Max gripped the door handle tighter as Chloe passed a slow-moving sedan. “I’m not freaking out. You can’t tell me that anyone likes riding in this truck.”
“Er…actually, no one seems to care much. They think it’s funny.”
“Funny?” She was driving way too close to the center line. How could she not see that? Another car approached, its headlights aglow in the pinkish light, and Max squeezed his eyes shut. “Would you mind easing over to the right a little? I think your perspective is off.”
“You’re not having a panic attack, are you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? You look pale.”
He forced a smile and ignored the bead of sweat sliding down his hairline. “Hey, I’ve got a better idea for breakfast. Why don’t we just go back to your place? If you’ve got a can of whipped cream, all I need is you and a kitchen table.”
“Seriously, Max? Even you aren’t pulling that off.”
“Oh, Jesus,” he prayed as Chloe sped up to make a quick turn past a yellow light.
She patted his hand. “We’re almost there now. No point in turning back.”
He pressed his foot harder to the floorboard, his toes numb from the pressure, and clenched his jaw to keep from shouting something ridiculous. Like Please stop the car and let me out here before I throw up!
The car bumped over something, but he kept his eyes closed until it rolled to a gentle stop. He cracked one eyelid open and saw a sidewalk and a fence. Forcing the other eye open, he made out the rest of the parking lot and popped open the handle of the door. When he set his foot to the asphalt, Max felt like an astronaut stepping out of a space shuttle after a safe landing back on earth. He just managed not to fall to his knees and kiss the wonderfully solid ground.
“Maybe you should ride in the backseat on the way home.”
“Maybe I should.”
Chloe cleared her throat while he rolled his shoulders and stretched his tight neck. “So…no control issues, huh?”
“None at all.”
“So you’re ready to eat?”
His stomach turned, but he managed to hold out an arm and tilt his head charmingly toward the restaurant. “I’m starving. After you, madam.” But when he considered the ride home, Max found himself ordering toast and coffee, and he willfully ignored every raised eyebrow Chloe aimed in his direction. He wanted this weekend to be totally normal, and so it would be, despite the complete, chaotic mess that seemed to dominate Chloe’s everyday life.
She’s normal, he repeated to himself over and over again. Everything is totally normal.
But it was just the start of the day, after all.
“SO WHAT DOES YOUR DAD DO NOW?” Max asked.
Chloe glanced at the rearview mirror. He did look slightly less crazed in the backseat, but she noticed that he kept his eyes closed. “Now he gardens. And does something like Meals on Wheels. Mom is trying to get him to take up golf to get him out of the house more, but he says he enjoys their time together too much for that.”
“And your mom disagrees?”
“She’s used to having the house to herself.” She caught him smiling in the mirror, and she smiled back, even though he couldn’t see her. “See? I told you I was normal. Perfectly average and normal. I even had a dog named Lassie when I was growing up.”
“You did not.”
“Did, too. So what was your family like? Obviously I know your brother, but what about your parents?”
The smile faded and he let his head fall back onto the headrest. “Papa was a rolling stone. He’d show up out of the blue and hang around for a few months, then be on his way again. He liked the idea of having two big, strong sons, but he wasn’t interested in taking care of a family.”
“Ooh.” When she looked again, Max met her eyes in the mirror.
“Yeah, it’s so transparent it’s kind of embarrassing. I’ve been the man of the house since I was seven years old. But a seven-year-old can’t tell his mother what to do, and little brothers are kind of resistant to that sort of thing, too. I imagine that’s when I started developing creative ways to take charge.”
“You mean ‘maintain complete control over everyone around you’?”