Yippee ki yay, Hawkins Tigers!
Let's Put the "U" in Reunion on
Saturday, June 20 at 7pm
It would Feels So Good if you joined us in the Hawkins High gymnasium for a night of drinks, snacks, and reminiscing.
We promise it'll be Nothin' but a Good Time!
Sending in your RSVP card is Child's Play! Just check a box and mail it to the address below.
Chicago, Illinois
Mike rolled his eyes at the lame 80s references on the invitation and stuck it to the fridge door with a San Diego Zoo magnet. They hadn't been planning on going to their ten-year reunion, but Holly's high school graduation was the following week and Nancy and Jonathan were flying out with their kids, so he and Max figured they might as well attend.
He turned around and put his hands on his hips, surveying the cardboard boxes littering the floor of the townhouse. Their townhouse. That, as of a week ago, they owned.
They hadn't moved far, just across the North Branch of the river to neighbouring Wicker Park. It had been an accident, really. They hadn't been planning on moving at all, but back in April, Mike's boss had invited them over for dinner.
He and Max had been walking back to the train station afterwards, tipsy from all the wine, when they saw the "For Sale" sign in front of the red brick, three-story home. They'd leaned against the wrought iron fence, admiring the well-kept flowerbeds in the small front yard and the ornate white moulding under the roof gable and above the windows before resuming their journey home.
But then the next morning, Mike found he couldn't stop thinking about it. They'd both been making good money for a while, the market was favourable based on what he'd heard his coworkers talking about by the water cooler… It wouldn't have been the craziest thing in the world for them to buy a place. He was pretty sure his parents had bought their house when they were younger than he and Max were now.
So, while they were sitting at their kitchen table having breakfast, he'd looked over at her and said, "Should we like… go to that open house?"
Max had spat the orange juice she'd just taken a sip of back into her glass and looked at him like he'd turned blue and grown an extra nose. Mike laid out the facts and explained the thoughts he'd been having and after a while she'd agreed, clearly still hesitant about the whole thing.
That afternoon they went back to the house and wandered around with several other couples close to their age, marvelling at the hardwood floors and the recently renovated bathrooms. The whole time Max had been quiet, but he could tell she was getting excited about it.
"So...?" he'd asked as they stood alone in one of the bedrooms, in front of the large window that looked out onto the backyard.
She'd looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, dropping her hand from where she'd been nervously biting at her thumbnail, and crossed her arms. "Are we actually doing this?"
"I'm in if you are."
"Fuck it, let's do it, then."
So he had called his dad, because Mike didn't know much about finances past having an IRA he made regular deposits into, and he had confirmed that buying property was a smart investment, and even offered to help out with the down payment if it was needed.
The whole process had been a bit of a whirlwind after that, getting a realtor and a mortgage broker and a lawyer, but when it was all said and done two weeks later, they had an accepted offer and a closing date of June 6.
It had been sad to leave their first home behind, with its creaking pipes and noisy neighbours and constantly sticking doors, but it also felt like it was time. Lincoln Park was changing—Miller's, their beloved dive bar had closed last year, and family-owned restaurants were getting replaced by chains and trendy, overpriced bistros and cafes. Plus, Alejandro was getting older and he'd told them he was considering selling the building to a housing company and moving in with his daughter's family in Texas, which would surely mean a significant rent hike for the tenants.
Mike wandered into the sparsely furnished living room, absently moving a lamp from one corner to another before deciding it was better where it was before. He looked around and shook his head in disbelief. It still didn't feel real. It didn't seem like they should even be allowed to have a mortgage. Most days he still felt like a teenager playing at being an adult. But they had done it.
The house had been built in the late nineteenth century after the fire and still had most of the original crown moulding on the ceilings and stained glass above the windows, as well as a small back deck that would be nice with some fixing up.
And most importantly it was theirs. They could get a pet, they could have people stay over, and they could renovate and furnish it however they wanted. The latter was the part they were dealing with now. They'd sold almost all their old furniture to their neighbours and left the rest of it on the curb. Now all they had was their television, which currently sat on the floor of the living room, two folding lawn chairs that the previous owners had left behind, and the brand new mattress, bed frame and dresser which had just been delivered from IKEA.
