Written by: under_a_lilactree
Maxwell enters the house to the sound of his wife's voice, the lilt of the twins' chatter an undercurrent below (very below) hers. The California sun is just beginning to set; he's still not quite used to the amount of sunshine here. He finds himself, at times, missing the gray gloom of New York winters.
Max drops off his suitcase and sports coat in the entryway of the house and hopes there's dinner of some sort in the kitchen.
"Hello, my loves." Two little voices shout "Daddy!" in unison and come to hug him on either side before returning to their coloring at the kitchen table, their mops of curly dark hair bowed in concentration.
Fran is on the phone, hip propped against the counter, but she leans in for a quick peck. "No Val, I don't think you're overreacting at all . Of course you're not being a drama queen."
Max rummages through the fridge as Fran uh-huhs and mmhms. He finds a container of grilled chicken and vegetables left for him by Niles before he went home to his own family. Max pops the food in the microwaves as Fran wraps up her conversation.
She hangs up the phone and pushes off the counter as she says, "Ay, such a drama queen. She's completely overreacting."
The microwave beeps and Max sits with his food. This is how phone conversations with Val tend to go.
"What now?"
"Oh, well, Fred got a promotion at the pharmacy and she's all worried that he's working too much and their son won't know his father." She drops into the chair beside him and steals a slice of red bell pepper from his plate. "Meanwhile the kid has gotten a bucket stuck on his head five times, so I think she has bigger fish to fry."
"Children do strange things sometimes," Max muses, eyeing his own little rascals.
"Five times in one afternoon."
"Ah."
She points the pepper at him. "Exactly."
"Well," he says, not wanting to dwell on that particular news for too long. "How did the parent-teacher conferences go this afternoon?" The twins started kindergarten recently after being home with Fran for the preceding years, and Max is anxious to find out how they're doing so far.
Fran frowns. Sighs.
"That bad?" He knew Jonah was taking after his older brother in the mischief department a little too closely.
She heaves another sigh, shoulders rising and falling with the effort of it. "No, they're both working above grade level and—" Her voice is thick with emotion. "And Evie is showing particular promise in math. And they want to have Jonah start a pull-out program for advanced readers." She hiccups a sob and finishes with a rush of tears. "My babies are so smart."
"Sweetheart." Max drops his fork to rub her back and shoulders as she heaves out sob after sob. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"No, because." Hiccups. "Because they're growing up so fast and soon they're gonna leave me." She dabs her eyes and nose with a napkin. "And I'll be all alone."
"You'll have me." She's unmoved by that. He tries a different tactic. "Darling, they're five years old. I think it's a bit premature to think about them leaving, don't you?"
Jonah's head pops up. "When I grow up I'm gonna be a lion in the circus."
"See?" Fran says. "There you go, it's starting already!"
The twins start to argue over whether or not one can grow up to become a lion, and Max carefully chooses his next words.
"Do you think, perhaps, you're feeling a little extra sensitive because Brighton is graduating university this weekend?" One year and a summer semester later than he should have, but no matter. He's graduating with a degree in film studies from UCLA, following his old man's footsteps into the entertainment industry. They're both so proud, and Fran has been busy planning a party for him for weeks.
Fran twists the napkin round and round in her hands. "Maybe."
"And maybe you're feeling a little adrift with the twins in school all day." She nods. "And Grace is a senior in high school now." Another sad nod. "And, perhaps, also because you've recently had a milestone birthday and turned fort—"
She gasps, eyes popping wide with shock. "What did you just say to me?"
He's made a terrible, tragic misstep. "Thirty! I—I said you turned thirty!"
"Who told you?" Her eyes narrow dangerously.
"It's. Well. It was simple deductive reasoning really if you—"
"It was Ma, I'll kill her."
Maxwell tips his head in acknowledgment, feeling a little guilty about throwing Sylvia under the bus to save his own skin. He just really hates sleeping on the couch; it's too lumpy.
"Mommy, I made you this!" Eve slides the paper she's been working so hard on across the table and Fran grins widely, hand fluttering to her chest in delight, anger forgotten. Bless that child.
