Chapter Two

Mac never imagined in his life that he would ever have had to confront this woman again. Even now, when she looked oddly frail and old, she seemed so strong. So willful, like she could crush him in a battle of minds in no time flat.

"Um, I'm sorry…" Mac said, wiping his sweating palms on the knees of his slacks. He decided to try to play dumb, to be coy. "Were you here to adopt an imaginary friend?"

"Mac." Her heels clicked against the ground as she walked towards him. Her eyes smiled as she reached up a hand to touch his face, but he recoiled in disgust.

He glared at her and she stood there with a distant look on her face that was matched with a sympathetic smile.

"We both know how bad of a liar you are, Mac," she murmured.

"I'm not dealing with this," he declared, and turned on his heel and retreated back into the dining hall.

He heard the click-click-click eagerly trailing along behind him. He rolled his eyes and scooped up the remaining laundry that had been unfolded. He rolled it into a ball and chucked it into the basket with a huff.

"Mac, please."

"Please. Please what?"

"I need to talk to you."

He turned around again, trembling with anger as he dared to lock eyes with his mother. It seems that their intense glares were both evenly matched.

"If this is about Terrence," he said, "if this has anything to do with Terrence being in trouble and you needing help, I can't do it. I've got other obligations, and you—"

"—If it was even about your brother, you should care as well—"

"Really?" Mac's voice was shrill. "You let him call me a faggot! Golly gee, Mom, thanks a lot for that!"

They exited the dining hall, and Mac proceeded down a hallway with a series of bedrooms. A few imaginary friends ducked their heads out of their door frames to see what Mac was in such a huff over.

"Not to mention," Mac continued, "that you let him beat the shit out of me on countless occasions. So, like I said, if this is about Terrence—"

"It's not!" his mother cried out desperately. "Would you just listen to me!"

"I don't know what makes you think you deserve to be listened to," Mac responded harshly, shaking his head. "We live in the same town and yet you haven't spoken to me for close to twelve years."

"I'm your mother, that's why!" she responded hotly, stamping her heel on the ground. "Maxwell Robert Evans! Listen to me!"

He whipped around and faced her once again. "What?" he demanded tersely. "Why the hell are you here, Margaret? Why?"

"I just wanted to talk." She spread her hands helplessly, as if begging him to listen to her. "Mac."

"Uh uh," he protested coldly. "Look, I've got enough on my plate right now…"

He twisted his body to allow a few friends to pass by him in the hallway. They bounced a ball and shrieked with laughter as they carried along. Mac exhaled and blew a shot of air upwards at his bangs.

"Hey! No running!" he yelled after them, clenching his jaw. "And no playing ball in the house! Do it outside!"

"We're playing hide and seek basketball, though!" a small pink colored friend with wings protested as the group turned around.

Mac dragged a hand over his face. "And whose idea was that?"

"Junior's," another chimed in, laughing. "Man, he always comes up with the best games."

"I thought he went to go and find Wilt."

"Wilt's playing too!"

"Guys, let's go find a hole that we can shoot the ball through!"

"Oh my God," Mac moaned, laughing a little bit as they all wandered away. "That's going to end badly."

Mac's mother stared questioningly at her son.

"Who is Junior?"

"Huh?" he seemed to have forgotten that she was there. Then he remembered what he was in the middle of again and narrowed his eyes. "That's none of your business."

"Oh come on, Mac…"

"Look, just say what you need to say."

"Well," she said tentatively, "I was hoping that we could at least sit down somewhere."

"I don't intend on you staying long," Mac snapped testily. "So say your piece and kindly leave. I have work to do. Dinner to cook, laundry to fold."

A son to raise, the voice in his head added helpfully. A partner to argue with. A possible baby to plan.

She returned him a biting stare. She threw back her shoulders and straightened her posture.

"I have breast cancer. Fourth stage. So, I don't have much time left."

Mac's eyes widened with shock. She now suddenly looked so desperate to him, such a sad and lonely creature. She wrung her hands and bit her lip, searching for more words to say.

"But that's not all," she murmured, glancing up at him. "Mac. Your father. He got out of the federal state prison."

"Oh my God," Mac whispered. He moved into a room and sat down on one of the beds. "Oh my God, oh my God…"

He bent over and ran his hands through his hair, over his face, over his mouth. She followed him in and quietly stood, waiting patiently.

"Why are you even telling me all of this?" Mac demanded, raising his head to look at her.

