MAX,

Your mom called — wedding on Jan 4, Hawkins Town Hall

Home late tonight, leftover pizza in fridge

XO, Mike

Hawkins, Indiana

It was 9:30 on a Sunday morning—the sun was shining on the soft, glittering blanket of fresh snow that had fallen overnight, a lone cardinal perched on a branch outside, ruffling its feathers and twittering melodically, and Mike had his face buried between his girlfriend's thighs.

They'd arrived in Hawkins the night before, having driven down from Chicago. Max had been in a terrible mood, on edge from both her mother's upcoming wedding and from having to dig the rarely used car out of a two-foot snowbank before leaving. Which was why this morning, to cheer her up, he'd asked if she remembered what they'd done there, in his childhood bedroom all those years ago… and what he'd done to her the morning after.

The creaky bed frame quickly reminded them why they'd only done it in his room a handful of times—that, plus her first-floor bedrooms in the trailer and later in the bungalow had been much easier to sneak in and out of. So, in an effort to minimize rhythmic squeaking and potential embarrassment, he'd encouraged her to straddle his face.

He tightened his grip on the soft skin of her thighs, swirling his tongue methodically around her clit as she held onto the headboard, moaning quietly above him.

"Wait, stop," she suddenly said, lifting herself out of the reach of his mouth. "I can't do this while the fucking Goblin King is staring right at me." Mike tipped his head back, glancing up at the Labyrinth poster above his bed that put Max face to face with David Bowie's piercing, mismatched eyes.

"Turn around?" he suggested.

"Oh. Okay." She rearranged herself so she was facing his feet, hovering above him somewhat awkwardly.

They very rarely did it like this—usually only when she'd already had a drink or two—and he knew she always felt a little overexposed at first, but Mike loved it.

He didn't waste any time diving back in, palming her ass and quickly reorienting himself to the new configuration. But then she tilted forward, shoving the blankets off of him and running her palm over his hardened length. He groaned into her folds at the unexpected touch, and the next thing he knew she was pushing his boxers down and leaning in to take him in her mouth.

"Shit," he breathed as she wrapped her warm lips around the head of his cock. He'd been intending for this to be just for her, but he wasn't about to turn this down either.

Her hand gripped the base, keeping him upright as she moved her mouth up and down smoothly, the reversed angle of how they usually did this making the sensations almost overwhelming. Mike tried to focus his efforts back on her but she was being so enthusiastic it was impossible to concentrate. Unable to split his attention, he let his head fall back against the pillow, admitting defeat.

Max started moving faster and taking him deeper, letting him hit the back of her throat even though it gagged her a little, the sound of it completely obscene. Her hand came into the mix as well, tightly squeezing his saliva-soaked shaft as it twisted up and down with her lips.

The other hand reached up to touch his balls, a lightning bolt flying up his spine as she massaged them lightly. A low groan caught in the back of his throat and he had to bite into the backs of his knuckles to keep himself quiet. It was too good. The intense suction of her mouth combined with the visual of her spread open in front of his face was more than he could handle.

"Babe, I'm–" was all Mike was able to choke out before every muscle in his body tensed and he came in her mouth, his abs twitching as she swallowed around him without spilling a single drop.

"Shit. Fuck…" he panted as she rested her cheek against his hip, her hot breath fanning out over his skin. "Your turn."

Barely giving himself any time to recover, he grabbed her hips and lifted his head, refocusing the efforts of his tongue back on her clit with a single-minded determination. But after a minute or two of giving it his all, he noticed she felt tense, and not in the good way that meant she was about to come. "Are you close?"

"Um, kind of…"

He trailed his fingertips over the small of her back. "Do you want fingers?"

She was silent for a few seconds. "Actually, can we stop?"

"Yeah of course," he replied, immediately removing his hands and wiping off the lower half of his face. She rolled off of him and lay down on her back, her head still at the foot of the bed.

"I'm sorry, I'm just too in my fucking head," she mumbled, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes.

"It's okay." He rested a hand on her kneecap. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No," she sighed.