Mike sighed and slumped down into one of the folding chairs. That damn dresser was also the reason he and Max had been giving each other the silent treatment for the better part of three hours.
The bed frame they had assembled with minimal bickering, but then when it came time for the dresser, he had stubbornly insisted he didn't need to follow the instructions because he knew a faster way to do it, and when Max had tried telling him multiple times that he had one of the pieces backwards he'd ignored her and continued doing what he thought was correct. She'd tossed the instruction booklet on the floor and stomped out of the room muttering something under her breath.
When she came back ten minutes later to see Mike sitting in front of the dresser, head in his hands because the unpainted side of one of the panels was fully exposed and the whole thing would have to be disassembled, she had laughed and been unable to resist telling him, "I fucking told you so."
And then, like a total dick, he had stood up and snapped at her, something about her being bossy and controlling all the time, he couldn't even remember anymore. She had stared at him in silence for a long moment before turning on her heel and disappearing into the en suite bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
He ran his hands through his hair and groaned. He knew he owed her a massive apology, and hoped she'd had enough time to cool off and prevent things from escalating into a bigger argument.
They were supposed to head downtown in an hour and meet up with some friends to watch the Bulls potentially win their sixth championship that decade, so he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. Mike had never in a million years thought he'd give this much a shit about basketball, but it had proved impossible not to get excited about the team's "last dance" and the potential repeat three-peat.
So, dragging his feet, he slunk up the stairs, fully prepared to grovel.
Their bedroom took up the entire second floor, which meant the stairs went directly into their room and he was greeted by the sight of Max standing next to the bed, shaking the pillows into their new pillowcases.
"Can you help me put the sheet on the mattress?" she asked without looking at him.
At least she was talking, he thought as he walked over and grabbed the white fitted sheet sitting folded on the king-sized mattress, fresh out of the package. They worked together in silence, tugging on the sheet and then putting the cover on the duvet and arranging the pillows.
When they were done, Mike stepped back and admired their work. It looked like a real, grown-up bed—a light blue pinstriped bedding set with a yellow decorative throw pillow, certainly a far cry from the threadbare maroon sheets and mismatched pillowcases stolen from their childhood bedrooms that they'd been sleeping on for years.
Max flopped down on her back onto the freshly made linens and arched an eyebrow at him expectantly. Ah, shit. Mike knew that look. He was going to have to be extra sweet to get back on her good side.
"Can I...?" He gestured towards the bed. She nodded, her face remaining stony. He sat gingerly on the edge, resting a cautious hand on her shin. "I'm really sorry I was an asshole, babe," he said earnestly. "You're not bossy and controlling, I don't know why I said that, I didn't mean it. You were right and I should have just listened to you."
She raised her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, can you say that one more time?"
"I should've listened to you?"
"No, before that. What was I?"
He groaned and collapsed on top of her, burying his face in her chest. "You were right," he mumbled, his words muffled by the fabric of her tank top.
"Hm. That's what I thought," she said, running her nails gently over his scalp. "Now let's break in this new mattress." Her grip tightened on his hair and she tugged him up to her mouth, kissing him hard.
Mike grinned against her lips as she rolled them over, stretching out on top of him. The one good thing about having a fight? Make-up sex.
He hissed as she moved lower and sucked hard at his neck with lips and teeth, leaving a hickey under his jaw, and then another one right below it. She sat up and started unbuttoning his short-sleeved shirt but gave up halfway through, practically tearing it off over his head and tossing it blindly behind them. He reached for the bottom of her tank top but she slapped his hands away and stood up, quickly shedding all of her clothes.
She climbed back over him, gloriously naked, knees on either side of his head, hands holding onto the top of the headboard. Mike's mouth went dry at the sight of her, spread open and ready above him.
"Stick your tongue out," she said, voice commanding and without a trace of humour. "And no touching." He obeyed, watching mesmerized as she lowered herself onto his mouth.
His fingers clutched at the sheets, fighting the urge to grab her hips. Max sighed as she started grinding on his face. He tried circling his tongue in the way she usually liked but one hand tangled tightly in his hair, pulling hard and holding him still as she rolled her hips. Her other hand landed behind her, splayed over his ribs so she could lean back and gaze down at him, eyes dark and unfocused like she was looking right through him.
