4. Maxine
CHAPTER 4
maxine
I heard the crunch of tires on gravel before I saw Sebastian's car pull up the driveway. My fingers twisted the hem of my old sweater—a nervous habit Mom had been trying to get me to break since I was twelve. She stood behind me now, her heels clicking against the porch boards as she paced, each step a quiet reminder of her disapproval. The familiar sound made my shoulders tense.
"Stand up straight, Maxine," Mom said, her voice carrying that edge I'd grown so used to lately. "And for heaven's sake, stop fidgeting with that ratty sweater."
I forced my hands to my sides but remained seated. Small acts of defiance were all I had left these days. The fountain Dad had installed the summer before gurgled in the background, the sound both soothing and painful. Everything about this house hurt now, each happy memory transformed into something that squeezed my chest until I could hardly breathe.
Sebastian was the first one out of the car and just seeing him made my eyes burn with fresh tears. Mom's sigh behind me was heavy with judgment. "Maxine, darling, if you're going to cry again, at least do it quietly. We have appearances to maintain."
I blinked hard, forcing the tears back. The last thing I needed was Mom pointing out how puffy my eyes already were. I watched as Brooklyn emerged from the passenger seat, phone in hand as always. Uncle David and Jace followed, the latter looking like he'd spent the entire drive sleeping. Some things never changed, even when everything else had fallen apart.
"Sebastian," I called out, hating how my voice wavered. I stood up, my legs shaky beneath me. Part of me wanted to run down the steps and throw myself into my cousin's arms like I used to when we were kids, but Mom's presence held me in place.
"Finally," Mom cut in, her voice sharp enough to make me wince. "I was beginning to think none of you would show up." I could feel her eyes doing that thing—that critical once-over she'd perfected over the years. "Maxine, darling, go fix your makeup before we discuss anything. You look dreadful."
The words hit their mark, as they always did. I started to turn toward the house, but Uncle David’s voice stopped me.
"Ciara, your daughter needs support right now, not criticism."
"I'm quite aware of what my daughter needs, David," Mom replied, and I could picture her expression without looking—that perfect arch of her eyebrow, the slight curl of her lip. "And what she doesn't need is everyone treating her like she's made of glass."
Sebastian reached me then, and the gentle squeeze of his hand around mine nearly undid me. I squeezed back, grateful for the anchor. His face was tired, dark circles under his eyes matching my own, but his presence made me feel less alone for the first time since Dad... since everything had happened.
"Come inside," I said, proud that my voice came out steadier this time. "I've made tea."
"Tea?" Mom's sigh could have withered the garden Dad had loved so much. "Really, Maxine, given the circumstances, I'd say something stronger is in order. Your father always kept an excellent scotch in his study."
I led everyone into the house, the scent of lavender and chamomile—Mom's least favorite blend—filling the air. I'd chosen it deliberately, knowing it would irritate her. These tiny rebellions were all I had left. The living room walls still held all our family photos, and I caught Mom staring at one—the three of us on my sixteenth birthday, all smiling, Dad's arm around both of us. Something flickered across her face, something raw and real, before her mask slipped back into place.
I busied myself with pouring tea, the familiar ritual keeping my hands from shaking. The expensive sofas Dad had imported from Italy creaked softly as everyone sat down. Mom remained standing by the fireplace, her reflection watching me from the mirror above it. I could feel her gaze tracking my every movement, waiting for me to crack, to crumble, to prove her right about my weakness.
"Thank you for coming," I said softly, settling next to Sebastian on the sofa. The cushions remembered me, held the shape of all those nights I'd spent curled up here with Dad, listening to his stories about his latest business ventures or Mom's younger years when she used to laugh more freely.
"Of course," Sebastian replied, his voice warm and sure. "We wouldn't be anywhere else."
"Yes, well," Mom's voice cut through the moment like glass. "Some of us haven't left since it happened. Some of us have been here, dealing with everything, while others..." She left the accusation hanging in the air, sharp and heavy.
I sipped my tea, letting the warm liquid soothe my throat, my face tight with unshed tears. The silence that settled over us was thick with all the things we weren't saying—about Dad, about the future, about the way Mom's grief had turned to ice that froze everything it touched, including me. But as I sat there, surrounded by family that had come when we needed them, I felt something solid form in my chest. A kernel of strength, small but growing. Whatever came next, I wouldn't face it alone—even if the person I needed most to stand beside me seemed determined to stand apart.
My phone buzzed in my pocket—probably Tabby checking in again. She'd barely left my side since everything happened, until Mom had practically forced her to go home yesterday. The thought of my best friend gave me an idea, a lifeline out of this suffocating atmosphere.
"I think," I said, my voice stronger than I expected, "we should take a break. Process everything." I glanced at Sebastian, hoping he'd understand. He'd always been good at reading between my lines.