Frowning, Mike pulled his underwear up and swivelled, arranging himself so he was lying in the same direction she was. Right away, she shifted over and curled into him, resting her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

"It's gonna be fine," he whispered against her hair, stroking her back over the fabric of her Pacers shirt. "Tomorrow's gonna be a good day, I promise."

Max remained silent but she did relax a little in his arms. He let his gaze drift around his childhood bedroom. It was basically unchanged, unlike Nancy's room which had been taken over by Holly as soon as their older sister had gone to college. Same posters and stolen street signs on the walls, same books and knick-knacks lining the shelves…

There was a metallic scraping sound outside which he knew was from his father moving the ladder around to take down the Christmas lights. He was of the firm belief that Christmas decorations should come down no later than the weekend after New Year's Eve, no exceptions.

Mike and Max hadn't come home for the holidays since they were coming the following week for the wedding anyway. It had been nice, just the two of them. They'd slept in, exchanged presents, went skating at the outdoor rink downtown and drank way too much mulled wine.

But as good a time as they'd had, the ever-present shadow the impending nuptials had cast over the festivities was dark and unrelenting.

He knew this morning Max's mind was especially preoccupied because she was going to the cemetery in a couple hours to visit Billy's grave. She went every time they were back in town to clean up the headstone and then read the latest letter she'd written him. Mike never knew what she wrote about, it could have been mundane life updates or her deepest, darkest thoughts.

Either way, it seemed like a helpful exercise because she kept doing it, even though she was always more quiet and withdrawn when she returned. He offered to go with her every time but she never took him up on it, preferring to work through her complicated emotions on her own.

Tightening his arm around her, Mike turned his head to press a kiss to her forehead. Hawkins came with a lot of baggage for both of them, but her especially—wounds that were thought to be fully healed getting peeled open like a fresh scab. He wondered if it would be that way forever.

That afternoon, after Max had come back from her trip to the cemetery, pensive yet somehow lighter than before, they drove over to Spin City Records. The store was closed for the day but they had promised to help Wayne out with some long-overdue inventory.

The business was doing remarkably well despite the declining demand for vinyl; they had even expanded into the space next door to make room for rows upon rows of CDs and a few listening booths.

Mike was working on his own, standing on the top of a stepladder and making note of the records that had been stuffed onto the higher shelves when the room suddenly became brighter, and he glanced up to see that the sun had peeked out from behind the clouds for what felt like the first time in weeks.

He stopped what he was doing and headed out into the back alley, leaning against the wall of the building and closing his eyes as the weak sun warmed his face. After a minute, the door creaked open and he looked over, surprised to see it was Wayne stepping out to join him.

The older man looked just like he did when they'd first met—same long hair tied back in a low ponytail, same goatee, same wardrobe comprised mainly of vintage concert t-shirts and flared jeans.

"Max with Annie?" he asked as he leaned on the wall next to Mike. Annie was Wayne's nineteen-year-old daughter who primarily lived with her mother in South Bend. In the spring she was planning to move to Los Angeles to pursue acting.

"Yeah, I think they just went out to pick up food."

Wayne nodded and pulled a joint out of the breast pocket of his denim jacket, lighting it up with his weathered Zippo. He took a hit before offering it to Mike.

Mike took a deep drag but immediately cringed when he realized it was mixed with tobacco. He'd quit cigarettes completely a couple years ago. Max claimed she did too but he knew she still snuck them when she was stressed.

"She's not happy about the wedding is she?" Wayne asked after a minute of companionable silence.

Mike dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, hesitant to air out Max's personal business but also really wanting to talk about it with someone. "She– she's just worried," he said reluctantly. "Her mom's been married before and after those didn't work out her drinking would always worsen so…"

Wayne nodded and took another hit of the joint, exhaling the smoke up at the grey sky. "Recovery is a trip, man. I've seen people ten, fifteen years sober relapse in a heartbeat. Hell, most days I would still kill for a fuckin' drink…" He offered Mike the joint again but he held his hand up with a shake of his head.

"What stops you?" he asked.

"My kid," Wayne answered quickly. "I'd already lost custody of her once when her mom and I first split up. When I was– when it was bad…" He stared off into the distance for a few seconds before shaking his head and taking another drag. "I knew I never wanted to go back to supervised visitation once a month, so it was a good motivator. And now that she's grown up I just don't want to give her a reason to be disappointed in me. I did enough of that when she was a kid."