Breathy gasps turned to moans as she moved faster, swiping her clit against his tongue with desperate urgency. Mike was overwhelmed with desire as a mixture of saliva and fluids dripped down the sides of his face, her thighs surrounding him so he could barely breathe.
His eyes widened when she yanked his hair and stilled above him. "Suck on it."
Immediately, he suctioned his lips around her clit, hollowing his cheeks. She moaned loud and unrestrained, the pinpricks of pain from her grip on his hair just the distraction he needed to keep himself focused on her and not the way his cock was screaming for attention, straining against the front of his shorts.
He could feel her body shaking, the growing tension sizzling beneath her skin until it finally seared through her and she flooded his mouth, pulling his hair so hard that he gasped both from how much it hurt and how much he liked it. She loosened her hold as she slowly ground against him, riding out the final ripples of her climax, her breathing rapid and laboured.
Max shifted backwards, her hand moving from his scalp to his face, fingers spread over one cheek and her thumb on the other. She held his jaw open as she leaned in and kissed him, aggressive and sloppy, licking the taste of herself off of his tongue.
Then she pulled back, looking him right in the eye as she spat into his mouth. Fuck.
She tipped it shut with two fingers beneath his chin, her thumb rubbing over his slick bottom lip. "Swallow."
"Shit, Max," Mike panted once he'd followed her order, hands still grasping at the duvet. He had no idea what had gotten into her but it was hot.
Smirking, she grabbed his wrists and positioned them over his head until he felt the vertical wooden slats of their new headboard.
"Hold on," she wrapped his hands around two of them, "and don't let go."
Mike could only nod wordlessly and watch as she backed up and tugged his shorts and boxers off in one impatient motion. He groaned at the relief of his painful erection being released from the confines of his clothes, the tip already dripping precum onto his stomach.
Max settled herself over his shaft, gliding her swollen folds back and forth along it at a leisurely pace. He clenched his teeth, fighting to keep his eyelids open and focused on her. She wasn't even looking at him, her eyes closed, head tilted back in ecstasy.
Mike felt… used. But he couldn't say he hated it. He was a weak, weak man for her, and there were far worse things in this world than getting used for sex by Max Mayfield.
At this moment she was all that existed, his senses completely overloaded by the sight of her writhing above him, the taste of her on his tongue; he hadn't even had a chance to wipe off his face, still feeling her all over his lips and chin. And he was so hard it hurt. She was so dominant and unashamed as she just took from him, coating his length in her arousal while he held onto the headboard for dear life.
Well, if this was what she needed, she could have it; she could have all of him.
After another agonizing minute of teasing she lifted off of him and turned around, kneeling between his legs with her calves hooked under his thighs. Oh shit. His grip on the slats tightened.
Mike could count on two hands the number of times they'd fucked like this. Partly because he never lasted more than a few minutes, but mostly because they both preferred the intimacy of being face to face, or at least having their bodies pressed together. Clearly, that wasn't what Max was after today, though.
Bracing her hands in front of her on the mattress, she lifted up and sank smoothly down onto him. He watched himself disappear inside her, entranced by the way her pink folds enveloped his cock. She began moving up and down at a steady pace, moaning softly each time he bottomed out.
The sight of her was too much—the way she gripped his shaft on the way up, the shiny slickness she left on his dick each time she lifted off of it, her perfect ass. Fuck, he needed to look away or this would be over way too soon.
His gaze travelled up to the dimples on her lower back, the delicate curve of her spine, and the long, red ponytail cascading down between her shoulder blades. He noticed she was looking straight ahead and after a second he realized she was staring into the full-length mirror leaning against the opposite wall. Watching them. Watching herself really, because there wasn't much of him visible.
Then her ponytail shifted to the side and Mike's eyes caught on the initial tattooed on the back of her neck. His initial. A permanent reminder that even when Max took control of him like this, she still belonged to him, just as much as he did to her.
He flexed his fingers around the slats, biceps tensing as his resolve slowly crumbled. He so badly wanted to slap his palm on her ass and watch the red streaks slowly bloom across her flawless, pale skin.
So he did—the sharp smack echoing around the empty room.
Max yelped, hips stuttering in surprise. She looked back at him over her shoulder. "Do it again."
