The end of Thanksgiving break brought about the return of normal routines. Michael returned to his classes, as did the kids at Pound. He wasn't scheduled to pull any practicum time on Monday, but he went anyway, just for the hell of it.
He volunteered to supervise lunch duty, and while he was doing that, he got a chance to watch Dylan interact with his friends. The kid was king of the lunch table. When he talked—and he did that a lot—all his friends listened. He seemed to have some genius trading system set up, too, where they would all swap sandwiches with each other if they brought cold lunch, and he always seemed to end up with the best one.
Michael smiled as he watched him. He was a pretty incredible kid.
"Hey."
He startled a bit, surprised when Maria was all of a sudden standing at his side. "Oh, hey," he said, noting that she was wearing the crimson Aggies sweatshirt he'd given her before break. It was big on her. "What're you doin' here?"
"I got a phone call from Vanessa Whitaker," she explained, "something about Dylan's circle of friends." A concerned look crossed her face. "What's going on? Are his friends being mean to him? Is he being mean to them?"
"No, that's not . . ." He put his hand on her shoulder and motioned her out of the lunch room. "Here, come with me," he said, ushering her towards the office. There were other staff members supervising the lunchroom, so it wouldn't be a big deal for him to slip away. "Vanessa's in a meeting right now, but I can explain it to you," he offered, opening the door to his supervisor's office. He took a seat in her chair, unaccustomed to sitting on that side of the desk, and she sat down across from him.
"You look so grown up," she remarked.
He smiled a bit, wordlessly accepting the compliment. Never in a million years had he pictured them sitting together like this, in these roles. It was funny how things worked out.
"So what's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing. Uh . . . it's a good thing, actually," he assured her. "See, Circle of Friends is what we do here for the kids who have problems socializing. We pick the kids who are good, positive leaders—like Dylan—and we teach 'em how to interact with the kids who struggle."
"Like the new kid you're gonna work with, the autistic one."
"Yeah. We thought Dylan would be a good fit in his Circle of Friends."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought something bad was going on."
"No, it's good. It's a compliment, really, to him and to . . . you know, how you've raised him." He felt weird saying that, only because . . . he knew he'd played a part in raising Dylan, too. Not as big of a part as she had, obviously, but in a way, it was nice to think that maybe he'd instilled some good qualities back when he'd been in that father figure role. "Anyway, he doesn't have to do it, but usually the kids end up enjoying it, and it's a good chance for them to learn how to treat someone who's a little bit different."
"Yeah," she said. "What exactly do they do?"
"It's not a huge commitment or anything. Just about once or twice a month, we pull the group into the office here, and they have lunch together. We try to talk about stuff goin' on at school, like if there's a game or a field trip or a dance coming up. And the kids in the circle help model and demonstrate how you're supposed to act in those social situations. It's not like it'll be some huge extra responsibility for him."
"Right." She nodded enthusiastically. "I think it sounds good. I think he'd like being a part of it."
"Yeah, I think so, too." He opened Vanessa's bottom right desk drawer, pulled a yellow paper out of a folder, and handed it to her. "Anyway, here's the official information about it, but it's pretty much what I just told you. So talk to him about it, and . . . I don't know, talk to Max." He couldn't help but roll his eyes just saying that guy's name. "If you guys want him to do it, just sign the bottom of that form and get it back to us. You could even give it to me in class."
"Okay," she said, folding up the paper and sticking it in her purse. "Sounds good. Thanks." She just sat there then for a few seconds, as if she wasn't sure whether she should leave or not. And he wasn't sure, either. There wasn't much more to say about the Circle thing, but . . . she didn't have to leave.
She pushed the chair back and stood up, though, heading for the door.
"Nice sweatshirt," he said just to stop her.
She plucked at the bottom of it and asked, "Do you want it back?"
"No." He had plenty. Besides . . . it looked better on her anyway.
...
For some reason, Maria had always pictured Tess and Kyle living in a big house together. Maybe it was because Kyle had seemed destined for pro-football stardom back when she'd known him, destined to rake in millions. Or maybe it was because Tess had lived in a pretty big house back in high school. But none of that had materialized for them. Maria was actually quite surprised when she drove to their house and saw where they lived after getting their address from Michael. It was . . . small. Even smaller than the house her mom owned. There was a wheelchair ramp out front, rows of dead flowers near the side of the house, and paint chipping away all over.