Mom's perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together. "Maxine, there are arrangements to be made?—"
"Which can wait until tomorrow," Uncle David cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument. Something flickered across Mom's face—relief, maybe, though she'd never admit it.
Sebastian squeezed my hand. "Tabby's?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, grateful for how easily he fell back into our old patterns. "She's with Melissa and Marla at our spot."
Brooklyn perked up at the mention of our friends, finally setting her phone aside. Even Jace, who'd been fighting sleep this whole time, seemed to wake up fully.
"We won't be long," I told Mom, already standing, my body buzzing with the need to escape. "Just need some air."
Mom's lips pressed into a thin line, but something in her expression softened, just slightly. "Don’t stay out all night," she said, then added in a whisper that surprised me with its gentleness, "Your father would want you to be with your friends."
The five of us slipped out into the evening air, the tension from the house falling away with each step down the driveway. Sebastian pulled out his keys, but Brooklyn snatched them from his hand.
"I'm driving," she announced. "You look dead on your feet."
"Bold words from someone who just got their license," Jace mumbled, but he was grinning as he climbed into the front seat. I knew he had a thing for Brooklyn they both needed to just admit it.
As we pulled away from the house, I caught a glimpse of Mom through the living room window, standing alone by the fireplace. For a moment, she looked small, lost in a way I'd never seen before. Then we turned the corner, and she disappeared.
The drive to our spot—the old water tower overlooking the lake—was quiet, but it was a different kind of quiet than the one we'd left behind. Sebastian insisted on sitting in the back with me, and I tried not to focus on how his arm brushed against mine with each turn of the road. It was wrong to notice these things now, with grief still so fresh, but I couldn't help but remember all those summer nights we'd spent here before he left for college, the way things had started to shift between us, all those almost moments we'd never acknowledged.
"You okay?" he asked softly, his voice low enough that the others couldn't hear over Brooklyn's music. The concern in his eyes made my heart flutter in a way that had nothing to do with sadness.
"No," I admitted, meeting his gaze for perhaps a second too long. "But I'm better now that you're—now that you're all here."
He reached for my hand, a gesture he'd made a thousand times before, but something felt different now. His thumb traced small circles on my skin, and I told myself the shiver that ran through me was just from the evening chill.
I could already see Tabby's vintage Volkswagen parked at the base of the tower, Melissa's red pickup truck beside it. As we pulled up, three figures detached themselves from the shadows of the tower's legs. Tabby's bright hair caught the last rays of sunlight as she ran toward us, Melissa and Marla close behind.
Sebastian's hand slipped from mine as we got out of the car, but I felt his presence behind me, steady and warm. Tabby's eyes darted between us for a moment, and I knew I'd be facing questions later—she'd always said there was something there, even when I'd insisted, we were just cousins who grew up together. Not blood-related, she'd always point out, usually with a meaningful rise of her eyebrows.
"We brought your favorite," Marla called out, holding up a familiar paper bag from the diner Dad used to take us to after school.
As everyone settled into our usual spots around the tower's base, I found myself gravitating toward Sebastian again. He sat close enough that our shoulders touched, and I tried not to think about how natural it felt, how right, even in the midst of everything wrong.
"Remember the last time we were all here?" Melissa asked, passing around the food. "Right before Sebastian left for his final year?"
I felt him tense slightly beside me, and I knew he was thinking about that night too—the almost-kiss under the stars, the way we'd both pulled back, scared of ruining what we had. Now, with everything that had happened, those fears seemed so small, so distant.
"Hard to believe that was only eight months ago," Sebastian said, his voice carrying a weight that made me wonder if he was thinking about more than just that night.
Tabby caught my eye and gave me one of her knowing looks. I quickly looked away, focusing instead on the paper bag in my hands. But I couldn't ignore how Sebastian shifted slightly closer, how his arm pressed warm against mine, how my heart kept doing that thing it wasn't supposed to do around your cousin, even if he wasn't really a cousin by blood.
The conversation flowed around us, memories and laughter mixing with quiet moments of understanding. In this circle of friendship and almost-something-more, I felt both exposed and protected. Every time I caught Sebastian watching me with those concerned eyes of his, I had to remind myself that now wasn't the time; everything was too raw, too fresh.
But when the evening air grew cooler, and he wordlessly draped his jacket over my shoulders, I couldn't help but lean into him just slightly. And if his arm stayed around me longer than strictly necessary, well, nobody mentioned it. Some things, I was learning, didn't need to be spoken aloud to be understood.
As the sun set over the lake, painting everything in shades of gold and pink, I found myself thinking that maybe some good could come even from the darkest times. Maybe some feelings, like the ones I'd been pushing away whenever Sebastian was near, didn't need to be figured out right now. They could just exist, quiet and constant, like the steady beating of my heart against my ribs whenever he looked at me that way—the way he was looking at me now, as if he could see straight through to all the broken pieces and wanted to help put them back together.