He did, and then twice on the other side, revelling in the way she clenched around him and the breathless gasp she let out each time.
She started rocking her hips again and Mike just watched, enthralled, as two perfect, pink handprints began to appear after a few seconds. Her bouncing got faster, her moans increasing in volume, and he reflexively reached forward with both hands to grab her ass, palming over the hot, reddened skin.
He wished he could snake a hand around and touch her to help bring her over the edge, but she didn't need him. Today he was purely incidental to her pleasure.
"Oh fuck," she cried out, the arch in her back deepening as she sat upright, hands bracing on his knees for leverage.
She clenched around him, and Mike bit his lip hard to distract from the brain-melting sensations of her impending climax. He lifted himself up on his elbows to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror as she came. The sight was breathtaking—head thrown back, throat bared, eyes squeezed shut as she rode him to ecstasy.
Like a queen, he thought, like a goddess. And he was the devoted pilgrim who would worship at her altar for the rest of his life. How many years had it been? And it was still total, white-hot passion between them.
She didn't slow down as her orgasm subsided, still pulsing around him, hot and tight.
"Fuck, just like that," Mike breathed, collapsing onto his back as his hands returned to her hips.
The tensing of his abs let him know he wasn't far behind her, a live wire of pleasure climbing up his spine higher and higher until–
Max stopped, lifting up off of him. His erection slapped back against his stomach.
"Wha–?" He raised his head, gaze darting from his aching, abandoned cock to where she was kneeling at the foot of the bed. "Max?"
She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and widened her eyes innocently. "You didn't listen to me and keep your hands to yourself so… maybe next time."
Mike watched her slip off the bed and disappear into their en suite bathroom, his lust-fogged mind unable to make sense of what just happened as he heard the shower turn on. The need to come was rendering him completely stupid, so he reached for his still-throbbing dick, intending to finish himself off quickly.
"And don't you dare jerk off!" Max called out from the bathroom. He dropped his hand with a frustrated groan.
Next time they were buying pre-assembled furniture.
One week and two post-NBA championship hangovers-from-hell later, they found themselves back in Indiana, returning to Hawkins High for the first time in ten years. In his periphery, Mike noticed Max fidgeting with the ends of her new, shorter haircut. It was still just past her shoulders, but it was the most drastic change she'd made in the whole time he'd known her. He was pretty sure it was an attempt at looking more mature and put together for the reunion.
"Nervous?" he asked, shooting her a glance.
She shrugged. "I just feel like everyone who's married with multiple kids is gonna be like, judging us or whatever…"
Mike snorted. "I guarantee you they'll be jealous of our lives. And even if they are judgy, who gives a shit? You're basically friends with Liz Phair. You've played pool with Billy Corgan. There's no way anyone in our class has done anything cooler than that."
"Peter Yang is Method Man's accountant. He and his family spent Thanksgiving on his yacht in the Bahamas."
"…Okay, well I guess that is cool."
"Welcome Back Class of '88!" read the banner they passed under before showing their invitations to the woman at the door in exchange for two drink tickets and a name tag each.
The building felt so much smaller than it had when they were in school. And it looked a lot nicer.
They walked down the hall hand in hand, marvelling at the shiny green and yellow lockers and peering into the classrooms at the new, mostly graffiti-free desks. Mike stopped in his tracks when they passed a large window that looked in on the recently built media lab. Lucky kids, he thought bitterly as he eyed the rows of computers. They probably didn't even appreciate it.
"Keep it moving, nerd," Max chuckled, tugging on his hand.
They lingered in the open doors of the gym, laughter and music from their graduating year streaming through. Their former classmates milled about, dancing and socializing. Mike spotted a few obvious baby bumps and some already receding hairlines. It was surreal to see everyone looking a decade older, so similar yet so different—like they had all dressed up as boring adults for Halloween.
A girl with short black hair passed by them on the way out and grinned brightly. "Hey Max, good to see you!"
"Yeah, you too!" Max replied.
Mike furrowed his brow. "Who was that?"
"No fucking clue."
"Guys!" They looked over to see Dustin and Lucas already inside, leaning against a high-top table with drinks in front of them and waving them over.
"Oh thank god," Max said as she beelined for them.
