she’s Dylan’s mom. And things are going well between us. I get to be with her and be a father to Dylan, and I still get to be a father to Scarlet, especially now that I live here. So don’t try to screw it up.”
“Max!” she scolded. “What makes you think I wanna screw anything up for you? You’re my brother.”
“Yeah, but I’m not the same brother I was two years ago.”
“No,” she agreed. “You seem way more . . . judgmental. And uptight.”
“Because I have to be,” he explained. “I can’t slip up; I can’t ever stop trying. Because I’m not gonna be the guy I used to be, Isabel. I refuse.” He didn’t even like remembering that guy, remembering what he’d done. It felt like a different life. Like a nightmare.
“Funny,” Isabel said, looking wistful when she revealed, “sometimes I wish I could be the girl I used to be.”
It was a moment of honesty, one that he appreciated. But just like that, it was gone, and she was turning the conversation back onto him and away from herself.
“So,” she said, “I assume you didn’t know Michael Guerin was a college student in this town when you moved here.”
“Nope,” he admitted, reaching past her to put the condoms back in the paper sack, “but I found out soon enough. Turns out he’s doing a guidance practicum at Dylan’s school.”
“What?” She laughed. “Oh my god, small world.”
“Yeah. He ran into me there, and then his fist ran into my face.”
“Priceless.”
“But it’s fine now.” If it was just a practicum, it would be over in a few months anyway. No big deal.
“Are you sure?” she challenged. “Michael and Maria reunited. All aboard the pain train.”
“No, it’s not like that,” he insisted. “They haven’t even seen each other.” And for that much, he had to admit, he was relieved.
“Well, I hope you’re right,” she said. “Let’s not forget, the last time they got together, they ruined everybody’s lives in the process.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, feeling the need to jump to Maria’s defense and end Isabel’s pity party before it started. “The only life that’s ruined is yours, Isabel,” he said, not caring how harsh it sounded. It was true. “Everyone else is doin’ just fine.”
The smirk that had resided on her face faded rapidly, replaced by that persistent look of sadness. But he didn’t mind if he’d just made her feel bad. In fact, he was glad he had. Because seeing some genuine emotions out of his sister was a lot better than only seeing the fake ones.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Music by decade seemed to be the trend in Music Appreciation class. Unfortunately for Michael, instead of entering the class when it was time to appreciate something awesome like the sixties or the nineties, he entered the class during the unit focused on the twenties. Lots of jazz, which meant lots of crap he didn’t give two shits about. It was kind of cool, though, to watch old Charleston videos and see the hot flapper girls.
In the end, though, none of it could hold his interest. There he was in the back of the classroom, upholding his promise to Maria by not sitting next to her. She, meanwhile, had returned to the front row, putting in a much better effort at being attentive than he was. He watched her gradually become more and more distracted, though, and eventually, she was no longer paying attention, either. He saw that she was doodling musical notes and stars in her notebook, and that made him think back to when he used to sit in his high school classes and draw pictures of her to pass the time.
Once class was over, she made a hasty exit, so he gathered up his stuff quickly so he could follow her. He practically had to run down the hall, but he managed to catch up with her on the steps leading out of the building. “Maria!”
She whirled around, sending her blonde hair flying back over her shoulder. Managing a small smile, she said, “Thanks for not sitting by me today.”
“Yeah, sure.” He walked down the steps with her, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders, subconsciously glancing around to make sure he didn’t see anyone he knew. Not that it really mattered a whole lot; this wasn’t like high school where someone would see the two of them together and post the picture on Twitter to spread the gossip like wildfire. He knew people, but not that many people. No one here cared what he was up to.
“So were you as surprised as I was about what Max did?” he asked, following her, even though she was headed the opposite direction of where he needed to go now that this class was done.
Eyebrows furrowed, she asked, “What do you mean?”
It dawned on him in that instant that she had no idea what he was talking about, and he had to admit . . . he sort of loved that. Maybe this new and reformed Max wasn’t quite so forthcoming after all. “You know, he talked to Vanessa Whitaker, convinced her to let me keep doing my practicum at Pound.”
