Thank you all so, so much for the birthday wishes!
When I first planned this story, it was supposed to just be a one-shot called "It's Maxon" but then I realized that I can make it a two-shot since I can play around with America's name as well.
Chapter Two: It's America
America sits in her classroom, minutes before it starts. She twirls a lock of her red hair and fiddles with her thumbs - basically anything that will cure her boredom and help the time go by faster. To her surprise (and a wonderful one at that), Maxon walks into her classroom. She's enlightened to see him and is only surprised because she and Maxon don't share this class. He slides into the vacant seat next to her.
"Morning, darling," Maxon greets, kissing her cheek.
"Good morning to you too," America replies. "What are you doing here?"
"My parents got back from Sweden a few days ago."
"I know. I watched it on The Report. What about it?"
"They finally got rid of their jet-lag. And seeing that I met your family and loved it, I think it's only fair that you meet mine."
America doesn't respond. She has nothing wrong with meeting Maxon's parents; in fact, if she was planning to stay with him for longer (which she was), then she would've ended up meeting them eventually. The only intimidating factor to consider was that Maxon's father was the town's mayor.
"Absolutely," America replies with a fraud confidence. She wasn't even sure if he asked her a question.
"Great!" Maxon exclaims.
As the bell rings signalling the start of class, Maxon gives America a quick kiss before making his way to his class. America heaves a deep breath as she slides deeper into her seat.
-o-
America walks along the cobblestone pathway that borders the gardens in front of Maxon's house. She stumbles in her heels and curses under her breath when she almost falls into the rose bushes. To think that she's already embarrassed herself and she hasn't even made it to the front door yet. Once she climbs up the front porch, she takes a breath before ringing the doorbell. As it chimes, America fixes her hair and dress, making sure that she looks as presentable as possible with the help of the window as a makeshit mirror. Forget meeting the mayor, she's meeting Maxon's parents. She knows that alongside Maxon's father's strategic and successful electoral campaign, it was because of his impeccable public image that he won the election by a landslide.
The door opens and America is faced with a butler who opens the door wider to let her in. She steps inside, greeted with the homely scent of cloves and silence so strong that she can hear her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.
"Hello, Miss. Singer," the butler greets, "Mr. Schreave will be down shortly. May I take your coat?"
America gives a quick nod and the butler takes America's jacket. She gives him her thanks. As he goes to hang it up, she's now alone at the entrance of the house. She crosses her arms as she looks up at the high ceilings that have a chandelier that's currently making her cross-eyed the longer she looks at it.
She turns her head to the sound of footsteps coming down the grand spiral staircase. America smiles at the sight of Maxon. He lights up and embraces her the moment he approaches her.
"My dear," Maxon starts, keeping his arm around her waist. He leans in closer to her ear and whispers, "you look lovely."
America snickers a little. "Why thank you."
"I didn't know you owned this outfit."
"Oh..." America looks down at her knee-high, pastel blue dress, and white pumps that she matched with a navy blue blazer. "I borrowed all this and the blazer your butler just hung up from Marlee." She laughs nervously. "I didn't know how formal to dress so I went with business casual. I'm kind of scared I under-dressed."
"Thankfully, you didn't borrow a ballgown from Celeste."
America almost snorts a laugh which she's glad didn't really happen since it would've echoed throughout the whole house. What a first impression that would make.
"I wanted a suitable dress," America tells him, "not a scandalous one."
Maxon doesn't respond with words but a cheeky grin. America knows that he would love to see her wearing either of those dresses, although she would prefer to be in her jeans. She puts a hand on his chest and pushes his cheek playfully with her free hand.
"Maxon," a different voice says.
Maxon breaks free from America and turns around to see his mother, Amberly Schreave, gracefully approaching them. He clears his throat as America stares at his mother. She was truly a woman of regal and order who still looked as loving as any mother would.
"Mother," Maxon starts, "this is America."
"Hello, Mrs. Schreave," America says, offering a hand.
Amberly gently shakes America's hand.
"You look beautiful, my dear," Amberly says to her. America notes to herself where Maxon gets that term of endearment from.
"Thank you," America replies, "you have a beautiful home."
"You haven't seen it all yet." Amberly chuckles a little. "Come, I'll show you around. Maxon, tell the chef to prepare some strawberry tarts."
"Strawberry tarts?" America questions with a salivating mouth. She loves strawberry tarts.
Maxon snickers to himself as he heads towards the kitchen and Amberly begins escorting America around the house.
-o-
It was moments like this where America wished she wore flats instead of heels since all this walking was starting to make her calves hurt. If Maxon's house wasn't so enchanting to look at (and to avoid being impolite), she would've asked to sit down a long time ago.
The house had an old-fashioned appeal with the dark wood furnishings and doors. The ceilings were high with dainty yet bold lights hanging, dimly lit since it was still bright outside. The walls were filled with large, framed portraits, some just of landscape yet most being of the family.