Mental note, she thought as she got out of the car, Max has some potential customers here. What remained of the paint on the house was an awful pea green color. Max could probably make it more of a sea foam.
Kyle was sitting out on the front steps, gulping down a sizeable bottle of water, beads of sweat trickling down his head. His clothes looked damp, like he'd been working out.
"Hey, Kyle," she said.
"Oh, hey, Maria," he returned. "How you doin'?"
"Good." She stepped in front of him and asked, "Did you just get back from a run?"
"No, a walk."
Oh god, I'm so stupid, she thought. Of course he hadn't been running.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"Nothing." She sat down beside him, hoping she wasn't intruding or being a nuisance. "I just had some spare time today, so I thought I'd stop by and say . . . congratulations." It sounded so cheesy and lame, but she didn't want to not say it.
"Thanks," he said. "Who told you?"
"Michael. But I kinda already knew."
Kyle took another big drink of water, down at the bottom of his bottle now. "It was . . . unexpected."
"Yeah. I get that." She was the queen of an unexpected pregnancy.
"I can't imagine what you went through when you were in high school," he said, squirting what remained of his water onto his head. "I mean, I'm twenty-one, and I'm still freaking out. I feel like I'm just not ready. Scared and unprepared."
Maria laughed lightly as she recalled that feeling. "Yeah, I remember feeling the exact same way. But it worked out. It's been really hard, but it's been worth it." All the good times she'd had with Dylan far outweighed any hardships.
"Can I ask you something?" he said suddenly.
She nodded.
"Something personal."
She nodded again.
"When you told Max you were pregnant . . . how'd he react?"
Inwardly, she shuddered, because that wasn't a happy memory to think back on. "Not well."
"Did he . . ." Kyle lowered his voice, seemingly hesitant to ask, "Did he tell you to get an abortion?"
She tensed, unable to say anything. The only person she'd ever had this conversation with was Michael.
"Because I didn't say those exact words to Tess," he went on, "but I . . . heavily implied it."
For a moment, she was taken aback, just because she'd never expected Kyle to have that reaction. Even though she'd never known him all that well, he'd always struck her as a really calm, collected guy. But his injury had definitely changed him. "Is that what you want?" she asked, removing any and all judgment from her tone. He was entitled to react to the twists and turns in his life however he wanted to, even if it was insensitive.
"No," he insisted. "I just said it in the heat of the moment. But ever since then, she's been pretty mad at me. We've barely even talked."
She sighed, doubting there would ever be an easy way for Tess and Kyle to overcome this. Whatever conversation they'd had was one that they would both remember. Forever. "It takes time," she said. "It took a long time for me to forgive Max."
"How'd you do it?" he asked, sounding as if he were almost desperate to know.
She shrugged, wishing she could give him a concrete answer. "It just happened. Max isn't the same guy he used to be."
"Yeah." Kyle drew the word out sadly, regretfully. "Neither am I. But Max changed for the better; I changed for the worse."
"But you're still you." Just the fact that they were even having this conversation was a good sign. "I think if you start to believe in yourself again, then Tess will start to believe in you, too."
He nodded contemplatively, managing the smallest of smiles. "Thanks, Maria," he said, sounding genuinely grateful for the advice. And she was happy to give it. After all the years of being a walking, talking cautionary tale for young girls everywhere, it was nice to be able to draw on her own experience to try to help someone else out.
...
"For those of you taking the follow-up to this course next semester . . ." The professor tapped the white board, where he had written Music Appreciation 2 sloppily. "I'll be teaching my section on the same days at the same times. Now if that doesn't fit in your schedule, there will be another section of the class offered on Wednesday evenings. It's taught by another professor, and it goes from 7:00 to 10:00. So it's a bit of a tradeoff: only one class per week, but it's for a larger block of time."
Michael shifted in his seat, starting to tune the young professor out when he started discussing the curriculum they would cover next semester. He didn't care what the hell the music was that they were appreciating. He just wondered . . . if Maria would be appreciating it.
He looked at her, quietly asking, "So are you gonna take that class with the same professor then? You think?"