"Because I have regrets about how I raised you and treated you. And he has regrets over you boys too."

"But what about Terrence? Why didn't you tell Terrence? You basically disowned me."

"I never disowned you, Mac—"

"—Margaret, don't even try it. You screamed at me to get the hell out and never come back." He mumbled in a bitter voice.

"Terrence is off doing something. I haven't seen him for a few months. He's probably getting into the same trouble your father had gotten into," she responded, smoothing out the skirt of her coat.

"So what exactly are you trying to do here?"

"I'm trying to fix things with you. I don't have a lot of time left. Fourth stage cancer and all. I probably have about three months. So I figured I should straighten out a few things. That I shouldn't die with any regrets. And one of my regrets is exactly what I did to you all those years ago." She sat down, on a little stool that had been pushed underneath a vanity table with cracks in the paint. "Your father. You remember, right? What he was in for?"

"Possession of cocaine," Mac muttered. "A large enough amount that they thought he was a drug dealer."

"Yes, well…" his mother trailed off nervously. "He hasn't seen you since you were three."

"Who is to blame for that?"

"Well, me. But also himself," she added hastily. "When I divorced him, I was able to get total custody of the both of you. Come on, though, Mac. No one wants to grow up with a father who was a drug dealer."

"And he…"

"He just wants to see you again. To get to know you. He hasn't seen you since you were a baby, Mac. He doesn't even know what you look like—I never sent him any pictures."

"Well, he never wrote me any letters."

"Yes, well… Apparently he's changed his mind."

"You two…" Mac shook his head and sighed. "You guys just don't get it."

"I don't get what?"

Mac leaned forward and looked at her. "A parent just… just can't decide when they want to see their child. You just have to be there."

"Excuse me? Are you honestly trying to lecture me on parenting?" his mother let out a laugh. "Mac, please. I know what it takes to be a parent. And I know that I haven't been the best, but I have done all I could."

Mac glared at her. "I do know what it means to be a parent. I know what it takes to be a parent." He lowered his head and exhaled, trying to get his beating heart to relax its pace. "So. The two of you have suddenly decided to involve yourselves in my life again."

"Yes. Your father is getting out of jail on Monday morning," she said, standing up. "So, I was wondering if I could just…" she fumbled in the pocket of her coat and withdrew a small business card. "You know, arrange a time and a place to meet at."

"Okay." Mac took the card. "Are you going to leave now?"

"Well," she said, twisting her body around awkwardly, "I don't think I can get out of here by myself without a little help."

"Fine."

Mac abandoned the basket of laundry and exited the room, retracing his steps down the hallway and back into the foyer. With a swift tug, he pulled open the mighty purple door and allowed her to exit. She glanced over her shoulder, and paused as if to say something, but decided against it and proceeded to walk down the steps, out of the gate, and retreated back to her car.

With an adrenaline rush, Mac slammed the door shut, all of his nerves on fire and tingling.

"That woman," he grumbled as he headed into the kitchen. "Ooh, that woman."

He caught Bloo drinking out of the carton of orange juice, but while that would normally incite him to yell, he just snatched the carton from Bloo's grasp and chugged it down. Bloo watched him with wide, confused eyes as Mac wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and handed the carton back to him.

"That woman, that woman," Mac continued to mumble underneath his breath as he started to assemble a row of pots and pans on the counter for dinner. He slammed boxes of spaghetti down onto the counter and twisted a glass jar of premade spaghetti sauce around and around in his hands.

"Uh, Mac?" Bloo asked, approaching him. "Is it just me, or do you seem like you're ready to kill someone?"

He whipped around and flicked on the kitchen sink, filling up each of the stainless steel pots until they were heavy with water.

"It was my mother," he said with a heavy sigh as he now finally got a hold of himself, the running water soothing his wild mind.

"Your mom?" Bloo exclaimed, watching as Mac switched on the burners on the stove. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious, though I wish I wasn't."

"W-wh-why?" Bloo burst. "I thought she hated you! I thought she kicked you to the curb!"

"I did too." Mac turned around and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "But she just randomly came by, dropped a couple of bombshells and babbled about fixing her mistakes and then left."

"What bombshells?"

"My dad is out of prison. She's got fourth stage breast cancer." Mac clamped a hand over his mouth, suddenly feeling very emotional. "She just comes by and dumps it on me, thinking that I can handle it like she always has."