Mike fiddled with the zipper of his winter coat. "I don't know if– uh, never mind," he shook his head, not wanting to say anything unflattering about Wayne's fiancee.

"Say what's on your mind, boy. I won't be offended."

He took a deep breath, carefully choosing his words. "I don't know if… if Susan really knows how much Max still worries about her. They don't really talk like that. I mean I know they had some kind of talk when Susan was going through the steps, making amends or whatever, but I don't think Max brought up how much it fucked her up. Or how much it still messes with her. I feel like they just need to get it all out there."

"Hmm. Well, that's between the two of them; we can't force it," Wayne replied sagely. "Susan is gonna be in recovery for the rest of her life. It's not something you can cure like tuberculosis. It's work, and she has done a lot of the work. But forgiveness and trust… that's something Max needs to decide if she's willing to work on." With a final, long drag he finished the joint, tossing the filter into the coffee can. "They got Al-Anon meetings up in Chicago?"

"Probably."

"Might be something to think about. If I know Max she'll be resistant at first but… could help."

Mike sighed and nodded begrudgingly. Resistant was an understatement.

"Are you… nervous about tomorrow?" he asked, eager to change the topic.

Wayne laughed and shook his head. "Nah, I can't fuckin' wait. When it's the right woman you just know, you know?"

Mike nodded. He did know.

That evening after dinner, he and Max were putting away the dishes when Holly strolled into the kitchen. She was thirteen now, and apparently the queen bee of Hawkins Middle School. Cradling the cordless phone between her ear and her shoulder—where it had been practically glued ever since they'd arrived—she opened the fridge and took out a Diet Pepsi.

"...and then I was like, 'FYI Charlie, if you wanna take me to the Valentine's Day dance you'd better do more than some janky little sign on my locker." She let the door of the fridge slam shut and headed towards the stairs without so much as a glance at Mike and Max. "Ew Becca, as if!"

"Your sister scares the hell out of me," Max chuckled once Holly was out of earshot.

"I know," Mike said as he placed the skillet he'd been washing in the drying rack. "She definitely would have bullied me if we were in school together."

"Well, I'm gonna go jump in the shower before she commandeers the bathroom for two hours again to crimp her hair." She kissed him quickly on the cheek before dashing toward the stairs.

When he was done with the dishes, Mike wandered into the living room where his parents were watching TV. His mother was seated on the sofa folding clean laundry into orderly piles next to her. His father was in his ubiquitous recliner, eyes drooping closed while the news anchor droned on about the escalating conflict in Yugoslavia.

Mike watched them for a few seconds before crossing the room. They both seemed so much older all of a sudden. Granted, he hadn't seen them in nearly a year, but the visible changes were jarring. His dad's hair had thinned out quite a bit, and he was more hunched over than he used to be.

The most noticeable differences, however, were with his mom—sure her hair had gotten a little grey and her wrinkles more prominent, but over the past few days, she just seemed exhausted a lot of the time. Of course, the holidays were often stressful and she ran around doing a million things all day, but he couldn't remember her ever needing to take a nap in the middle of it. Aging sure was a bitch.

She looked up as he carefully moved the folded clothes over a little so he could squeeze onto the end of the couch. "Is that Max in the shower?"

"Yup."

"Oh good, I wanted to give you something." She reached over to open the drawer of the side table and produced a familiar black velvet box.

Mike leaned away and groaned, "Mom–"

"Now, I know you turned it down last time because you were still in school but you've graduated now. You both have steady jobs. It's the next step," she said firmly. Mike rolled his eyes. "I mean how long has it been?" Karen continued. "Five years? Six?"

"Closer to seven," he grumbled.

"Your father and I were only together for a year before he proposed."

"Well, it's not the fifties anymore, Mom."

"It was the mid-sixties when we got married, Michael," she huffed before turning towards her husband. "Ted, talk some sense into your son."

Mike's father grunted and straightened up the recliner with what seemed like a monumental effort on his part before fixing his weary gaze on his son. "I just don't understand you kids and your modern, undefined relationships. There's nothing wrong with wanting a traditional marriage."