Maria completely stopped walking and looked up at him incredulously. “What?”
“Yeah.” He had to bite back a grin. Maybe it was wrong of him to hope that this started a fight between them, but . . . what the hell? He hoped.
“Uh, no offense,” she said, “but why would he do that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was surprised, too. When I asked him--”
“Wait,” she cut in abruptly, “you talked to him about this?”
“Yeah, yesterday. He said he owed me for . . . you know.” He didn’t like to say it out loud.
“Dylan?” she surmised.
“Yeah.”
She sighed heavily, looking confused and flustered. “Sorry,” she apologized, “I don’t mean to . . .” She paused for a moment. “It’s not that I’m not glad for you. It’s just . . .”
“Weird,” he filled in. “I know.” He was still trying to comprehend the weirdness of . . . all of this.
“I have to go,” she decided suddenly. Without so much as a goodbye stepped past him and started walking away at a brisk pace. Probably wants to call Max, he thought bitterly.
“Hey!” he called, not ready to let her leave just yet.
She reluctantly stopped and turned back around again, an impatient look on her face.
He just stared at her for a few long seconds, not sure what he intended to say. So he settled for just blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “I have a girlfriend,” he informed her bluntly. “Two years now.” That didn’t get any response out of her, so he tried to rub a little salt in the wound. “I’m in love with her, so . . .” For some reason, it felt really important for her to know that.
But even all that garnered was a slight raise of her eyebrows, like she was surprised but not devastated. No words. No tears. Nothing else. She just kept looking at him for a few seconds, and then she lowered her head, tucked her hair behind her ear, turned back around, and continued on her way.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and let himself lose track of her in the crowd of students making their way to and from class all around him, trying not to feel too disappointed that his big reveal hadn’t gotten a stronger reaction.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Oh god, this day . . . Maria thought in agitation as she walked in the front door of her house. It couldn’t get over with fast enough. Little things were just setting her off. She’d had an interview around noon and had probably totally bombed it, because her bad attitude had to have been obvious.
Max had the day off, and he didn’t appear to have spent it very productively. There were a lot of unwashed dishes in the sink, and instead of doing them, he was sitting on the couch with his computer on his lap, watching a basketball montage on Youtube.
“Hey,” he said, immediately closing the computer and setting it aside when he saw her.
“Hey,” she returned, dropping her purse to the ground. She slipped off her shoes and raked her hands through her hair, groaning. It hadn’t been a particularly bad day, she supposed. Just enough to not be a good one.
Max got up off the couch and crossed over into the kitchen, headed straight for the sink. “So you’ll never guess who stopped by today,” he said, putting the stopper in before he turned on the water.
“Who?” If Michael’s name passed over his lips, she was going to freak out. The thought of them having one conversation, let alone two, was just too weird.
“Isabel.”
Her eyes bulged, because that wasn’t much better. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
Struggling to formulate any coherent thoughts, she could only manage to sputter out, “Why?”
Max shrugged and squirted some blue dish soap into the rising water. “Guess she just wanted to say hi.”
“Wait.” Maria rubbed her forehead, trying to make sense of it. “I thought she moved back to Roswell after she dropped out of Princeton.””
“She did.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Until she enrolled in college here last semester.”
“Oh my god,” she growled, hating the thought of it. Isabel Evans wasn’t exactly her biggest fan. Their relationship had always been hostile, so having some distance in between them had been nice. “First Michael, now Isabel. You know, I’m starting to feel like I never even left Roswell. I mean, what was the point of any of it if we were all just gonna end up here?” she ranted.
“I don’t know,” Max mumbled, watching the sink fill up. When the water was high enough, he shut it off, then looked back at her, asking, “You okay?”
“No,” she admitted, hating how whiny she sounded, “I’m not okay. I don’t get it, Max. I mean, Isabel stops by and you pretty much have to talk to her. Fine, whatever. But why would you make it your mission to make sure Michael keeps his practicum?”