She squirmed in her seat a bit and answered, "Uh, yeah, probably. But I have to wait to register, 'cause I'm still just a freshman."
"Oh, yeah." He forgot about that. She was a year older than him, but he had far more college courses under his belt. "I think I'm gonna register tonight," he told her, trying to casually mention what was on his mind. He felt awkward, so he finally just said it. "Actually, I was thinking about maybe taking another music class next semester."
Her eyebrows shot upward questioningly. "Like Music Appreciation?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Well, I'm kind of ahead on my credits," he explained. "So there's really only three classes I have to take next semester. But I have to take four to be a full-time student, and I have to be a full-time student to keep my scholarships, so . . ." He was just being logical.
"So why not take another psychology class then?"
Yeah. That was a good question. "I don't wanna overload on psych," he said. "I mean, I love it, obviously, but I kinda wanna do something different, too."
"So naturally . . . Music Appreciation."
He held up two fingers. "Dos."
The guy in front of them turned around and shushed them, but they only stayed quiet for a minute before picking up the conversation again.
"Don't you have any other general classes left to take?" she asked him.
"Nope." Technically he didn't even have to be taking this one, but surprisingly, he actually kind of enjoyed it. "Besides, Vanessa mentioned to me that it might be good to take another music class. 'cause that Jake kid who I'm gonna work with . . . music's, like, the only thing he responds to. It calms him." They were giving the kid two music classes each day, just because they thought it might give him a sense of stability and an outlet to express himself. "So maybe I can learn something that'll help reach him," he summarized. And he wasn't just blowing smoke by saying that. He'd done the research, and he knew that a lot of school counselors were seeking out music education experiences, because music reached kids in a way traditional methods couldn't.
"Yeah, I think taking a semester-long class goes above and beyond the call of duty, though," Maria said skeptically.
"What're you saying? You don't want me to take the class with you?" He decided to pull out the charm and the teasing grin, knowing he could get her to lighten up about it. "You don't wanna see me get a hundred percent on all my tests? Is that what you're saying?" he joked.
That reluctant smile he'd grown so accustomed to seeing tugged at her lips, and she shook her head. "God, you're an ass."
He smirked.
"Do whatever you think is best for you, Michael," she told him. "It's fine by me either way."
What's best for me? he thought. It didn't matter if it was what was best for him; it was what he wanted to do.
He went home that night, got online, and signed up for his classes. The system the university had was pretty much like , except instead of putting products into your shopping cart, you put classes in there. He got the educational psychology class he wanted, plus professor Barnaby's Personality Theory class. He had to sign up for Research Methodology . . . and then there was Music Appreciation 2. He put it in his cart, but he hesitated once it was time to hit the Register Now button. He'd been thinking about this class for a while, mulling over the possibility of it, but for the first time since he'd decided he would take it . . . he started second-guessing himself. And his motives.
Be a full-time student, he reminded himself. Don't overload on psych. Help the autistic kid. Those were all valid reasons.
The door swung open while he was still staring at the screen, and in came Sarah, wearing her scrubs. "Hey, baby," she chirped.
He quickly clicked the registration button and closed out of the browser window. "Hey."
...
Every morning at her pastry shop, Liz made three dozen traditional donuts, and every morning, she frosted them and put sprinkles on them. Normally, it was a task she could finish quickly, but when somebody stopped by to talk, it took her a lot longer. Especially when that person was Max.
He stayed for a while, because he didn't have to be on the construction site until 10:30 that day. He told her all about an interesting conversation he'd had with Maria last night. Apparently Michael was planning on taking a spring semester music class. Which Liz thought was weird.
"So are you sure you're okay with it?" she asked him for at least the third time. He kept saying it was fine, but she wasn't quite certain she believed him.
"Yeah." He dropped a few snowflake sprinkles onto a blue frosted donut, assisting her, even though her progress had virtually halted. "And I'm glad she was just upfront with me about it instead of trying to keep it a secret."
"Yeah, that's good," she agreed. But still . . . it just struck her as very . . . odd. She knew Michael; she remembered him coming into the Crashdown as a junior in high school, complaining about how much he hated choir, grumbling that he was only taking it because he'd been kicked out of art class and needed fine arts credits to graduate.