"I know," Mike sighed. "But there's nothing wrong with not wanting it either, okay?"

Ted frowned. "You don't want to marry Maxine?"

"No, I do. It's just that… she isn't big on the whole marriage thing."

"Don't be ridiculous," his mother scoffed. "Every girl wants to get married."

"Well she doesn't even really wear jewelry," Mike protested feebly, knowing this was a losing battle.

"Michael. Take the ring." She held the box out again and he crossed his arms, eyeing it warily. "Please. For me? You're my only son."

He hesitated, but there was something so beseeching in his mother's eyes that after a few seconds, he conceded.

Mike turned the box over in his hands a few times before popping it open. Admittedly, it was a nice ring—a white gold band with a large, rectangular central diamond flanked on either side by two smaller ones. Emerald cut, like Jackie Kennedy's, he remembered his mom saying the first time she'd tried to force it upon him years ago. Max would like it, he thought—if she wouldn't have already left a Max-shaped hole in the door at the first mention of engagement.

They must have all been too distracted to hear the shower turn off because suddenly quick footsteps were descending the stairs. His mother gave him a panicked look and Mike hastily snapped the box shut and shoved it between the couch cushions behind him just as Max entered the living room clad in one of his college sweatshirts and some baggy pyjama shorts.

Mike beamed genuinely at her. He always thought she looked especially beautiful right after she'd showered, with her hair wet and her face all flushed and glowy.

"What are we talking about...?" she asked as she took a seat next to him, nestling into his side.

"Umm… the war in Bosnia," Mike answered quickly, gesturing at the TV and praying she wouldn't feel the conspicuous lump under the cushions.

"Yes," Ted cleared his throat and turned up the volume. "And that new Democrat president of yours keeps talking about intervening over there while ignoring the needs of middle-class Americans."

"Oh come on, Ted!" Max scoffed, sitting up as she began passionately refuting his argument.

Mike flashed his dad a grateful look before looking back at his adorably indignant girlfriend, trying to ignore the 1.5-carat timebomb burning a hole into his lower back.

The day of the wedding had arrived, and it had been snowing since the early morning. For a few hours, there had been a question of whether the streets would even be drivable. Max had been freaking out, pacing around the living room and muttering about how this was a sign, but fortune smiled upon them and the snowplow rumbled by just before they'd had to leave.

Hawkins wasn't big enough to have a separate building for the courthouse, so the "ceremony" would be taking place in an office in the town hall. Wayne wore a brown suit from the 70s with massive lapels and a purple paisley tie. Susan wore a long, white, pleated skirt and a matching shoulder-padded blazer that she'd borrowed from Karen, who had insisted the bride needed to wear white.

"It's a wedding for heaven's sake," she muttered as the party walked through the carpeted halls. "I couldn't let her show up in a cardigan."

The small group—Mike, his parents, Max, and Annie—all crowded into the county clerk's office along with the happy couple. The whole affair took all of ten minutes, just a quick signing of the marriage license and exchanging of rings. Mike thought it far preferable to long, poetic confessions of love and devotion in front of a bunch of people.

Afterwards, they all went out to dinner at Enzo's, which was still the nicest restaurant in town. Once everyone had placed their orders and started their drinks—ginger ale for the non-drinkers, champagne for everyone else—Karen stood and gingerly tapped her knife against her glass.

"I hope you don't mind if I say a toast to the newlyweds," she started, her eyes already glassy with tears. She took a deep breath and exhaled. "Life is… life is really short. And you never know what's going to just come barreling in and knock you on your behind!"

She walked over and stood between Wayne and Susan, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And I'm just so, so glad it wasn't too late for you two to find each other…"

Max shot Mike a puzzled look from her seat next to him and he shrugged. The speech was oddly morbid for his mother, but she was already on her second flute of champagne, so maybe it was just going to her head.

Or maybe the idea that he might never get married was making her freak out, he mused, eyeing her as she rambled on about soulmates and the impermanence of life, remembering how insistent she'd been about the ring last night.