“You found out about that, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Did Whitaker tell you?”
Oh, crap. She realized she’d said too much, because she couldn’t exactly tell him that Michael had told her himself. “Yes,” she said, wondering if it was technically a lie. Because she’d stopped by the school after lunch to talk to Vanessa about it, just to verify that Michael was telling her the truth. And Vanessa had confirmed everything.
“I just figured I should . . . do him a favor,” Max explained with a shrug. “God knows he did a pretty damn big one for me.”
She sighed, recognizing the familiar signs of shame in his eyes, his posture, all over his face. “Dylan,” she said softly.
“Yeah.” He couldn’t even look at her. He never could when they talked about that night.
“Look, Max . . .” She took a few steps toward him, grabbing the dishtowel off the oven handle so she could help him dry that mountain of dishes once he started washing. “I know your intentions with this were good, but I don’t want you to feel like you were obligated. I mean, don’t you think things are already weird enough without confusing our son?”
Max made a face. “What’s there to be confused about? Michael’s just working at his school. He’s not gonna be around him all the time again.”
“I know. It’s just . . .” She hesitated for a few seconds, trying to oh-so-delicately phrase both her concerns and her assurances. “I want you to be comfortable, you know? I want you to know that nothing’s gonna change.”
“I know that,” he said confidently. “The past is the past. It doesn’t have to be the present. Or the future. That’s why I got him his practicum back. Because it was the right thing to do, and I’m at a place in my life where I finally know something about doing the right thing.” Slowly, the slightest of grins found its way to his face. “Remember?”
Yeah. She remembered.
****
Maria was on edge. Completely and totally on edge. She had never pictured herself going out to eat with Max Evans ever again. They had gone out maybe once or twice back when they’d dated, mostly to places like Subway or Burger Hut. Never a nice restaurant like this, though.
Though she hadn’t allowed him to drive her for fear that he would think it was a date, she had agreed to meet him at Antica Osteria, an Italian restaurant she’d wanted to try ever since arriving in Houston. Of course he had picked an Italian place. It was her favorite kind of food. The only thing that surprised her was that he actually knew that.
The more she looked around, the more uneasy she felt. The atmosphere was a little too cozy and romantic. Their table was in a dimly lit lodge-style room with a roaring fireplace on one wall. Max had ordered some white wine, which he hadn’t taken a sip of, and their fettucine alfredo and ravioli were on their way. Her plan was to eat fast and get out of there and not be swayed by anything he had to say.
“I don’t know if it was the right thing for me to come here,” she confessed, watching a sweet elderly couple at the nearest table caressing each other’s hands atop the table. The clientele here definitely skewed a little older, but they were very sweet.
“It was,” Max assured her.
She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Since when do you know anything about what’s right?”
“Since rehab.”
“Hmm.” She reached to the middle of the table and took a warm breadstick out of the basket, breaking it in half. “And that just fixed all your problems?”
“No,” he admitted. “But it gave me a good place to start.”
For his sake . . . she hoped that was true.
Setting one half of the breadstick down on her appetizer plate, she took a bite of the other, savoring the taste. This wasn’t the most expensive restaurant in Houston by any means, but Max had promised her that the food was good. Food like moms make, he claimed, except her mom had usually made lasagna out of a box.
“So how long have you been clean?” she inquired, already prepared to doubt his answer.
He took a sip of water and replied, “Ever since that night.”
“That night?”
“You know the one,” he mumbled.
That was actually a pretty long time . . . if he was telling the truth. Almost a year. “You almost got Dylan killed that night,” she reminded him. “You and Michael.”
“It was more my fault than it was his.”
Too on edge to be hungry, she put the rest of the breadstick down on her plate, grunting exasperatedly. “God, do you have, like, a script you’re reading off? Because you’re saying all the right things, but do you really expect me to believe any of it?”
He shook his head, seeming completely unoffended and not at all caught off-guard by her skepticism. “No. But I’m hoping you will after you get to know me again.”
