“Sure, pile on the stress, why don’t you?”
“My bad. See you later.”
With Vlad out of the office, I had time to call Angel. I knew she’d be on tenterhooks and that wasn’t fair on her or our son. I called her from my cell phone.
“Hi, Max.”
“Hey, Angel. How are you feeling?”
“Okay, thanks.”
“I called Stevens.”
“That’s good news, Max.”
“Yeah. We’re talking.”
“Thank you. I imagine that must have been very difficult for you.”
“Yeah. Anyway, I just wanted you to know.”
“Thank you, Max.”
“Sure. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Okay.”
“I miss you, Angel.”
“I have to go.”
“Okay.”
Big boys don’t cry. The lyrics of the song were stuck in a loop in my head. Around and around, it went until I was at my wit's end. I never cried. I was a Russian man, for fuck’s sake! We don’t cry. It’s not part of our DNA.
Then why was I struggling to hold back a river of tears? My life was perfect–a wealth of money, the perfect girlfriend, and a son on the way. And then it all turned to shit.
If anyone was a candidate for a tear-filled prissy fit, it was me.
You can do this, Max. Don’t give up.
31
ANGEL
“You really should be doing this with Max, you know, Angel.”
“I know. But it’s too complicated at the moment. Thanks so much for coming with me, Josie.”
The two of us were at a Lamaze class. Josie sat behind me, rubbing my shoulders while I practiced my breathing.
“You two make such a lovely couple,” one of the mom’s-to-be said and smiled sweetly at us.
“Thank you,” Josie gushed, “this is our first. How about you?”
“Second. You’ll be so glad you took these classes,” she said. “My wife and I are eternally grateful.”
“Oh, for sure,” the woman sitting behind her piped up.