I try. I really think that's all I can say.

Max doesn't take no for an answer, but he'll accept delays. He'll accept that Mother's Day means special time between Mom and the kids, and while he could still fight over it it's not worth the effort. A concession, calculated for maximum emotional impact, with low cost and high payoff. Theo's going to have to spend more time with him in the future, and when Aster gets old enough I'll have to send her to him on Father's day.

But that's later. Not now.

"Lunch is served," Theo says, pulling out a chair for me. I smile at him and take a seat as he starts ladling out Mac n' Cheese. It's the kind that comes out of a box, but he's mixed in tuna and a few veggies, even if he tries to avoid putting too many of the later onto his own plate. Aster's already asleep, so it's just the two of us, eating quietly as the rain comes down outside.

The silence... it's bad. Theo doesn't start conversations if he can at all avoid it, and I still see too much of Max in him to try and engage. Too much of Heith too, which only complicates things further. When I do manage to get a few words out of him, they're passive things, the result of not enough being himself.

He tries too, I think. He tries to keep me happy by being as low-maintenance as possible, by doing his chores without complaining. He never complains, never asks for anything more than what I give.

I think he's afraid of pushing too far and losing what little shelter from Max he gets.

"Do you want to see a movie later?" I ask tentatively, pushing around some of the food on my plate, looking at him and forcing a smile. It's rough, but I want to feel it. I want to feel like he's my child, partially because he deserves at least one good parent and partially because he gets it. Max tried to scrub away every part of him that didn't meet his standards, but Theo never forgot who Max was. What he was like.

We're the only two people who both know the real Max. The one that's neither Kaiser or CEO Anders.

The one that breaks people.

Theo finishes swallowing before he answers.

"Is there one that you want to see?" he asks. More passiveness. More evidence of Max's worm.

"Not really," I answer. "There was that one film about Churchill that looked interesting though."

Theo looks at me and almost smiles. I smirk back. Maybe it's strange for someone with... my history to enjoy films about World War Two. Maybe it makes sense. Regardless of whether it's self-hatred or glorification, I spent a lot of time with the material in college and even now try to keep up with the literature.

"That sounds nice," Theo answers slowly and I feel myself warm up inside.

"After dinner?" I ask. He nods and we go back to our food, the silence a little easier.

There's a knock at the door. I roll out of bed, carefully palm the pipe, and look through the peephole. A good one, installed by a professional, not like the kind on hotel doors. After I catch a glimpse of dyed hair, I sigh and let the weapon lean against the wall as I undo the locks, then twist the knob and push out.

"Hey bro," Aisha says, brushing past me and into the nearly-empty apartment. "Oooh, this looks empty. When're you going to fill it up?" I sigh. Aisha, an endless font of energy and headaches.

"Waiting on the furniture," I answer. "Why're you here?" As far as I know, the boss hasn't planned anything for next few days, but if Aisha's going to be playing runaway again-

"Mother's Day," she says, hopping onto the island in the kitchen and looking around. "So, you got any eats?"

I pinch my nose and close my eyes, pushing down the first rush of irritation.

Right.

Mother's Day.

"It's still just an inflatable mattress and some art. The refrigerators and dishwasher is coming next week, so no silverware, plates or food," I tell her, grabbing my jacket off the coat rack and shrugging into it. "Let's go out."

"Gotcha," Aisha says, nodding twice and heading towards the door. I bar the door, a fleece in one hand. She scoffs, rolls her eyes, and puts it on, the front left unzipped. I concede the point and we start the long walk to Chong's.

Dad's a functional adult. That's about all there is to him. He trains, he trains other people, and that's what he knows. If Aisha started acting up with him he'd hit back and he wouldn't even realize why it was wrong. I try not hate him for it. He learned it from his Dad, and it was a different time.

It doesn't make the bruises easier to handle.

Somehow, someway, Mom is worse. I still have no idea what was going through Dad's head when he decided to try and hook up with her, or what she was on when she decided to go through with it. Dad can get through a day of work and only be called "aloof" or "distant." Mom can't hold a job for a week. She's a party girl that never grew up, and somehow she thinks she's fit to raise kids. Drugs during pregnancy, but a child will "bring out her nurturing side" and "get her clean, once and for all."

It'd be convincing if I hadn't heard the speech twice already.

Mom got a one concession in return for alimony. One day of mother/daughter bonding. Nevermind that Aisha wanted back with Mom like she wanted a hole in the head, nevermind that Mom only did it out of spite. The rules were that the two of us had to make our way to Mom's place and stay with her until six in the afternoon.

Fortunately, her lawyer fucked up. We had to be there until six, from whenever. So Aisha suggested we take a walk there. A nice, long, senic walk, where we stopped for lunch. And maybe ice cream.

We get to Chong's in the middle of the rush. Intentionally. It takes half an hour for us to get a table, and another fifteen minutes for a harried-looking waitress to bring us silverware and water.

"You should ask her out," Aisha says, flicking through the menu as the waitress walks away. We'll spend twenty minutes deciding on the same thing we always get, eat for long enough for the food to go cold, then ask for dessert. Depending on how peckish Aisha is, we can drag the meal out for four hours.

"And you're suddenly my dating counselor at the tender age of twelve?" I ask, reading a menu I memorized long ago. Normally, Aisha's apt to run away from anything more boring than a fistfight, but I can trust her to stay here today.

"You're eighteen bro. Prime of your life, muscly as fuck-"

"Language," I interrupt. Aisha gives me a flat look I pretend not to notice.

"Muscly as freak and also not ugly. Seriously, why no girl?" I sigh and turn the page.

I don't tell her the truth. That Mom's such a bad example that I don't want to try with anyone who doesn't have their shit together. That I'm so focused on making sure that she has a chance that it's practically a full-time job. That my actual full-time job is being a super villain, and how that limits my dating pool to Tats and Rachel, neither of who register as girlfriend material.

"No one's caught my eye," I answer. Aisha's face lights up.

"Well, Stacy's just broken up with Tristan and she's got this sort of 'angry-teacher' look going that seems right up your alley."