Even though Max probably didn't want to hear it, Liz couldn't help but question the whole situation a little more. "Don't you think it's at all weird, though?" she said. "I mean, what's next, is he gonna change his whole major?"
"It's just one more class, Liz," Max said evenly. "And Maria even offered to take the Wednesday night section, but I don't want her to do that."
She understood that—Maria was a mom, after all, and evenings were when she got to spend her time with Dylan—but one night a week wasn't so bad. Maybe Max should have asked her to do that. "I just . . . look, I really admire and respect how calm and mature you've been about all this," she said, reaching across the counter to put her hand on top of his. "But if something ever doesn't feel right to you and you think you need to put your foot down, don't be afraid to do it."
He squeezed her hand momentarily, then let it go. "I appreciate your concern, Liz," he told her. "But it's fine. I know Maria and I are solid, and have you seen Michael and Sarah together? It's pretty obvious how he feels about her."
"Yeah, Sarah's really great," Liz agreed. Hell, if she had any lesbian urges, she'd probably be attracted to her. Sarah just had that type of personality that was impossible not to love. "I just want you to be careful."
"I've been careful," he pointed out, "ever since that night on the bridge." He looked away, as if even just mentioning it ashamed him.
"Yeah, I know," she said softly. She was so proud of all the changes he'd made, and now she just didn't want anything—or anyone—to jeopardize it.
"Honestly, you wanna know the only part about this whole thing that irks me?" he said.
"What?"
"It has nothing to do with them having a class together. It's just . . ." He pressed his lips together tightly for a moment, as if he weren't even sure whether or not he wanted to say anything. "Michael, you know. Michael Guerin of all people, the guy who barely graduated high school, is now a star student at NMSU. And he's probably gonna have a great job someday. And then there's me, and I paint houses. And work construction." He motioned to the hard hat that was literally only a few feet away, hanging on the back of one of her chairs.
"Max . . ."
"And I know I have no one to blame but myself," he admitted, " 'cause I could still be in college if it wasn't for the drugs. I know that. But still . . ." He trailed off and sighed deeply. "This sounds really arrogant and selfish, but sometimes I feel like I deserve more. I mean, given my background and given Michael's, it's just kinda ironic we ended up where we did."
It's kinda lucky you ended up anywhere at all, she thought, recalling how completely messed up he'd been the night he'd gotten high and taken Dylan out of the Guerin home. She'd never seen someone so lost, so confused, and so terrified.
"I get what you're saying," she sympathized. "I mean, I love Scarlet, and I love my job, but . . . I'm in one college class right now." And it was a business class, definitely not the kind of thing that would help her become that molecular biologist she'd once dreamed of being. "This just isn't exactly what I pictured for myself."
"Right," he said. "It's not bad; it's just . . ."
"Different," she filled in.
"Yeah." He stared at her for a few seconds, then cleared his throat and said, "Anyway, I gotta get to work. But tell Scarlet I'll stop by tomorrow night."
"I will," she promised, though Scarlet was way too young to comprehend that. She wouldn't know he was coming, but when he showed up, her whole face would just sparkle, the way it always sparkled when she was with her daddy.
"Alright, well . . ." He grabbed his hard hat and said, "Thanks for listening, Liz." He gave her a quick smile, and then he turned and headed for the door. She watched him leave, glad that she was able to listen, to be his friend, his confidante. He didn't really have anyone else to just talk to.
Just when she was thinking that she might be able to finish up frosting the damn donuts, Doug came into the shop, walking right past Max on his way in.
"Hey," she greeted him.
"Hi," he returned. He looked back at Max as he walked out the door and down the sidewalk, a glint of intrigue in his eyes. "Who's that?" he asked. "He's gorgeous."
"That's Max," Liz told him, still getting accustomed his . . . gayness.
"New boyfriend?" he asked.
"Old boyfriend, actually. He's Scarlet's father."
"Oh, no wonder she's such a cute kid then. Great genetics on both sides," he complimented.
She laughed a little, thinking that it was probably more of Max's genetics than hers. She wasn't an ugly duckling by any means, but Max had that whole smoldering thing going on. He always had.
"Are you two getting back together?" Doug questioned.
