21. Maxwell
Maxwell
“It smells incredible in here. Thank you so much for cooking after traveling to get here,” I say as we take our seats at the table.
“No problem at all, sweetie! Clayton didn’t tell me what you like to eat so I made his favorite, so I hope it’ll be okay.” Amy smiles wide at me.
“Anything is perfect.” I grin back. “You must have made a white chicken lasagna?”
“You remember me telling you about that?” Clayton asks.
“I remember everything.”
“Oh! How cute!” Amy admires, looking between the both of us.
“Can I help you with anything, Amy? I can set the table,” I offer. “I’m sure you must be tired after traveling this morning to get here and cooking.”
“No, no,” she waves a hand. “You sit and wait,” she says.
“Let the boy help, Ames,” Bill says, his voice gruff.
Rising to my feet, I open a few different cabinets until I find what I’m looking for. The entire time I'm moving around and setting plates and silverware, I feel Clayton’s eyes on me. When I set his place, he leans to me and whispers, “You’re doing great, baby.”
I side-eye him with a smile and he gives me a big-toothy grin back. Heat rushes to my cheeks and I hope I don’t look as red as I feel.
“So, you’re going to be a nurse as well?” Bill asks.
Fuck, we are going to have the future talk.
“Yes. I haven’t quite decided where yet, but it all depends on…” I trail off, wondering how much truth I should tell. I decide that honesty is the best policy and go with it. “It depends on what Clayton wants to do.”
“What?” Clayton whips his head to me.
“Yeah. I know you said you weren’t quite sure where you wanted to go for a job, but I want to go where you do.”
His parents watch as we go back and forth.
His mom is smiling so much that I think her cheeks are going to be sore by the end of the night.
His father looks a little.. Indifferent.
I’m not one to be intimidated, but when I’m sitting here silently begging for someone to like me.. Yeah, I’m intimidated.
“I know Clayton is taking the summer off, are you?” Amy questions.
“Yes. When we graduate, I’m going to go home and see my mom.”
“What about your d-”
“No.” Clayton says. One word. So much meaning.
“Don’t interrupt your mother, Clayton,” Bill chastises.
“Don’t ask about his father.”
“Oh, I apologize," Amy sighed.
“Please do not apologize. Clayton is being dramatic.” He really isn’t, but I don’t need to introduce myself like Hi, I’m Max. I have daddy issues, ha ha.
“He hit you.”
“Clayton!” I shout louder than I should have.
“Your father hit you?” Bill says.
“I told you that in secret, Clayton,” I snap, trying to keep the anger from my voice. “I’m sorry, Amy and Bill, but if you’d excuse me a moment."
Rising to my feet, I leave the small dining area and walk the five steps to the bathroom and close the door a little harder than I should have.
Clayton
Shit.
The second the words left my mouth, I knew I fucked up. I had trusted Max when I told him my story. He trusted me with his and a second later, I told someone. Still sitting at the table, my parents and I stare at each other. The bathroom door slams and it jerks me in my seat.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter to myself. Taking the napkin off my lap, I place it on the table, excusing myself and following after him. The door is locked, as suspected. I knock lightly. “Max,” I say through the door, but he doesn’t respond. “Max, please, let me in.”
I hear the sound of the sink running for a moment before it shuts off. The door creaks open just enough for me to slip inside, but Max shuts and locks it behind me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It just slipped out the second she said something. I.. I was still processing from when you told me.”
When he told me, I realized that I remembered the bruise on his face when I saw him after the party. I had just subjected it to being from that event. It never occurred to me that it would have been his father. Now his transferring of schools makes complete sense.
“I told you that because I trusted you to not tell anyone.”
“How’s it feel to have your trust broken?” I snap.
His mouth drops open and closes. Once, twice, three times as if he’s a fish out of water.
The guilt hits me. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m doing everything that I can to earn that back.
Trying my fucking hardest to be someone that I think you might deserve.
Trying to fix what I’ve done. What? Did you let it slip out to spite me?
” Max says, face straight as ever. No emotion in those eyes.
Not a single ounce of hurt or sadness. Nothing.
“No! I would never do that to you. I wouldn’t do something just to get back at you.
I’m pissed for you! Every time I have ever talked about your father, you shut down, and I didn’t want her to bring it up.
I didn’t want them to push you to talk about him.
I’m sorry, Max,” I try to explain, but I don’t think he’s quite listening to me.
“I want to go home.”
“Okay." I nod. "I’ll take you home.”
He breezes by me, exiting the bathroom and heading right out to the car. Max doesn’t stop in to say goodbye to my parents.
I do.
“I’m sorry. I ruined dinner. Thank you both for having us here and making food, but we’re going to go home.”
“Is Max okay?” Mom asks. Always caring for everyone.
“Max will be fine,” I answer, but I’m not sure how much truth that holds. I’m not sure if I’m even trying to convince them or myself.
“Bye, love you,” I say, leaving.
“Love you.” Both of my parents call out.
The entire ride back to campus was painstakingly quiet.
Tension too thick that it was suffocating.
Every time I went to speak, even just to apologize again, I saw the natural state of anger across Max's face and decided against it.
The anger is fine, deserved. I did that, but what isn't fine is that I'm not sure how to fix it.
Back in his room he unbuttoned his shirt, and I tried not to look at him. Trying to give him the space he needs.
“You don't have to stay here.”
“I want to stay,” I tell him.
“Tonight this bed isn't big enough for the both of us.”
“We can sleep next to each other.”
“I don't want to sleep next to you.”
Valid. His emotions are valid and he is allowed to feel them. I won’t take that away from him no matter how much it hurts me.
“Give me a blanket and pillow. I’ll sleep on the floor, but I’m not leaving.”
Max goes to the small closet and reaches to the top shelf.
He grabs a sleeping bag and two blankets.
Despite him being unhappy with me, he goes about making a bed for me on the floor.
He uses the sleeping bag as a little bed and covers it with the thicker blanket, tossing the thinner one down.
Grabbing a pillow from his bed, he hands it to me.
I take it, our fingers grazing, but Max pulls back like I’ve burned him. “Max,” I say.
“Goodnight, Clayton.” I stand there like a fool, watching him as he crawls into bed, and flicks off the lamp.