“I don’t wanna get to know you again,” she growled determinedly.
“Then why’d you come out with me tonight?” he challenged.
“I figured it was the easiest way to get you off my back. We wine, we dine, we definitely don’t sixty-nine; and then when it’s all said and done, we never have to see each other again.”
He shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”
Of course it’s what I want, she thought, but for some reason, she didn’t say it. “What do you want, Max?” she demanded. “Are you just trying to absolve your guilt, make yourself feel better?”
“No, I just wanna get to know Dylan.”
Immediately, she started laughing, but he didn’t even crack a smile. “Oh my god, you’re serious?” she spat incredulously. “Are you delusional? You haven’t exactly been Father of the Year.”
“So give me the chance,” he urged. And it was oddly hilarious, because he sounded totally serious.
“No,” she decided immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“I couldn’t help but notice Dylan doesn’t exactly have a father figure anymore.”
Oh, of course, she thought, trying to disguise her reaction to that. Of course he brings up Michael. “That doesn’t mean you’re gonna step in to fill the void,” she told him, not backing down. “I don’t care how much you say you’ve changed.”
“Maria . . .”
“That doesn’t erase the past.”
“Maria, please.”
“I can’t just forget everything that happened. And how do I know you’re not lying anyway?”
“Maria.” He said her name with so much force, so much directness, that it got her to shut up. And then he said something she swore she’d never heard from him before: “I’m sorry.”
She knew she must have looked completely confused. It was just that apologizing was so unlike him.
“I’m sorry for everything,” he went on. “For that night, for everything I did and said when I was in Roswell . . .” He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded solemnly. “For leaving you and Dylan to fend for yourselves all those years ago. It was wrong of me. It was the wrong thing to do. And I’m sorry.”
Was he, though? Or was he just saying it? She wasn’t sure. But as much as she hated to admit it . . . he actually did seem genuine. His words weren’t coated in that cocky bravado she’d grown so accustomed to hearing from him.
“You weren’t in any state to be a dad back then,” she told him, not to try to make him feel better, but just because . . . it was true. In the long run, she and Dylan had probably been better off without him.
“I am now,” he claimed.
She rolled her eyes, not sure if that was possible. Sure, rehab worked wonders sometimes, but . . . Max had really gone off the deep end in Roswell. Was it even possible to resurrect yourself from that? “I don’t even like you, Max,” she said bluntly. “How do you expect me to trust you?”
“I don’t expect that. And I don’t even think you should, not until you get to know me again,” he said. “But once you do, I promise I won’t disappoint you. It’s too important for me to do things right this time. Who knows? You might even end up liking this new me.”
She grunted. “You really think you’ve changed that much?”
“I have.” As the waiter approached their table with their food, he smirked and added, “Trust me.”
****
Having gotten so lost in her own thoughts, Maria didn’t even realize that Max’s arms were around her waist until he was pulling her closer. “Everything’s gonna be fine,” he assured her. “This place isn’t Roswell.”
“Well, it’s starting to feel very Roswellian,” she said, placing her hands on his chest. “Max . . .” She scrunched up his t-shirt and looked at the paint flecks that were now just a part of the shirt. Didn’t matter how many times they put his clothes through the wash; sometimes they just wouldn’t come out. “This is Michael Guerin,” she said, tilting her head back a bit to look at him. “This is Michael Guerin at your son’s school. Are you sure you’re okay with that?” Inside, she was really glad that Michael still had a shot there; it made her feel less guilty about her ignorance of what had obviously been a precarious situation right from the start. But alleviating that guilt wasn’t worth adding stress to Max’s mind.
“I’m fine,” he promised calmly. “Are you okay with it?”
“Yeah . . .” She was mostly just confused with it. All of it. “I just don’t want you to worry--”
“I’m not worried,” he cut in. “I trust you.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, rubbed her back a bit, and then let go of her and turned to face the sink to get those dishes washed. She stood back and watched him for a few seconds before she moved in to help.
TBC . . .
-April