They all greeted each other with hugs and Mike took a second to look his friends over. He hadn't seen Dustin in over a year, and Lucas in almost two. Dustin hasn't changed much, his hair was cut short, with some longer curls falling over his forehead. Lucas looked the most different, with a well-kept goatee on his face and his hair braided in cornrows, clad in an expensive-looking, loose-fitting suit.
Max threw an arm around Dustin's shoulder and grinned. "So Daddy, you freaking out yet?"
"Please don't call me that," Dustin groaned. "And no, I figure I'll schedule that for the week before the due date." Suzie was seven months pregnant and had stayed back in Boston. It continually blew Mike's mind that Dustin—Dustin—was going to be someone's dad.
They leaned against the table and looked around at all the green and yellow. For a minute it felt like they were teens again, bored at a school dance. All that was missing was Rachel sneaking liquor from a flask, but she was stuck working on a big case and couldn't make it.
Then "Could've Been" by Tiffany started playing over the speakers and Dustin gasped.
"Max," he held his hand out and tilted his head towards the dance floor, "we have to."
"Ugh, Dustin, this song is trash!" she exclaimed, throwing her head back.
"Oh please, we're not your 'too cool for school' industry peers Max," he said as he grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her away. "You don't have to pretend to hate good music anymore."
Lucas chuckled and turned to Mike with raised eyebrows. "Drink?"
Mike got a beer for himself and a vodka cran for Max for when she got back and followed Lucas to an empty table towards the back of the gym.
They'd just sat down when a blonde who was passing by them did a double take and turned around, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Hi, Lucas."
"Hey," he said with a nod of his head before looking away and taking a sip of his drink. After a second the coy smile vanished from the girl's face and she walked away, disappointed.
"Dude, that was Katie Nash," Mike said in a hushed tone. Katie had been the prom queen and student council president their senior year.
Lucas shrugged. "Yeah, she's still cute I guess."
"You guess?"
"I don't know, man," he sighed. "I'm tired of dating and casual sex. I'm ready to settle down. I'm ready to get married."
"Oh yeah?" Mike was surprised. He'd thought Lucas had been enjoying the bachelor life in Lansing.
He and Justine had broken up after nearly three years together when she'd gotten a job opportunity in Europe and the long distance proved too difficult to maintain. Ever since then, he'd been dating around, engaging in a string of relationships that seemingly fizzled out after a few months.
"I mean everything else is good. I have the clinic, I have the condo… but I'm the only one who hasn't met The One, you know?" Lucas explained, flicking the green cardboard confetti on the table. "Not like Dustin or Rachel or… you and Max. And don't worry, I won't grill you about a wedding, I know you two are doing your own thing."
Mike was grateful for that. They'd both already received numerous prying glances at their bare ring fingers, not to mention his parents were on him every time they got him alone.
But he had long ago accepted that they would most likely never get married. Max still got stiff and awkward whenever anyone asked them, and he wasn't going to push the issue. As long as they were together he didn't need a government document defining it. They were strong enough on their own.
"You'll find someone, Lucas," he said as Dustin and Max returned, laughing with their arms around each other. "You're great."
The four of them ended up ditching the reunion after an hour and wound up back in the Wheeler's basement like they had so many nights in the past.
Only this time, the basement was emptier than any of them had ever seen it. Because there had been another reason for Mike to return to Hawkins—his parents had sold the house.
With Holly starting nursing school in Indianapolis in the fall and his mother's MS slowly getting worse, they had decided to downsize to a smaller place that required less maintenance and didn't have stairs. Karen occasionally had to use assistive devices to walk now when her relapses were bad, and with the way they were progressing, it was likely she would need to use a wheelchair in the future.
She was still as optimistic and busy as ever, and most days no one would be able to tell there was anything wrong with her. But she had stopped wearing makeup since her hands were often too weak to hold her brushes and lipstick properly. Ted had learned how to put her hot rollers in her hair because although she had given up mascara and eyeshadow, she still refused to go without having her hair done.
Mike was surprised by just how much his father had stepped up in the past few years since his mom's diagnosis. He had learned the meticulous laundry sorting system Karen used, which specific brands to buy at the grocery store, which ones to avoid, and how to cook things that weren't barbecued. At the end of the year, he was even going into early retirement so he could be around to help full-time, and funnily enough their marriage seemed stronger than ever.