"Oh, no. No," she answered quickly. "He's just . . . it's a friendship, nothing more."
"You sure?"
"Very." Why would he even ask that? Wasn't it obvious? "He's actually in a relationship with his other ex-girlfriend, who's the mother of his son," she informed him. "And also a really good friend of mine, so I would never . . ."
"Never?"
"Never." The thought didn't even cross her mind.
"Okay," Doug said, sighing. "I was just wondering."
She picked up a handful of the snowflake sprinkles and dumped a generous amount onto an abnormally small donut, trying to refocus herself. She wasn't upset at him for asking her about any of this, but she really hoped he wouldn't ask again. Sometimes it was better to just not wonder about things.
...
Bath and Body Works wasn't Michael's typical destination at the Carlsbad mall. In fact, no store was his typical destination at the mall, because he hated going there and avoided it like the plague. But when Maria had mentioned she was going after class to get some Christmas shopping done, he'd offered to go with her. Thus how he'd ended up at Bath and Body Works.
Once inside the store, he found himself intoxicated by the various aromas. He sniffed every free sample he could, going from scent to scent, amazed that each one smelled even better than the last. "Mmm," he said as he popped open the top of a pink bottle and inhaled eagerly. "Wow, this shit smells good. I feel like I could get high off this."
Maria came towards him and asked, "What kind is that?"
He looked at the label. "Sweet Pea."
"That's my favorite." She shuffled on down to a further shelf, though, sampling the smell of a fragrance he hadn't yet tried.
"I remember," he said quietly, sniffing the Sweet Pea again. She always used to put on that kind of lotion when she got out of the shower.
He put Sweet Pea down and tried the next scent, a purple bottle of body wash. "Ooh, look, Secret Wonderland," he said. He took a whiff, but it was a little too strong for his liking. "You know, that's what girls used to call my bedroom."
She rolled her eyes and grunted, "It didn't smell like a secret wonderland, though."
"It got better after you moved in."
"Yeah, but before that, it was pretty bad." She grabbed a few bottles of lotion of bubble bath or whatever the hell all this stuff was and dumped them into her shopping basket, and he knew those weren't all for herself.
"So who you shoppin' for?" he asked.
"Liz."
He put Secret Wonderland back and moved closer to her. "Wait, isn't she, like, your best friend, though?"
"Pretty much."
"And you're gettin' her body wash for Christmas?"
Maria shrugged. "That's what she asked for."
"Lame." He knew girls well enough to know that body wash was the gift you gave someone when you had no idea what else to give.
"She doesn't want me to spend a lot of money," Maria said. "Besides, I'm gonna get her something else, too, like a nice shirt or a dress."
He made a face. "Do I have to tag along for that, too?" Women's clothing just wasn't his department. He had no idea what would look good on a girl. Although he was an expert on what looked good off of them.
"You don't have to tag along for anything," she pointed out. "I didn't ask you to come with me."
He grinned. "But aren't you glad I did?" This had to be way better than shopping by herself.
"Yes, actually, because I need to find something for Sarah," she replied in a rush, "but I have no idea what to get her."
"You don't have to get her anything."
"Yeah, I do," she insisted. "She's been really, really nice and understanding."
He shrugged. "Sarah's easy to shop for. She'll like anything you get her."
She gave him a look and a sarcastic response. "Thanks, that's really helpful."
"What? She will."
"I was thinking maybe a cookbook," she said, readjusting her now-heavy basket. "But then I was like, no, she probably already knows how to make every single recipe in there."
"Then get her . . ." He reached out and took the basket from her. "I don't know, a calendar or something."
"A calendar." She sounded unenthused by the idea.
"Yeah."
"What kind?"
"I don't know. Puppies."
She groaned exaggeratedly and complained, "You are the worst person to be doing this with."
"Hey, I'm not so bad," he proclaimed. "I might not agonize over gifts the way you do, but usually I end up giving some pretty good ones. Remember?"
A small, shy smile spread across her face, and he knew she was remembering their one and only Christmas together when he'd surprised her with a guitar. "Yeah."
He smiled as he remembered it, too. That damn guitar had cost him a pretty penny, but it'd been so worth it to see that happiness on her face, to hear her play it. It was the moment when he'd realized he was falling in love with her. He'd never forget it.