"Oh Mac…" Bloo came forward and hugged him tightly, and kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry, Mac."

"Don't be sorry for her," Mac protested, pushing himself away from Bloo. "She's a bad woman!"

"Yeah," Bloo agreed quietly. "But she's still your mom."

"Why did you decide to have a conscience just now?" Mac said with a little laugh, wiping the tears from his eyes.

He turned his attention to the pots filled with boiling water and ripped open boxes of spaghetti, dumping the fragile, long strands into the water. He took an implement and pushed the noodles around, soaking them.

Bloo stood hesitantly behind him, wary. "You sure you okay?"

"I'm not," Mac answered. "But I'm going to be fine. I'll be fine. Don't worry."

"So, she's sorry or something?" Bloo hopped up on the counter, laying his arms across his formless knees.

"Yeah, well, that's what she said. She wants to meet me on Monday, or something. To talk."

"Are you going to go?"

"I guess I should. You know, she really guilted me into this: I'm dying of cancer, your daddy has never seen you, blah blah blah."

Bloo laughed a little. "Man, you're kind of harsh."

"Bloo! I'm harsh? Remember what she did to me? She disowned me! You don't go back on disowning your kid! It's just over and done with. She shouldn't even get a second chance, she shouldn't…" he clenched his fists and shook his head.

Bloo began to grab plates and large bowls to set the finished pasta in. Mac snatched up a strainer and headed over to the sink. He strained the finished spaghetti, which was heavy on his arms. He feebly shook it until Bloo pushed him out of the way and took over for him.

"And if she wanted to start this drama, why couldn't she have done it ten years ago? When I didn't have a son to worry about. I mean, think about it, Bloo! She wants to become involved in my life, and then I have to tell her all about that!"

"She probably knows we were broken up," Bloo said as he shook out the strainer. "You know, people reported on that…"

"No, I mean Junior!" Mac hissed. "She never knew that I was pregnant. Now I have to say it! 'Hi Mom, I ran away to Europe and somehow magically had a baby. Here he is, your grandson.'"

"That's if you guys make up, Mac," Bloo responded. "So, re-lax. You don't have to give her an answer tonight, do you?"

"No," Mac muttered begrudgingly.

"Then worry about other things."

"Like what?"

"Like making a baby with me tonight," Bloo answered with a sly wink.

Mac blushed, incredulous.

"And what makes you think I'll do that?" he asked, dumping the spaghetti sauce in a pot to boil.

"Because you love me. And somewhere within your subconscious there is a part of you that wants another baby."

Mac scoffed and laughed at this. "Still not too sure…"

"Well why can't we just try to see if anything happens? If you feel weird or something?"

"Because I'm not sure that I want a baby yet, Bloo!" Mac retorted with a snap, now angry. "It's a baby, not a pet goldfish!"

"I already picked out the room for it and everything."

"What…?" Mac shook his head.

"The room where all the scribbles used to be," Bloo said eagerly, coming up behind Mac. "Can you believe it? It's been unused for years and if we renovate it, we could make it a nice little nursery that's close by to our room—"

"—Bloo!" Mac stopped him, throwing up his hands in the air. "While that is great and all…"

"Yes?"

"While it's great and all, I'm still focused on other things: our son is going to be going into middle school, the money issues, not to mention how the procedure that I have to go through could affect the said baby…"

"Well Junior turned out alright."

"Junior was something we were lucky with!"

"That's right. I'm your lucky charm."

"Junior!" the two yelled, and the two whipped around to see their son standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

Junior had his arms crossed. In one hand he held an apple that he had taken a fresh bite out of. His face was sweaty and his knees looked banged up like he had been playing b-ball with Wilt.

"So. You guys were thinking about having another baby." He pulled up a stool and sat at the island counter, staring at the surface.

"Well…" Mac fumbled with the dials on the oven, "m-maybe. We still haven't decided yet. And what do you mean…?"

"Willow said it. She thought something had been going on with you guys."

"And where is Willow now?"

"Her mom's boyfriend came by and picked her up. Was really bitchy to her."

"Junior, watch your language," Mac snapped, and Junior held up his hands.

"All I was saying, Dad," he answered, setting down the apple on the counter top. "But, so, what was this about another baby?"

"Your father," Mac replied, jerking his head at Bloo, "thinks that it would be a swell idea. But we're still really unsure about it."

