I look back down when Max taps my arm. “I know you!” he says excitedly.
“You do? But we haven’t met until now. How do you know me?" I ask, squatting down to his level.
“You’re in the picture book,” he chirps, grabbing my hand and tugging. “Follow me, I’ll show you." I turn to Harley, who is still watching us. Some of the terror has drained from her face, but she still looks incredibly uncomfortable. I stop dead in my tracks at the thought that I’m causing her more pain, because that isn’t my intention. Her eyes flit from Max to me and then to our joined hands.
“Is this okay?” I ask her. “I can leave if—”
“No, no,” she says, waving the towel that’s gripped tightly in her hand. “Go ahead. It’s okay." Her voice is timid and soft and I’m not sure if it’s really okay with her, but I’m not going to argue. She’s letting me stay so I’m staying. I smile softly and nod my head.
“Okay, buddy, let’s go." I pull on his hand and Max jumps in step beside me, a big, toothy grin on his face.
He instructs me to sit on the floor and then he takes off running down the hall. I sit down and let my eyes wander around the room. A beautiful brick fireplace sits against the far wall and it’s adorned with photos of Max, Levi, Quinn, and Harley’s parents. I notice that there aren't any photos of another man—a man who could be Max's father. Against th
e adjacent wall is a large entertainment center with a big-screen TV nestled in it, and I spot a Nintendo Wii tucked in there too.
There’s a large chest tucked in the corner that is overflowing with toys, and a plush gray couch and rocking chair sit on the opposite side of the room. From what I can see, the entryway, living room, and hallway are all covered in a deep brown hardwood floor, and her walls—with the exception of the deep red wall that holds the fireplace—are a warm mocha color. Her home is warm and inviting and…cozy. Not for the first time, pride swells in my chest when I think of what Harley has accomplished. I find myself playing the ‘what if’ game as Max comes sliding back into the room.
“Got it!” he cheers, holding an album above his head. Sitting down on the floor, Max scoots as close to me as he can get and opens the photo album, so half of it is on my lap and the other half is on his. He doesn't waste a second as he starts showing me pictures of himself when he was a baby.
I can see his mouth moving, but as my eyes take him in, his voice fades deeper into the background. His hair is dark like Harley's and a bit wavy, almost curly. It's slightly unruly, and I watch as he bats a chunk of it out of his eyes. His cheeks are a little chubby with two perfect dimples. He has Harley's thin nose and his eyes…those eyes. They must belong to his father, because they sure as hell don't belong to Harley. Don’t get me wrong, her eyes are gorgeous and I could stare at them all day. But for some reason, Max’s eyes are stunning and surprisingly…familiar.
"Do you?" Max says, nudging me in the side.
"What? Sorry, bud. What'd you say?" I ask, pulling myself out of my head. He rolls his eyes at me and points to a photograph.
"Do you remember this picture? It's my favorite." I look down, shocked to find myself staring at picture after picture of Harley and me when we were kids. How did she get all of these?
She kept them. She kept them.
"Of course I remember that! Your mom and I both got new bikes for Christmas." I rub the picture absently, remembering how excited I was to get that bicycle. "We were so excited to ride them, we couldn't wait." Max looks at me, his eyes full of wonder. "It might have been winter, but it hadn't snowed and the sidewalks were still clean, so we begged and begged until our parents finally let us ride our bikes." I smile to myself when I remember how we only lasted about ten minutes in the freezing cold weather, but it was best ten minutes I'd ever had. "We bundled up and rode up and down the sidewalk, over and over. We only stopped because your mom's nose started running and the snot was freezing to her face!" Max throws his head back and snorts with laughter.
"That's not how I remember it." My head whips around, where I find Harley standing in the doorway, her hip propped against the frame with a small smile playing on her perfect lips. "If I remember correctly, you started crying that your toes were going to fall off and your mom made us go in. So see, it's all your fault."
"I have a bike," Max interjects, sitting up. "Wanna see it? It's a Cars bike. It even came with a tool kit for when I have to make a pit stop. It's really cool. I'll let you play with it if you want. My mom said she would get me a bell to put on it. Maybe I'll get one for Christmas and then I can ride my bike outside like you did." Harley's eyes dance with amusement as she watches Max talk my ear off. I can't really get a word in edgewise so I follow behind him, nodding my head and oohing and aahing when I feel it's appropriate.
Harley watches us in the backyard from the kitchen window. Every time I look up and catch her staring, she quickly ducks her chin, averting her gaze. I'm not sure why, but that makes me happy. If I didn't know better, I'd think that she likes seeing me with Max almost as much as I like being with him.
I'm not sure how much time passes, but it must be getting late because Harley comes into the backyard, ordering Max to get cleaned up for bed. This of course, elicits an eye roll and loud groan from the feisty four-and-a-half year old. Yup, I figured out how old he was. Well, actually he corrected me when I called him a five-year-old.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, Max. It isn't nice," Harley scolds, rolling her eyes at me when Max isn't looking. I shoot her a quick wink and she smiles in return.
I can’t help but feel like things are going way too smoothly. Harley is probably waiting for Max to go to bed so that she can try to kick me out of her life again, which I’ve already decided isn’t even an option. I’m here to stay, and there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it. I just pray that she doesn’t fight it too hard, because I’m not sure how much longer I can wait to make her mine.
"But mo-om, I don't want to go to bed. I want to play with Tyson." She picks him up, tossing him over her shoulder, and he keeps talking into her back. "We played with my tool set, and he put a baseball card in the wheel of my bike so that it sounds like a motorcycle when it goes around. And then we played soccer. I was the goalie and Tyson didn't score one goal. I'm that good, mom!"
"You are that good," she croons and then turns back toward me. "You can wait in here while I give him a bath, if you want." She looks nervous and I know it took a lot for her to tell me that. "I mean…unless you have to go. That's okay too."
"I have nowhere else I'd rather be," I reply, ruffling Max's thick hair as I walk by. She smiles and tells me to make myself at home. I pick up the photo album we left sitting on the floor and start thumbing through it, laughing to myself about how excited Max was to show me each and every picture.
I learned one very important thing about Max tonight—he loves to talk. The kid does not stop talking. I don't even have to say a word, he just talks for me. But it's awesome. He is awesome. I'm not sure if it's normal to instantly connect with a kid that isn’t even yours like that, but it felt…normal. It felt right.
After a few minutes, Max emerges from the bathroom in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas, which I didn’t even know were still around. Growing up, they were one of my favorites. His wet hair is parted and combed perfectly to the side. It definitely looks like a woman fixed it.
“Come here, Max." I pat the seat next to me on the couch and he jumps up and looks at me. “Have you ever heard of a faux hawk?" I ask.
His cute little nose crinkles in confusion and he cocks his head to the side, as if actually trying to remember if he’s ever heard of it. “I know what a hawk is!" he answers proudly, his eyes widening with excitement.
I laugh at his innocence and pull him to stand in front of me. Running my hands through his hair, I start pushing it around and styling it. When I’m done, his hair is pulled together in the center and he has a full-on mohawk going from his forehead to the back of his neck. Christ, this kid has a ton of hair, almost like—