"You know, I still have that guitar," she said.
"Really?"
"Mmm-hmm. Best gift I ever got."
Best gift he'd ever given. "You ever play it?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I haven't for a long time."
Well . . . at least she still had it, though. "You should," he suggested. Even though Maria didn't long to be a singer anymore, music was still clearly a part of her, and that guitar brought the music out.
After they wrapped things up at Bath and Body Works, they walked deeper into the mall, to the part where Michael started to become overwhelmed with all the clothing stores. There was a Game Stop way down at the end, and he longed to go in there, but Maria went into some women's clothing store he couldn't even pronounce, so he went with her.
He had no idea what he was doing in there.
"What the hell is this?" he spat as he held up a strapless bright blue . . . something. "Is this a shirt or a dress? Because if it's a shirt, it's too long, but if it's a dress, it's just right." Either way, it wasn't skimpy enough to maintain his interest, though, not when he noticed his favorite store just across from this one. "Ooh, Victoria's Secret," he said, putting the blue garment back on the rack. "Let's go in there."
"I am not going in there with you," Maria voiced adamantly.
"Fine, I'll go by myself." He started to walk out, but she reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him.
"Wait a minute," she said. "Are you seriously gonna get your girlfriend lingerie for Christmas?"
"Yeah, why not? That's what I get her every year."
"That's not a gift for her; it's a gift for you," she said.
"Exactly. It's the gift that keeps on giving."
She rolled her eyes, reaching around him to grab the same leather jacket that was displayed on one of the mannequins in the window. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "Get her this."
"This is cool," he said, examining it as she walked around him. Sarah would look great in this. Although it felt like real leather, which got him wondering how expensive it was. He took a glance at the price tag and almost fainted. "Oh, and costly." He hung it back up and decided, "I think I'll go with the shirt/dress." He could order the lingerie online.
He walked back over to the blue mystery item, searching through the sizes for what he guessed was Sarah's, and as he did so, he watched Maria. Watched her walk through and around all the racks of clothing, browsing but not necessarily settling on anything. He wondered if Max would come into a store like this within the next few weeks and get something nice for her, or if he already had. And then he wondered if maybe Max would get her lingerie, too. Just the thought of that pissed him off.
"So what do you think Max is gettin' you?" he asked, holding up a medium in the blue dress. Yeah, that looked like it'd fit.
"I don't know," she said, checking the price tag on a long, floral-print dress. "He said he wanted to get me something really meaningful this year."
Michael tensed up, falling silent for a moment. Meaningful? Did that mean . . . was he referring to . . .? Oh god, he hoped not.
Even though he was scared of what her answer would be, he asked the anxious question anyway. "Do you think he's gonna propose?"
She whirled around, looking . . . almost alarmed, as if she hadn't even considered that option. "No."
He shrugged doubtfully. "That'd be meaningful."
"He's not gonna . . ." She trailed off, laughing nervously. "No."
"You sure?"
That look in her eyes was not sure. Not sure at all.
Great, he thought. It was a possibility then. He meandered towards her, bravely asking another question, one he dreaded the answer to even more. "If he did, would you say yes?"
She huffed as if she were outraged or incredulous. And it took her a few seconds to say anything. "Are you seriously asking me that?"
"Yeah." Funny how she didn't answer.
"He's not gonna propose."
Still not an answer. "But if he did, what would you say?"
She snorted again, looking completely flabbergasted by all of this. "That's none of your business."
"Just answer the question."
"No, I don't have to."
"So you wouldn't then?" he concluded hopefully.
"What?"
"You wouldn't say yes?"
"No, I would . . ." Again she trailed off, seeming as if she were at a complete loss for words. Or at least the one word that mattered. "This is stupid," she muttered angrily. "He's not gonna ask me."
"He might. I did."
"Yeah, and look how well that worked out for us." She turned her back to him and pretended to be all interested in looking at that long floral dress again.
"I just think it's interesting that you said yes to me in an instant, but you don't know what the hell you'd say to him."
She spun back around, and she had that lively, ignited look in her eyes now. "I know what I'd say," she claimed.
"Oh, really? 'cause you haven't said it yet." And he loved that. He really, truly did.