"–and even though our time on earth is fleeting and we are but a blip in the vast timeline of the universe, I am incredibly overjoyed for both of you, and that you get to have each other to spend this next season of your lives with. Cheers."

Everyone clinked glasses while Susan stood and embraced Karen tightly, both women sniffling as tears rolled down their cheeks. Mike had no idea what brought on this emotional display, but he chalked it up to menopause and downed the rest of his drink.

At the end of the meal, just after the desserts arrived, Wayne stood and cleared his throat.

"I just wanted to say a few words, if y'all don't mind," he said softly, eyes darting around the table before settling on his new wife. It was clear that public speaking didn't come naturally to the introverted man, but Susan reached up and took his hand, flashing him an encouraging smile.

"Susie," he started. "I never thought I would be doing this again. I'd pretty much given up on finding someone, and I thought it would just be me and my records for the rest of my days. But y'know they say that one day someone will walk into your life and make you see why it never worked out with anyone else. And that is how it felt when you granted me the privilege of falling in love with you."

Max reached back blindly for Mike's hand under the table, interlocking their fingers when she found it. He watched the side of her face—the corner of her mouth turned up in a watery smile, a tear that had welled up in the corner of her eye and was now threatening to spill over—and a wave of affection washed over him.

Under her prickly, protective exterior she had such a tender heart. It was his favourite thing about her, and he'd spend his whole life keeping it safe for her if she'd let him.

"And darlin'," Wayne continued, smiling shyly at Susan who was pressing a hand to her mouth in an effort not to cry again, "I know you're tired of me having a song lyric for everything, so I'll just quote the Great Bard himself, and tell you that 'My heart is ever at your service.'"

Max tightened her grip on Mike's hand as if she was making the same promise to him, and his heart stuttered in his chest. God, he would marry her in a heartbeat, but he didn't think he could handle it if he asked and she said no.

So for now, he'd just have to have her any way she let him.

On their last night in Indiana, Mike sat on his bed packing up his things. It had been nice to see his family but he was ready to get in the car with Max and go back to their crappy little apartment.

There was a light knock at his open door and his mom peeked her head in. "Where's Max?"

"Still in the garage with Dad." When Ted had heard how long it had been since Max had gotten the oil in her car changed, he'd immediately dragged her to the garage to show her how to do it herself.

His mother entered the room fully and shut the door, strolling around and looking at the things on his shelves. "Michael… there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

He zipped up his duffle bag and tossed it on the floor with a sigh, shaking his head. "If it's about proposing to Max–"

"It's not." Her hands were restless, straightening things on his bookcase that didn't need to be straightened. They lingered on a framed family photo from a day at the Indianapolis Zoo when Mike had been four or five, index finger gently tracing his and Nancy's round, smiling faces.

Mike eyed her with suspicion. She almost seemed anxious, which was not a look he'd ever seen on her. It was unnerving.

"Mom...?"

Her back rose and fell as she took a deep breath, palms pressed flat on his desk.

"This is hard for me to say," she said quietly. "But last year I started noticing some changes… with myself." Mike furrowed his brow, a mixture of confusion and concern taking root in his heart.

"I started feeling tired all the time," Karen continued. "I got these terrible headaches, I kept dropping things—pens, lipstick…" She pulled out his desk chair and sat in it, swivelling around to finally face him.

Her gaze was fixed on her hands, tightly clasped in her lap, the lines on her face more pronounced than usual. "At first the doctor just chalked it up to hormones or some other feminine issue," she snorted with derision. "They put me on this medication but my symptoms kept getting worse, so I saw a specialist in Indianapolis."

"What?" Mike furrowed his brow in disbelief. "When?"

She finally met his gaze, her eyes holding a mixture of guilt and sadness. "In September when we told you we were visiting your grandparents. They did some scans of my brain and–"

"What? Brain scans?! Mom–" He didn't understand what was happening, a cold stab of anxiety running through his chest as the gravity of the situation set in.

"They diagnosed me with multiple sclerosis, Michael."

The weight of those words hung in the air, and time seemed to stand still. Mike felt a lump forming in his throat, his heart pounding. He'd never heard of it before, but it sounded serious.

