Disclaimer: Same as first chapter.

Chapter: 14 This Is Your Life

Max ran a weary hand over his face as he sat parked in his car outside the Governor's mansion. He knew he looked just as hellish as he felt, with shadowed eyes and pale skin as testimony to the fact. For the last twenty minutes, he'd been debating with himself about whether or not to go inside. As much as he dreaded another confrontation with his father, he really needed to talk to someone, and the that someone was his mother. Before he could dwell anymore on the merits of his actions, Max exited his car and entered the house.

He paused briefly in the foyer, before continuing on to the Sun room. It was a little after two on a Sunday afternoon, and Max knew his parents, along with his sister, would be finishing up brunch. With all of them having such busy schedules, Sunday afternoons had been set aside for family leisure. Max usually opted out, but not today. Today he needed his mother's keen insight and gentle compassion.

Keeping that thought in mind, Max stood silently in the doorway and watched his family converse. He shook his head in bewilderment at the practiced routine of it all. His father and sister Isabel sat around the table drinking black coffee and discussing politics, while his mother sipped chamomile tea and feigned interest. Was this really it? Was this all he had to look forward to? Not if he could help it!

"Max," Diane practically sang as she noticed him standing there. "We weren't expecting you, dear."

Max shook his head to clear it, and then crossed the room to lay a gentle kiss on Diane's cheek. "Hi mom," he greeted her warmly. Then, "Dad, Izzy," he said nodding in their general direction, although he never made eye contact. If either noticed his deliberate slight, they didn't acknowledge it, but merely nodded in return.

"Sit down, honey," Diane said persuasively, 'I'll have Rosita heat you up a plate."

"Thanks mom, but I'm not really hungry." His stance was awkward, almost childlike, all fidgeting hands and lowered head as he continued to speak: "Actually, if you could spare a few minutes, I'd like to discuss something with you. Privately," he added for his dad and Izzy's benefit.

"Of course," Diane stood up immediately with a concerned look on her face. "Please excuse us," she addressed this to Phillip and Isabel before motioning for Max to follow her from the room. "Not now," Phillip she added forcefully when he opened his mouth to object.


Max swallowed a rueful chuckle as he followed his mother into his father's den. Who knew she could be so—strong willed? Max wondered briefly. He dropped tiredly onto the sofa with all the ill grace of a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Diane sat down next o him looking worried. "Max?" she questioned, uneasy and a little scared.

"Mom," Max began somberly and then shook his head.

"Just tell me Max," Diane begged. "You know you can tell me anything.

And so he did.

He told his mother everything. And when he was done, he waited impatiently for her speak, to lend him some of her wisdom and years of experience.

"Well?"

Staring straight into her son's eyes, Diane Evans said with relieved though not unkind humor, "I think I need a drink."

Max's eyes widened with disbelief. "Seriously. I came to you for advice and you're making jokes."

"Max…" Diane Evans reached out her hand in comfort.

"Don't bother," he shrugged. I don't know what I was thinking. Me, asking you for advice? What a riot," he said deliberately hurtful. "I mean look at your life. You—"

"That's enough Max!" Diane Evans stood up and stared down at him.

"You're right, it is enough," Max climbed to his feet, "I'm leaving."

"No, what you're going to do," Diane Evans pointed, "Is sit your ass back down!"

Max sat back down with his arms crossed over his chest.

Diane Evans sighed, and then said, "You know, it never ceases to amaze me how you and your father constantly battle with each other, when the two of you are not so different."

Max made a gun with his hand and cocked his thumb. "Nice shot."

"You see what I mean?" Diane Evans sat down next to her son again. "Whenever your father feels backed into a corner, he comes out swinging too, metaphorically speaking. The only difference between the two of you is: that he's had more years of practice."

Max sat quietly for a few minutes contemplating his mothers words. No way in hell was he like his father, not even a little bit. Max wasn't intractable or judgmental, but he was. Max could admit when he was wrong, but he didn't. The more differences Max tried to point out between he and his father, the more he saw, and it scared the shit out of him. Because even though Max loved his father, Phillip Evans was not someone Max aspired to become.

Max glanced over at his mother, his amber colored eyes apologetic. "How do you stay with him?"

Diane smiled sadly. "He wasn't always this way," she gave a delicate shrug, "And I still love him."

"I don't want to be like him Mom," Max's said hoarse with distress, then laid his head in his mother's lap.

Diane Evans sighed softly as she ran her fingers through his dark hair. "Then you won't be baby. You won't be."


Max drove thoughtfully on his way back to school. He had the windows down to clear his head, and the burgeoning winter winds blew brisk and cold against his face. He reached out his hand to turn his radio up, as the song playing couldn't possibly be coincidental.

Yesterday is a wrinkle on your forehead

Yesterday is a promise that you've broken

Don't close your eyes, don't close your eyes

This is your life, and today is all you've got now

And today is all you'll ever have

Listening to this song, his mother's advice began to resonate. She'd explained to Max that: While Phillip Evans wasn't perfect, neither was she. That some of the best relationships were built on compromise, and that even then, sometimes you had to make exceptions to the rule. Because life was never about changing the past: but how the past changes us.

This is your life, are you who you want to be

This is your life, are you who you want to be

This is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be

When the world was younger and you had everything to lose

For the first time in a long time, maybe in forever, Max's eyes were wide open, and he knew exactly who he wanted to be. More importantly, he knew who he did not want to be. He didn't want to be some judgmental jerk who always thought his opinion was right. Liz had said it best: everything was about perception. And Max wasn't going to live his life as one of those hopeless bastards, who twenty years too late, wished they could have done things differently.

Committed to his decision, Max parked his car outside of Liz's dorm and made his way to her room. Once he reached the second floor, he knocked urgently at her door.

The door swung open after the fourth knock, and a clearly irritated Liz stood facing him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"We need to talk."