A secret part of me likes his worry.
I grew up trying to pay the bills my mother couldn’t. Keeping Daisy out of harm as best I could. I killed the creepy bugs in my apartment. If somebody needed to call the electricity provider, I had to do it.
Me, myself, and I.
Max’s protection is a buoy in an otherwise swirling ocean. I hope for it, cling to it, and wish I could do the same for him.
“Why are you here?” I ask softly.
I’m prepared for the silence, knowing him too well. He takes his time, eyes studying the glass case.
“Come on.” He takes my hand, intertwining our fingers, and pulls me through the main crowd.
Yelena blinks in surprise, lifting from the chair and kissingher son. Words are exchanged in Russian and I swear I’m seeing things or does Yelena actually stumble on her heels as she backs into her chair?
I know, thanks to the nifty language app I use, that all Max said were pleasantries. At least the words I could pick out. I suspect Yelena is thrown off by this new playing field especially when her son holds out my chair for me.
“You never join us,” she says neutrally. A waiter serves us water. She never once flicks her eyes to acknowledge him.
“Thank you,” Max tells the waiter. “I finished my final paper for one of my classes so my afternoon was open.”
He looks at me when he says, “So I decided to meet my wife for lunch.”
A blush creeps along my cheeks.
Yelena clicks her tongue. “No love for your mother?”
“Yes, that too.” But his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Next time bring Roma.” Yelena smiles and talks idly, more animated than I’ve ever seen her.
Damn Max, but his presence brings to light how Yelena really doesn’t see her children that often. Elijah’s never hidden his contempt for his stepmother. Roma is more like my brother-in-law on paper so I doubt he’s stopping by his parent’s house on a regular basis.
I don’t like this compassion lapping at me, but it’s possible Yelena is starved for company just as much as I am.
Turns out the only difference between us, is I don’t use ‘being a bitch to everyone’ as a coping mechanism.
Max ponders the menu, leaning into me. “What are you getting?”
Um, salad?
Yelena watches us like a hawk, eyes narrowed. Max is oblivious, though.
“If I get the burger you can have my fries,”Max offers.
I discovered a while back that Max doesn’t like French fries. I think it’s a travesty, but he’s unbothered by it.
“Unless you don’t want them?” he asks.
“Get the truffle fries,” I whisper. I’ve seen waiters parade them around and I always wanted to try them. A bit desperate, I touch his thigh so he understands the seriousness of the request.
His eyes crinkle further and he grabs my hand, pulling it up and pressing a kiss to the back of it.
I nearly melt.
You silly girl.
We’re currently the definition of toxic. We haven’t talked to each other in days and now one little chaste kiss and I’m over it.