"God, why do you have to do this?" she yelled, throwing her arms down at her sides. Both their voices were rising now, and other customers in the store were starting to look over at them. "We are finally at a point in our relationship where we're friends, and then you go and say stuff like this. You have no right to be so nosy!"
"I just asked a question," he said innocently, "a simple question, by the way."
"It's not that simple," she argued.
"It should be." If she loved the guy and saw a future with him, then it should have been simple to think about him proposing and imagine herself accepting.
"Fine, you know what?" she growled, apparently fed up with all of this. "I would say yes. I would marry him, because I love him. In fact, he was my first love. Let's not forget about that."
He didn't have a snappy comeback for that one. Because honestly . . . that hurt. He hated that Max had been her first for so many things. Because when it came to first loves . . . his was standing right in front of him.
"God!" she hissed again, stomping out of the store. She didn't look back, and he didn't even try to follow her. No, he'd pushed the issue too hard, made too big of a deal out of it, and now she was mad at him. Fantastic.
He halfheartedly went over to Victoria's Secret after their fight, but he just wasn't into it anymore. He made a detour for Game Stop, picked up two video games, one for himself and one for Kyle, and then he sulked back out to the food court. He got himself a root beer, and he planned on ordering food, too, until he saw Maria sitting alone at one of the tables. She had a whole bowl full of pasta in front of her, but she was just pushing the noodles around with her plastic fork, not eating anything.
Drink in hand, he made his way towards her, bracing himself for the possibility of her just getting up and walking away when he sat down. But she didn't. He stood over her, casting a shadow, and she just sat there, eyes fixed on her uneaten food, never looking up at him.
Any apology would have been a weak one, because he wasn't really sorry. Maybe he hadn't gone about it in the most tactful way, but he didn't regret questioning the strength of her feelings for Max. At all. He'd do it again a thousand times if that was what it took for her to leave the guy.
He sat down in the chair across from her, feeling a bit defeated. Because apparently she wasn't planning on leaving the guy anytime soon. Would she really say yes to him if he proposed? He wasn't quite sure whether he believed her answer or not, but he knew he sure as hell didn't want to.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and eventually he slid his root beer across the table to her. She eyed it curiously, then finally looked at him. "What is that?" she asked.
"Root beer."
Under normal circumstances, she probably would have smiled. But she was still too pissed to do that. Oh, well, though. He knew that one drink was enough for her to get her thinking back to how many times he'd come into the Crashdown Café while she'd been waitressing, and how many root beers she'd given him despite his initial attempt to get an actual beer.
It was just one of their little things.
It took her a bit, but finally, she moved the drink closer to her side of the table, brought the straw up to her lips, and took a sip.
...
Dylan must have had a busy, active day at school, because he fell asleep quickly that night, far more quickly than he usually did, and earlier, too. Maria was happy about that, though, because she was tired, too, and she didn't intend to stay up very late.
She left her son's room and heard Max mulling about in the bathroom. She opened the door and peaked in, finding him standing in front of the mirror, shaving, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp.
"Hey," she said, unable to stifle a yawn.
"Tired?" he noted.
"Yeah. I went Christmas shopping today. That kinda wears me out." At this point, she was done with the mall. Nothing good ever seemed to happen there. She'd do the rest of her shopping online.
"It is tiring," he agreed, dragging his razor across his jawline, removing the stubble that had formed these past couple days.
"Christmas is getting close, though," she said, leaning against the doorframe, trying to gradually and subtly segue into more serious territory.
"Yep," he agreed, rinsing his razor off. He shook it to dry it, then returned it to its holder in the shower.
"I'm really curious about what you're getting me," she said, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Well, she hadn't been curious until today, but now, it was all she could think about. Thanks a lot, Michael. "Any hints?"
Max smirked. "Nope."
"Not even one."
He took a look at his reflection in the mirror, running his hands over the areas of skin he'd just shaved. Apparently satisfied, he said, "It's something I should've given you a long time ago. That's all I'll say," then kissed her cheek, and slipped past her and headed toward the bedroom.
She inhaled sharply, allowing her mind to go there and assume that Michael had been right all along today. What if he really did propose? Marriage was a really big deal, and sure, they had a child together and had been dating again for a year now, but . . .
It was just a really, really big deal.