ONE
"Elizabeth Parker," the elderly man announced slowly in a warm and gentle voice, spreading his arms out in an inviting gesture. Like he thought I would run straight into them and accept his offered hug.
But I did not know Max Evans' grandfather, George Evans. Because of that reason alone, I should not be particularly inclined to accept his welcoming embrace. But to be honest, there was something compelling about him. Something that made me feel safe. Something that made me want to get to know him.
Looking at Philip Evans' father, who up until two minutes ago I had believed to be dead, it felt as though I had known the man forever. Like he was the long lost grandfather that I never knew I had.
His smile was warm, his brown eyes kind. They almost twinkled, his eyes. As if he was carrying a secret that only he knew. The eyes brightened with warm humor at my hesitation and, without appearing disappointed, he lowered his arms and accepted my chosen distance.
George Evans echoed my silent conclusion. "You don't know me, Elizabeth." He lowered his voice to add, giving me a confidant wink, "Or is it Liz?"
Lost for words, I nodded.
I searched out Max's hand. He was standing silently next to me, his mind quiet, his stance still. His only sign of life was the light squeeze of my hand as our fingers interlaced.
George Evans smiled kindly and repeated, "You don't know me, Liz, but I have met you many times."
This should not surprise me. After all, the aliens were no strangers to the art of erasing memories. Still, I was both surprised and a little disappointed by the elderly man's statement.
To be honest, I was mostly disappointed. Max's grandfather seemed like a person that I would want to keep my memories about. He seemed like the person that one would love to have in one's life.
"When?" I croaked, my throat dry as sandpaper.
"The first time was when you were merely a couple of days old," George Evans replied. "It had just been confirmed that you, like your mother, carried the gaea gene." The expression in his eyes grew sad, the compassion that filled them clogged my own throat up with emotions. "I'm so sorry about your mother, Liz."
I tried to swallow. Max squeezed my hand. My throat prickled with sudden tears.
"Thank you," I whispered, diverting my eyes to a spot in the floor one foot ahead of me.
"I have watched you grow up," George Evans continued after a couple of seconds of silence. "I have spoken to you on the street once or twice. If my memory doesn't fail me, I believe you were skipping rope with your friends one of those times." His forehead wrinkled in contemplation. "And another time you were coloring the pavement with crayons or something alike."
I frowned. "You have spoken to me?" If it had been any other stranger telling me that he had been watching me grow up and even made contact, it would have scared me. But I felt no shivers, no danger, only curiosity.
"You might only remember me as a random man on the street," George Evans said and shrugged his shoulders. "Probably not enough to make a permanent imprint in your memory. It was not supposed to affect you or make you remember me. I only wanted to speak with you."
His eyes moved from my face to Max's, making me follow the direction of his gaze to the blank face of my boyfriend. "I'm sorry I left you, Max."
Max's face was pale, almost white, as he squeezed his lips together, a deep line between his eyebrows.
"And I'm sorry I left you, Isabel," George Evans continued, looking at Isabel.
George Evans addressing others brought my attention to the fact that I was not alone with Max and his grandfather. The grandfather had probably spoken to the others in the room while Max went to get me, considering that Isabel's face was a teary mess and even Philip Evans appeared to be having trouble keeping his emotions in check. In fact, Philip Evans looked like he was about to simultaneously cry with relief and scream in anger. An odd sight to witness.
Letting his gaze wander over the participants of the living room, George Evans told us, "We have a lot to talk about."
"Yes," Philip said, affirming his confident authority in that one syllable.
George nodded. "But first, Liz needs to rest."
All eyes flew to me, confusion mixed with suspicion blended with annoyance. My heart skipped a beat. I hated being at the center of attention. Especially when I didn't myself know what was going on or how I could remove myself from it.
But looking into George's kind eyes, it slowly dawned on me that he knew. Somehow he knew that I had, merely minutes ago, found out that I was pregnant. He could see auras too and was probably the most skilled of all the Evans men. Somehow he also knew that I needed some time alone, to get my bearings.