They had until the end of July to get everything out of the house, but packing up over thirty years of accumulated stuff was no small feat. The old sofa and recliner had already been sold and picked up by some young adults for their first apartment, the broken coffee table left on the curb and taken away on trash day.
Now all that remained in the basement was the armchair, the table where they used to play D&D, and countless boxes of old games, toys, and completely random junk.
The group got to work, sifting through decades of memories while The Beatles Abbey Road album played from the old record player that Mike and Max were taking back to Chicago.
"Hey Dustin, does your kid want this?" Lucas asked, holding up a handheld football video game they used to play when they were around ten.
Dustin looked up from the pile of board games he was sorting, a cowboy hat Mike had never seen before perched on his head. "A game from 1980 that will be almost thirty years out of date by the time they're old enough to play with it? Sure, why not."
Mike chuckled and glanced up as Max came in through the back door with a case of beer from the garage fridge, smiling gratefully when she handed him a bottle.
"Do you guys remember when we had that sleepover down here and we watched The Boogeyman and scared the shit out of ourselves?" Dustin asked.
"And then the doorbell rang twice and there was no one there? I think I pissed myself just a little bit," Lucas added with a laugh.
Mike fiddled with a Rubik's cube he'd found in one of the storage containers while he listened. It was easy to solve now, but he remembered throwing it across the room in frustration on more than one occasion, back when he'd been an impatient, short-tempered kid.
He glanced up and caught Max staring at him. Specifically at his hands. He smirked. She'd always been obsessed with his hands. Her gaze flicked up to his and a blush spread over her cheeks. It deepened in a second when he shot her a wink and mouthed, "Later."
She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her beer, looking back at the box of records she'd been flipping through.
"Oh shit, remember these?" Dustin exclaimed, putting a pair of cardboard X-Ray Specs on his face that they ordered from the back of a comic book when they were kids. "Can I keep them?"
"Knock yourself out," Mike chuckled.
"Why did we ever think these would work?"
"Because we really wanted to see Gina Renetti's underwear in the fifth grade?" Lucas volunteered.
Max clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "You guys are dirty little pervs."
They laughed, and Mike was suddenly hit with the bitter realization that this was the last time they'd be in this basement together. Not only that, but Dustin was starting his own family, Lucas's parents were considering moving to Florida once they retired in a couple years… They might never all be in Hawkins together again.
This was it.
The next day Mike began the process of packing up his childhood bedroom while everyone else was downstairs, grateful for the brief moment of silence.
Nancy and Jonathan had arrived that morning with their children in tow. Their three-year-old son Austin was somewhat of a terror, and the baby, a girl named Alexis, was only three months old and cried what felt like every fifteen minutes. Nancy was still on maternity leave from her job at the San Francisco Chronicle—where Jonathan also worked as a photographer—but she couldn't wait to get back to work, insisting they were officially done reproducing.
Mike looked at the cardboard boxes sitting in front of him. "Donate", "Trash", and "Keep", which would be going with him back to Chicago. He also made a fourth pile on his bed for Nancy to go through first in case she wanted any of it for the kids.
He started with the walls, tearing down the posters and traffic signs which he'd for some reason thought were good decor, taking care not to peel any paint when picking off the decades-old sticky tack. Darkened outlines remained faintly visible on the bright blue paint where years of sunlight hadn't faded it.
Next, he tackled the closet, cringing at the collection of striped polo shirts he used to wear tucked into high-waisted pants and shorts. It was truly a miracle any girl had ever been attracted to him. Those all went into the "Donate" bin for some poor, fashion-challenged teen to scoop up.
The trophies and knick-knacks lining his shelves went in the trash, along with old school projects; his toys and action figures joined the pile on the bed, in case there was something his nephew might enjoy.
Mike laughed when he reached the old metal lunchbox shoved to the back of the top shelf of his bookcase. He opened it and saw that it still contained some rolling papers and a small bag of long-expired weed. He moved to place it in the "Trash" box, but at the last second pivoted to "Keep", feeling oddly sentimental and unable to throw it away. It was how he and Max first bonded, after all, and those were some of his favourite memories.
