Chapter 5 #3
This time, I stare at the photo in detail.
Max’s mother is a stunning woman. Dark hair cascades over her shoulder.
Marabel’s green piercing eyes are the same as her son’s.
Her smile creates the same dimple in her left cheek that Max gets when he laughs.
She embraces Max as any loving mother would.
Beside them, Hector stands tall in a pressed blue shirt, chest puffed out, grinning like he’s won something precious.
My heart fucking combusts with pain so deep for Max.
It’s heartbreaking how a tragedy affects us all.
“Oh, Max, what a beautiful woman. She seems like the sweetest woman. I bet she was just like her son.”
A painful laugh rumbles in his chest. “My mom was a kind woman, always looking out for others. She made the most amazing food. Every Christmas morning when I’d wake up, she would make us a tray of cinnamon rolls.” He studies me with a knowing smile at my wide eyes.
Because I…I remember we were both kids sitting in our beds, reminiscing about Christmas morning. He mentioned his mom would make him cinnamon rolls. No wonder he devoured my cinnamon rolls at the cabin, and I noticed a sentimental expression on his face. Was it a coincidence?
“She was always giving us cosquillas. She knew our tickling spots. Whenever I was feeling down, she would give me cosquillas.”
“Show me,” I tell him, wanting him to relive that memory.
Max glances at the top of the stairs. I look behind me to see what he’s looking at. Catching me off guard, he tickles my side. I yelp and laugh at the gentle dig of his fingers.
“You asked for it.”
I’m laughing so hard I might pee my pants. We tumble on the sofa.
“Stop. Oh my gosh, Max. Ahh. Okay. I’m going to pee.”
He finally stops, and the look on his face is well worth the indents and ache he left on my right side.
“Your mom definitely passed down a tickling monster to you. Sheesh.”
Max sets the portrait back in its place. “She would have loved you.”
Hector said the exact same thing.
“Mom would have said I picked a good one.”
I rub his back. “And I would have told her she has an amazing son.”
Max shows me around the house. I didn’t go upstairs when I was here.
We walk into his childhood bedroom. Matchbox cars line the baseboards in primary colors, beside a half-built LEGO tower, dust coating both like a thin layer of snow.
The bedspread—faded rocket ships against a navy background is pulled across the mattress, one corner folded back as if he just slipped out of bed.
Action figure toys lined up on his desk—wrestling ones, to be exact.
“I want to start packing and give what I can to charity. It’s time to move on and let go.
” With his index finger, he cleans the snow-packed dust off and wipes it onto his pants.
“I don’t know where my dad went, if he died somewhere, or what.
If he decides to return, I want to clean it all out.
I want him to have my mom’s memories, but I also want to move on and remember the good ones, not the painful ones.
I guess I’m hoping it might help him when and if he returns. ”
My stomach clenches, acid rising in my throat as I swallow hard and look away from his face. Lying to Max hurts. I’m not doing it intentionally; I’m being protective of him. I want to make sure Hector is going to do a one-eighty. I don’t want to get his hopes up if Hector fails.
I slide my arms around his waist from behind. “I can help,” I murmur, hoping the closeness might quiet the guilt eating at me.
“Gracias, tesoro. I hate to admit that I’ll need you here with me. It’s been decades since I’ve been through anything.”
“When we moved from Tahoe to Vegas, Dad handled everything else. In our new place, he hung Mom’s old curtains on the windows.
He was building a carbon copy, just with different walls around us.
The plates were still stacked in the cupboards exactly how she’d arranged them, as if keeping these small rituals might somehow preserve her.
He still uses the same cups and plates.” The house felt frozen in time. Now I understand why.
“Pops will probably be pissed when he decides to get back.” He shrugs.
“It’s time he came down to reality. Mom’s not coming back.
” He picks up an action figure and smiles.
“My mom gave me this for my birthday.” He tosses it back.
“I cried when they took me because I forgot to pack this one. This is the reason I want to pack up this room. It’s time I let go as well.
When we start a family, I don’t want my baggage to affect us. ”
Baggage. Max might not realize that he no longer carries baggage. He will always have those memories. He has worked on improving his mental and physical health. It’s me who carries more baggage than I can hold.
The topic of family has resurfaced in his conversations since the last time. I can see the foundation he’s been carefully laying. But I know, with a certainty, that I cannot be the one to complete that picture for him.