I glanced at Philip's face wondering if he knew too. A heavy coldness slowly crawled into me at the possibility of Max's father also knowing of my pregnancy, just like Max had, before I had. It brutally brought back the emotions I had felt not long ago, feeling not only hurt but also betrayed by Max. Without a single attempt at sugarcoating, my emotions crash-landed as I was reminded of what had just happened before the reality of the return of the long lost grandfather was added to my life.
Unaware of what I was doing, I pulled my hand out of Max's grip and took a step to the side - one step away from my boyfriend. His eyes burned into the side of my face, but I couldn't get myself to look at him.
Instead I addressed George in a burning voice, "You are right, Mr. Evans. I need to rest."
George looked from my face to Max's, a slight confusion to his expression. He understood that I knew what he meant by his suggestion, but he probably hadn't expected my reaction. Still, his voice remained as gentle as before when he said, "It was nice meeting you, Liz. I have been looking forward to it for a long time."
I tried to smile. Really. I tried. But my eyes were burning with tears and my body was trembling with a sudden lack of energy. "Nice meeting you too, Mr. Evans."
Max's hand wrapped around my upper arm as I turned with the intention of leaving the room. His breath was warm against my ear as he whispered, "I'm coming with you."
I stilled and looked up at him. I looked into those dark eyes, with the long dark lashes that I loved, the blush to his upper cheeks, and the sharpness of his jaw. I saw the dark circles under his eyes, the thinness to his once powerful jaw, and the dryness to his lips. I could see the pain shining out of those confident eyes, felt his desperate need to explain in the way he was gripping my arm, and saw the request for forgiveness and understanding in the worried shape of his mouth.
The words that came out of my mouth were as impersonal and distant as the cold manner in which I was delivering them. "You stay here with your family. Your grandfather just came back from the dead. You should talk to him." I didn't recognize my own voice. But I didn't care. I had needed Max to explain in the bathroom earlier, but he had chosen to prioritize something else. I wasn't ready to listen now. I wasn't ready to talk anymore.
His grip tightened, his breath flew over my face, as he whispered forcefully, "Liz..."
A tear dropped from my eyelash as my gaze fell to the floor and I brokenly whispered, "I can't."
"I can explain," he said, his eyes pleading while his grip on my arm remained obstinate.
"Don't," I warned him.
I was aware of the fact that the room was quiet. That everyone might be watching us. That everyone might be wondering what was happening between the Star Crossed Lovers.
"I need to be alone," I added, meeting his eyes while emphasizing every word.
He looked at me for a long time. Searching my eyes. Silently begging me to let him come with. Well, not silently per say. I could hear him very clearly in my head. Through the buzzing of my hurt and pain, I could hear him asking me to let him explain, that we needed to talk, that things were not as they seemed.
It resulted in me pressing my eyes tightly shut and whispering, "Please. Stop."
Get out of my head, my mind told him.
His reaction to my words was shocked coldness. I felt how taken back he was at my order and heard how it silenced everything in his own mind.
He let me go. His hand dropped away from my arm and he diverted his thoughts away from me. It was the only way he could leave me at peace now when we were, by all things that counted, unable to block the other.
His conclusive mumbled, "Fine," cut through my heart. I could hear his own hurt in that single word and I struggled to not give in and reach for his hand, to retract my request for him to leave me alone.
His dark eyes met mine and I shield myself from the wetness in those eyes. My hand unconsciously drifted to the lower part of my abdomen and it was not until Max's eyes dropped to follow that hand movement that I realized that my mind had traveled to the fetus in my womb.
"Let me explain," he tried again, our gazes locked on my abdomen, on my trembling hand resting against my sweater.
I swallowed. Without looking at him, I said, "Talk to your grandfather. Be with your family."
"You are my family."
I broke along with the break in his voice. The desperation. His fear that he had done something that might permanently damage us.
Tears fell down my cheeks as I chose not to respond. The words were getting stuck in my throat, like traffic at rush hour. I was left with only one option: Escape.
So I did.