"When were you going to tell me? When you had a bun in the oven?"

"Junior!" Mac cast a glance at Bloo. "Bloo, have you been teaching him this?"

"Uh… Well."

Mac sighed. "No. Of course we were going to talk it out with you, so relax, Mr. Confrontational. You're the first born kid, so… it's a decision that would be affecting the whole family."

"Eh. I don't know." Junior shrugged his shoulders. "I guess if you guys want another baby, you should try for it."

"Wow Junior. That was surprisingly unselfish of you," Mac commented, smiling a bit.

"Hey, come on. I'm going to be going to high school in a few years, and then going to college—I won't be around to have to drive it around to a hockey game or dance recital." Junior laughed.

Mac leaned forward, smiling at his son. He tousled his hair playfully and stared at him with a strong gaze of parental love.

"That's right. Wow. When did you get so old?"

"I'm not old!" Junior protested. "Da-ad, quit messing up my hair!"

"Alright." Mac turned around and handed him a stack of dishes. "Go out and set the table."

Junior grumbled underneath his breath and stuck the apple in his mouth. He mumbled something loudly as he exited through the door to the kitchen. Mac turned around and looked at Bloo with big, somewhat wet eyes.

"Okay. I think I want another baby."

"You guys are thinking about having another baby?"

Wilt walked in through the door, his lanky arms and legs bending as he did so. Mac and Bloo threw up their hands and groaned, then turned their backs to him.

"What?" Wilt asked, confused, his eye rattling. "Oh, Mac, I took care of the laundry that had been left in Gogo's room."

"Thanks Wilt."

"So you guys are seriously thinking about that?"

"Actually, based off of what Mac just said to me," Bloo said with a sly grin, glancing over at Mac, "I think that we're going to go for it."

"No! No, forget what I said."

"Mac, there's no take backs. You threw it up in the air, and let it hang there and enter everyone's brains."

"No, I can take it back!" Mac swatted him. "Who exactly is going to be carrying the baby? That would be me, thank you very much. It's my body, it's my choice."

"My body, my choice," Bloo returned mockingly, rolling his eyes.

Mac removed the boiling spaghetti sauce off of the burner and stirred it a little bit. He then face palmed himself.

"Oh damn it, I forgot the sausage."

"That's a crime." Bloo reached into the fridge and tossed him a package, which Mac caught.

"Thanks."

"No prob." Bloo looked over at Wilt. "So, yeah. We're going to do it."

"No we are not!"

"But you just said…" Bloo groaned and threw up his hands. "Did you not just say when Wilt walked in, 'Okay, I think I want another baby'? I heard you Mac! Those were your exact words!"

"Oh my God…" Mac laughed, embarrassed. He ripped open the package of sausage and dumped it into a frying pan that he sprayed with nonstick cooking mist. "Maybe I was just feeling a little nostalgic."

"Remembering when Junior was a baby?" Wilt asked, smiling as he sat down at the island.

"Yeah. I wonder what happened that made him grow up so much." Mac said, using a fork to push around the sausage and break it apart.

"Time just flies, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it really does," Mac agreed, grinning. "Man. I'm so glad I came back here. Junior wouldn't have been able to have such a good life if he hadn't."

"Hey," Bloo piped up, "that's right! You keep saying there are money issues with having another baby, but you were dirt poor when we had Junior!"

"I suppose that's true," Mac mumbled, now suddenly realizing. "And so were Denise and Reggy…"

Denise and Reggy, a fanta-human couple who were long time friends of Mac and Bloo, had toured Europe with Mac for the cause of human-fanta sexual rights. So, in the earliest stages of Junior's life, they had been present. When Junior was six, the two had moved back to the United States with their own daughter, Jette, when she was four. Mac could still remember the day when he had answered the phone, a little time after he had just gotten back together with Bloo, and Denise had started screaming and crying and then the two had talked about her baby.

Denise and Reggy right now were visiting Nic, another friend of theirs, who was in New York. Their daughter Jette had gone with them, but they were supposed to come back very soon.

"Mac, while you were out, the sausage started to burn."

"What?" Mac gave a small shriek as he saw that some of the pieces now sported blackened rings around their edges. He flicked off the burner and smacked the pan down on a pot holder. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

Wilt picked up the pan and carried it out to the dining room table, and an exhausted and slightly miserable Mac followed closely behind.

Another baby, my mother, my father... what else is going to make my life more confusing?