"Oh sweetie, it's beautiful! What is it?"
Fran traces the bright colors on the paper and Eve chirps, "It's a dodecahedron and two trapezoids!"
"You know what, that's it." She sets the picture down. "Evie honey, go get Mommy two buckets from the sandbox."
Eve hops down from the table, but Max manages to stop her before she runs off to the backyard. "Mommy is just joking, sweetheart. Why don't you and your brother go on up the playroom, hmm?"
He turns back to Fran after they've gone, she is unrepentant with her arms crossed. "Just trying to slow them down a little."
Despite the defiance in the jut of her chin, Max can see the underlying sadness, the loneliness. She's been so devoted to the twins, the most dedicated and loving mother any child could ask for, so naturally she's at loose ends right now.
"Why don't you find something to occupy your time, then? A new hobby?" He suggests. "Or, you could connect with other mothers at the children's school. Aren't they always off doing something or other?"
"Oh, I don't fit in with them," she moans, then slumps over to the fridge, opening it with what seems to be a great effort. She pulls out a whole sheet cake.
This is bad. Sheet cake bad.
The cake thuds onto the table.
"They're all barely older than Maggie, first of all. And their husbands are all your age, at least." She says this as if he's ancient. "Second of all, they only ever talk about juice cleanses and Pilates and how much their husbands have to pay in alimony to their first wives." She sits and stabs at the cake with a fork. "I've never seen any of them eat food you have to chew. I tell you there is something not right about the people here."
"I don't know. I've met some decent folks." Although he does have to admit he misses the bustle and gristle and bluntness of New York. Vibrant instead of vapid the way L.A. can often be.
"Oh sure, it's easy for you. You have your career, your legacy." She eats a forkful of cake. "What do I have? This cake." She starts to cry again. "And after I finish this cake, I won't have anything."
"Well, you don't have to eat the entire thing." She sobs anew. "Okay, okay, come here." Max pulls her into his lap, winding his arms tight around her as she tucks into his chest, head resting beneath his chin. "Oh my darling, I hate seeing you like this. What can I do to help?" He presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I know, we'll have your mother stay after Brighton's graduation, she can live here with us for a few months."
Fran sits up to level a look at him. "I thought you were trying to make me feel better?"
He rolls his eyes a little. "Alright, fine. How about Val? She can bring the little one along, that'll be nice, yes?" She hums, still not totally on board yet. "And perhaps little Buckethead will rub off on the twins a bit." She can't stop the laugh that bubbles up at that. "Ah, there's that radiant smile I love so much."
Fran presses her grin against his own, and then it turns into something else entirely, quickly becoming heated, at least until the twins come bounding back into the kitchen. Max is relieved to set things aside for now, though he knows the matter isn't settled. Not even a little.
After baths and pajamas, brushing teeth, and far too many readings of Goodnight Moon, Max stops by Grace's room to check in and finds her buried in homework. Then finally retires to their bedroom, where Fran is standing in front of the full-length mirror in the corner. She leans in close to her reflection, then pulls the skin on her face exaggeratedly taut. Max decides it's best not to ask and concerns himself with unlacing his shoes.
"A little Botox couldn't hurt, right?" She releases her skin and then pulls it tight again. "What do you think? Be honest."
"I think…" Max walks over to her in his socked feet, slides his arms around her waist from behind, and drops a kiss on her shoulder. "That I am not stupid enough to answer that question."
She swats him away.
Max changes into his pajamas, and watches appreciatively as Fran undresses and slips on a thin silky nightgown that clings to every delicious curve. God, she is a fox.
"I'm not as young as I used to be, you know."
"Neither of us is," Max points out.
"Sure, but you get to become sexier and more dignified with age." She stops to grimace at herself in the mirror. "I just get older." She pats her hips. "And wider."
"You think I've gotten even sexier?"
She flicks a look over her shoulder. "A big head looks good on no one."
"Fran." He tugs at her hand, turning her away from the mirror to face him instead. "You can not be possibly be unaware of how jaw-droppingly gorgeous you are."
"Oh, I don't know." She toys with the collar of his pajamas. "I guess you could remind me."