The last items left on his shelves were the yearbooks. He grabbed the entire stack and took a seat on the carpet.
The earliest ones were from middle school, signed only by Lucas, Dustin, and Will. Then, in his freshman year of high school, there was a short note from Max, written only because they had all been sitting together at lunch, passing them around, and it would have been awkward if they skipped each other. "Have a rad summer —Max" was all it said on the inside cover.
He chuckled and kept thumbing through it, pausing on the Clubs page and feeling a pang of sadness at the picture of the Hellfire crew, with their fearless leader Eddie in the middle. Apparently, he and Dustin still wrote to each other from time to time, and he'd made a life for himself down in Florida under a new name.
When Mike got to the book from his junior year, he automatically flipped to the section he was looking for. It was a two-page spread titled "Love is in the Air" featuring pictures of the schools' long-term couples.
In the bottom right-hand corner, there was a candid shot someone had taken of him and Max standing in front of her locker, facing each other. She had her backpack slung casually over one shoulder, and his hand was on her hip, two fingers hooked through a belt loop, nose scrunched in amusement while she bit back a smirk as if she'd just made a snarky comment. They looked so young, and so in love…
Sometimes it felt like it was just yesterday—the confusion of realizing his feelings for her, the miscommunications, Max pushing him away… But after all that, it had been so easy. People always said that relationships were work, but Mike never understood that, because loving her had never felt like work. His job could be stressful, and his mother's health was definitely stressful, but Max was his safe place.
"Oh, please tell me you're not throwing those out," the object of his thoughts said from the doorway.
Mike glanced up, shaking his head as Max came to kneel next to him. "Not a chance. How else would we remember your acid-washed denim phase?" She jabbed him lightly with her elbow before looking down at the page he had open.
"God, look at us…" she murmured, tracing a finger over the photo of them. "We look like kids."
Mike glanced around his nearly empty room, his whole childhood sorted into three boxes. The objects were gone, but the memories lingered—muffled laughter shared with the guys during countless sleepovers, pining over El, late-night conversations with Max, their first time…
The house had been sold to a young couple with a child and another on the way. Now it would be some other kid's turn to make new memories within these walls.
He scooted in behind her and leaned his chin over her shoulder, gazing down at their teenage selves, frozen in time. "We were."
Later that afternoon, Mike emerged from his bedroom, finally done packing everything away. Now all that remained was his bedding which would be taken care of once he and Max left later that week. She had gone back down an hour ago to continue sorting through the basement, so he descended the stairs in search of her.
He could hear Austin shrieking in the backyard, where his parents and Jonathan were attempting to entertain him. Mike shook his head as he reached the bottom of the stairs. How two relatively laidback people like Nancy and Jonathan managed to create an absolute tornado, he'd never know.
Hearing voices from the living room, he made his way over, freezing when he peered around the corner. Max was sitting on the couch next to Nancy, a panicked look on her face as his sister plopped Alexis into her lap, patiently showing her how to arrange her arms so she was cradling her. After a few seconds, Max seemed to relax, smiling down at the baby and tapping her tiny nose.
Mike crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. It must have been some sort of primal instinct from the caveman part of his brain, but seeing Max with a baby was making him feel… something—some type of yearning taking root deep in his chest.
He watched them and, just for a second, let himself fantasize.
They both had stable jobs, their house had plenty of space… if she got pregnant now it wouldn't be completely absurd of them to keep it. A baby that was half her and half him… how could it not be amazing? He knew she found it terrifying, but she'd be the best mother if she ever wanted to be.
Then again, he didn't know if he wanted to share her love. He was selfish, and he liked it being just the two of them. If she wanted to keep it that way, he knew he would be more than happy.
"Oh my god, it's grabbing my boob!" Max exclaimed, holding a wriggling Alexis at arm's length and looking horrified. Nancy laughed and took her daughter back.
"She's just hungry, aren't you, baby girl?" she cooed at the squealing infant, standing and taking her to the kitchen. Mike chuckled at the sheer relief on Max's face at not having to hold the baby anymore. She finally noticed him standing there staring and shot him a quizzical smile.
He grinned back at her, this woman who held his heart in the palm of her hand, and he knew, whichever path life led them down, they'd always be each other's first.