At that moment, it occurs to America that even if Maxon's father wasn't the mayor, they would still be well-off financially.
"With a name as geographical as yours," Amberly starts, "I would assume you have been somewhere overseas, yes?"
"No, actually," America responds a tad timidly.
Amberly gasps, bringing a shocked hand to her mouth. "You're lying."
"I wish I was."
"Surely, you have been somewhere."
"I haven't even left the province."
Amberly doesn't respond after that. America can't think of a way to continue the conversation from there. Thankfully, Maxon comes back with a tray full of fresh and glistening strawberry tarts. He offers America one and even if he didn't, that wouldn't have stopped her from taking one. In fact, she actually wants five but only takes one to be polite.
She takes a bite out of heaven: sour strawberries balanced with a sweet glaze, all sitting on a buttery and flaky crust.
"My sister would love these!" America exclaims, covering her half-filled mouth with her free hand.
"I'll see to it that our chef prepares some for you to take home to her," Amberly says, dismissing herself.
America grins at Maxon and he does the same back. Suddenly, his expression drops a bit. America turns and sees a man at the entrance of the room, eyeing her. She watches him slowly, quickly shaking her hands to be free of any mess from the tarts and checking her face as well.
This is Maxon's father, Mayor Clarkson Schreave. An older and bolder version of his son, dressed up in a sharp tuxedo minus the tie.
"Sorry, I'm late," Clarkson says. "I was in a very important conference call." His eyes meet America's even though he's talking to Maxon. "Who do we have here?"
He asks that only out of courtesy. He obviously already knows who she is.
"Father," Maxon starts, "meet my date."
"Ah, yes," Clarkson says, shaking America's hand. She can feel his strong grip on the point of breaking her arm off like a twig. "I remember Maxon mentioning you. You have a remarkable geographical name."
America smiles a little. "Thank you."
"Remind me again, was it Paris or Sofia?"
America's doesn't respond. She opens her mouth but isn't sure how to phrase the correction of her name. Clarkson just listed the wrong geographical places that were her name.
"It's America," she simply corrects.
Clarkson blinks. "Wasn't that one of the options?"
-o-
America notices that even though Maxon's family only consisted of him and his parents, the whole table would be set up for dinner. It was probably for the complete feeling it provides, even if the majority of the plates were empty and the cutlery untouched. They did often have people over for dinner so the seats were filled for most of the time.
A butler serves the food to them on a silver platter. When he lifts the cover, America sees a warm arugula salad with a balsamic vinaigrette and roasted vegetables - both of which looked delicious - but then she sees a full fish on her plate which freaks her out. She tries her best not to make an obvious reaction. She gags a little in her mouth, not used to having food with eyes on it.
"Have you ever had branzino, America?" Amberly asks.
"I have not..." America replies, wishing that answer would still be true in an hour. "But I'm open to trying it."
As a butler stops by to discuss wine choices with Maxon's parents, America nudges Maxon with her elbow.
"Maxon..." America mutters through her teeth. "My food is staring at me."
"Then don't blink or you'll lose the staring contest," Maxon replies.
Maxon snickers to himself as America glares at him.
-o-
Later in the evening, the strawberry tarts are out again on the coffee table. Amberly and America sit beside each other on the couch; Amberly showing her pictures of Maxon from an album as America tries not to get crumbs from the tart she's eating (since the pictures of Maxon as a child were so cute that they made her laugh). Maxon stands to the side with his arm resting on the ledge just above a fireplace and a glass of wine from dinner in his hand.
Maxon stares at his two women, laughing and smiling; basically enjoying each other's company. He feels a strong hand clap his shoulder lightly, startling him a bit but thankfully he didn't drop his glass on the carpet. It's only his father, holding a glass of his own as he watches Amberly and America.
"Father," Maxon starts.
"She is not what I expected," Clarkson says about America.
Maxon takes a steady breath, scared to ask this next question. "Do you approve?"
"I'm going to need more time." Clarkson sips his wine as Maxon nods. "Perhaps she would like to travel with us this upcoming summer."
Maxon looks at his father in shock. "Really?"
"Really." Clarkson smiles to himself a little. "Maybe we could visit Paris or Sofia."
-o-
Maxon Schreave and America Singer.
Two different names for two extremely different people.
A romance like theirs shouldn't work but it ultimately did. Their romance didn't have a name since it didn't follow the aforementioned stereotypes; and frankly, if their fathers couldn't get their name of their child's significant other, did their romance really deserve a name?
Technically, their romance's name is Maxmerica.
Ah! I can't believe I actually wrote this! I love it so much and would love to thank all of you for reading this, favoriting it and leaving reviews! If you want, you can leave me a story idea and I will see if I could write it as a separate OS or as a part of my OS compilation Photos on the Wall (which you should go check out, by the way).
Anyways, thank you!
~ MysteryGal5