She is ridiculous. He loves her so much.
"Alright, then." He pulls her up against him, arms low around her waist. "When I look into your eyes, I see the same woman who thoroughly and completely captured me, body, mind, and soul all those years ago. When I look at your face, I see all the joy and laughter we've shared." He runs his knuckles along her cheeks and jaw, his fingertips along her mouth. "And when I look at your body, I see where my children have been nurtured and cared for so wonderfully."
She softens in his arms, melting against him. "Max ."
"You have never been more beautiful. And I mean that with complete and total sincerity."
"I know you do. I'm sorry I'm being so crazy lately."
Max almost replies that it's fine, he's used to it by now. But he is, in fact, not that stupid.
"And by the way," she continues, hands moving down to the buttons of his pajama top. "I do think you've gotten even sexier."
"Oh?"
"Mm-hmm ." She undoes one button, then another.
"Then I suppose it's only fair I tell you that when I look at your body, what I'm really thinking about is stunning you are, and how desperately I want you."
She coyly lifts one shoulder. "Oh?"
"Mm-hmm ." Max drops his hands, gripping her ass hard enough to make her squeak. "Why don't you come to bed and I'll show you."
Brighton's graduation comes the following Saturday, taking place on the UCLA football field; hot and bright under the California sunshine. Max is grateful to have Grace around to help wrangle the twins, keeping them busy with games behind the folding chairs packed with family and friends while the speakers drone on. He doesn't know how they'll manage without her when she's off to college next year.
Fran sniffles next to him as Brighton crosses the stage to accept his degree. Maggie is beside her, patting her hand comfortingly, her own husband Michael on the other side.
Max turns at the sound of delighted laughter behind him; Grace is chasing Eve who has her hair done up in cute pigtails, ringlets bouncing as she runs as fast as her tiny legs will carry her. Jonah follows behind them, in his short pants and knee socks that stop just below his knobby scraped-up knees.
Weren't the other three children just that small, too? How is it possible they've all grown up in the blink of an eye? And the twins soon will, as well.
Max has to admit he's feeling rather emotional now himself, so when they file out of the stadium and Eve asks to be carried—a rarity these days already—Max holds on to her a bit tighter than usual.
Brighton's party is in a private room at the country club. Fran did a beautiful job with everything, of course. He and Fran hold court near a fountain bubbling softly in the center of the room, welcoming everyone and chatting amiably; Fran with her unique brand of wit and raconteur charming anyone she encounters as usual. She's just finished telling a story about a cousin's aunt's neighbor's brush with the law that involved wigs and ropes and a lot of balloons. He thinks? He lost the thread of the story somewhere along the line.
"Daddy, Fran?" Maggie appears hand in hand with Michael. "We have some news we wanted to tell you before we head back to New York tonight." They're both beaming, and Max knows before she says it. "We're expecting!"
"Oh honey, I'm so happy for you two!" Fran sweeps both of them into a crushing embrace. She cups Maggie's face between her hands. "You are going to be a wonderful mother. I love you so much, sweetie."
Fran peppers her with questions as Max reels from the news: Yes, she just found out. No, she isn't feeling too sick yet. Yes, of course, Fran can come to the ultrasound. Maggie and Michael wander off, and Fran presses her hands to her own face.
"Oh my goodness, can you believe it?"
Max shakes his head. He cannot. Though frankly, he's surprised Fran isn't more upset, there's not even an undercurrent of her being anything but thrilled for Maggie. He would have thought that learning she'll be a grandmother soon would have sent her reeling.
"You're taking this well."
"Why wouldn't I?" She flaps a hand at him. "I'm your much younger second wife, after all. You're the one who's old enough to be a grandfather."
He arches an unamused eyebrow. "Glad to see you're feeling better, dear." She laughs and he kisses her cheek, then excuses himself to use the restroom. On his way back, Max spots Brighton with a group of friends and detours over to them to ask how he's finding that new Porsche they gave him for a graduation present. Fairly well, he should hope.
"Woah, check out the hottie by the fountain," one of the boys says, to Brighton's pained, "Oh god, no."