Distantly, he was aware of her explaining the details in a calm and logical manner—about the specialist appointments and the experimental drugs and the weekly injections—but blood was rushing in his ears and it all sounded muffled, like she was on the other side of the door instead of right in front of him. Words like "demyelination", "dystonia", "relapses and remissions" floated untethered around his head.

"Remissions?" Mike interrupted, latching onto the word he recognized. "So you'll be fine, you'll just be worse sometimes and then you'll get better?"

"Well, not exactly, sweetie…" Her voice wavered, and she took another steadying breath. "I will go through periods where the symptoms are less severe, and it might be that way for years, but after a while, the relapses will get worse, and I… I might not get better at all."

The room felt smaller as the news settled between them. Mike's mind raced, grappling with the enormity of what he had just heard. Images of his childhood, the steadiness, the comfort of his mother's presence—all seemed to flash before his eyes.

He dropped his face into his hands. It didn't make any sense. There was no cure and almost no treatment? How could that be?

"Nancy knows," his mother continued. "She noticed something was wrong as soon as she saw me over Thanksgiving. So perceptive that one," she chuckled, "can't hide anything from her. I told her not to tell you."

He peered up at her over his fingers. "Holly?"

Karen shook her head. "Not yet. I didn't want to stress her out in her last year of middle school. She worries so much about everything as it is."

"Mom, she's gonna find out."

"I know. I'll tell her soon. Before my next MRI in March."

Mike stared at her incredulously. "How can you be so calm? I mean this is…" This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to his mom. She never even got the flu for fucks sake.

"I've come to terms with it I suppose," she said with a plaintive smile. "Do you have any questions for me...?"

He'd had about a million of them a second ago but suddenly none came to mind. "I don't–" he shook his head, his voice choked with emotion.

Overwhelming fear and anger clouded his brain. It wasn't fair. And he'd been such a shitty son.

He thought of all the times he'd snapped at her, muttered dismissive things under his breath, scowled and ducked away when she tried to kiss his cheek. And now he might never be able to make up for it all. He might not get enough time…

Karen clicked her tongue, seeing his distress. She stood and came over, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Mike wrapped his arms around her tightly, inhaling the powdery scent of the perfume she'd been wearing his whole life. When was the last time he'd even properly hugged his mom? Worst. Son. Ever.

"It'll be fine Michael," she said matter-of-factly.

Mike wanted to believe her, he wanted to feel her optimism, but he knew there was no guarantee at all that she would be fine. With a wet sniffle, he buried his face in her shoulder and let himself take solace in his mother's warm embrace.

When Max came up sometime later, Mike was under the covers with the lights off. He heard her pause in the doorway, confused.

"Why are you in bed already?" she laughed, shutting the door and turning on the desk lamp. "Mike?" She knelt down next to the bed so they were face to face, folding her hands on the edge of the mattress and resting her chin on top. Her eyebrows crinkled in concern as she took in his red-rimmed eyes and runny nose. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

Tearfully, he recounted what his mom had told him about her illness and less-than-stellar prognosis. At some point, Max had climbed into the bed with him and they'd shifted so she was sitting up with his head in her lap.

Her fingers scratched gently over his scalp, lulling him into a calm sort of numbness. "I'm so sorry, Mike. I–" She sighed, not finishing her thought.

Mike knew comforting words didn't come naturally to her. It was okay; he didn't need them. Just being held by her like this was making him feel better. It was almost always the other way around, he realized, with him providing her with reassurance. The most stressful thing he'd gone through recently was being overwhelmed with school.

But this was big. This was real.

"I'll be here for you, I promise," she said after a minute. "And Karen's a tough fucking bitch, you know she'll put up a fight."

He appreciated that she didn't unflinchingly tell him everything was going to be okay, because that certainly wasn't a foregone conclusion. Not anymore.

The future, once so clear, now loomed with uncertainty. Would his mom be around to see Holly graduate? Would she be able to hold her grandchildren? Would his dad have to grow old alone and learn to take care of himself?

Mike closed his eyes tightly, focusing on the soothing rise and fall of Max's chest. "I'm scared," he whispered.

She smoothed her thumb over his eyebrow with an almost painful delicateness. "I know."