The "hottie" by the fountain is undoubtedly Fran.
"Dibs," another boy says.
"You can't just call dibs, Jeremy."
"But I just did, Chad."
"Would you both shut up, I'm begging you." Brighton again.
"Oh ho, the view is even better from the back, boys." Jeremy, Max believes.
Fran laughs and exclaims something in a response just then, her voice carrying across the room the way it is wont to do.
"I wouldn't mind hearing that voice if it was screaming my name." Chad, this time.
Maxwell straightens his spine, intent on marching over to have a word with these boys about respecting women, and his wife specifically, but Brighton gets there first. "That happens to be my mother. And if you don't shut up, I will make you."
His threat is ineffective. "Sheffield! You've been holding out on us with your hot mom this whole time?"
Brighton mumbles something about drowning himself in the fountain, walking off with his head down until one of his pals calls out, "Put in a good word for me with your hot mom, will you?"
"Jeremy, my father is a rich, successful producer who owns a mansion and a Maserati while you share a two-bedroom apartment with four other dudes and drive a Geo Metro, but sure. You totally have a shot with her."
"Cool. Thanks, man." Jeremy is clearly not the sharpest of the graduates here today.
"I can't take you anywhere," Max informs Fran when he makes his way back to her, setting a palm on the low dip of her back.
"If they didn't want you to take one of them, then why would they put two salt shakers on the tables?" She protests.
"Not that—" He pauses. They'll circle back to the salt shaker theft later. "I meant the fact that those young men over there are absolutely drooling over you."
Her head tilts, shoulders lifting coquettishly as delight crosses her face. A little too much delight. "Oh they are, are they?"
"Fran."
"Oh, let me have this. I just turned fo—" Her eyes narrow. "Thirty. Besides, what would I want with a boy when I've got a real man right here." She puckers her lips, inviting him to kiss her, which he of course obliges. "Oh, honey your ascot is crooked."
As the crowd starts to thin not long after, he and Fran linger at the exit to wish everyone off and thank them for coming. Soon the room is empty save for one table, all of their children gathered round it together, with Michael just on the periphery standing behind Maggie's chair. All five of his children, laughing and talking and playing together. Max's chest swells with pride and love and gratitude, and more than a touch of sadness.
"Look at them." Fran looks over at his words and smiles, leaning into him with a hum. "And you said you had no legacy. Look at all that love. All that happiness, all thanks to you. You are the beating heart of this family, and the reason they can all confidently go off and follow their dreams."
She leans in to kiss him, long and lingering. "How are you so good to me still?"
"It's because I'm crazy about you."
She cups his chin. "Ditto."
"You know, I've been thinking," he says as they watch the children together. "What if we moved back to New York? After all, Maggie will need help with the new baby. And there are plenty of opportunities in the film industry there for Brighton. Grace already has her heart set on NYU next year. And besides," he muses. "I think it would be good for the twins to live in the big city. You know, toughen them up a bit before they're off to travel the world at six years old."
She glares at him. "Funny."
"I mean it. Plus, your mother is there and your grandmother. Val and all your beauty salon friends." His show has just about wrapped up production for its sixth and final season and he's been itching to get out of Hollywood anyway. There's just something about the high-stakes immediacy of live stage shows that television can't quite live up to. "And I miss the excitement of the theater."
"Yes. Let's do it."
Maxwell knows there is very little he could ask of her that she would deny him, and it's a knowledge he takes very seriously.
Moving back doesn't magically solve everything of course. Nothing at all can stop the unrelenting march of time. But it would go a long way, for the both of them. Fran stretches her arms up to wrap around his neck, body pressed all alongside his. He cups her waist, tips her back a little and she says,
"Although the city is so fast-paced, it's gonna make it a lot tougher for me to find my younger second husband."
"Funny." He kisses her in the way that never fails to make her weak in the knees for him like he knows for certain no other man can or ever could.
"Hey," Brighton calls out. "Will you two quit being gross and get over here already?"
Maxwell reluctantly pulls away, then holds out his arm for his bride. "Shall we?"
She tucks her hand securely in the crook of his elbow. "With you? Anywhere."