Max

I cannot help but feel Stoner’s mom’s eyes on me as she cooks.

“Talbot, can you please get me the baking soda?” she says while mixing up the dry ingredients for scones.

I had forgotten that’s his real name, and I have to be careful to use it when around his mom.

“I was so pleased when Talbot called this morning to tell me we were going to have company today. I don’t believe I’ve seen you since graduation,” she says. “You’ve been busy.”

I tell her about my business in San Diego and about the buyout offer.

“I know, Talbot told me all about it. He’s very excited to be in contact with you again.”

I feel a twinge of guilt at her words.

“Mrs. Spice…” I start.

“Dianne, please.”

Even at 38, it feels weird to call a friend’s mom by her first name. Hell, I still call Joy’s mom Mrs. Mazer. But of course I comply with her wishes.

“Dianne. To be honest, I agree with you. I wish I had been a better friend.”

Dianne turns and gives me a generous smile. “I’m just happy you’re here now and that Talbot has found a friend he can trust with all the details of his…our…shared past.”

I sip my coffee and let her kind words wash over me.

“My mother has invited the two of you to join us for Thanksgiving tomorrow. Talbot tells me you two usually get Chinese food and watch old movies, which actually sounds a lot more peaceful than what I’m used to on Thanksgiving But the offer stands. Just be aware, we have about 40 people coming over. And it’s a rowdy bunch.”

Dianne smiles and looks over at Stoner. He shrugs. “It’s up to you, Mom. We can go or we can stay.”

“Maybe you should go and enjoy the day, you don’t need your mom hanging around,” she says.

Stoner disagrees. “No. We spend Thanksgiving together, no matter what. So if I go with Max, you’re coming with me. Is that a deal?”

Dianne looks from Stoner to me and smiles, almost looking surprised with herself. “I guess we’re both joining you for turkey. This will be the first Thanksgiving dinner for Talbot and me since Jack died.”

“I’m so happy you’ll be joining us,” I say, and I can see Stoner out of the corner of my eye staring at me intently.

After we polish off half an egg casserole among the three of us, Stoner’s mom takes out a photo album and brings it to the kitchen table. She pulls up a chair between Stoner and me as he groans. “Mom, please.”

“Hush,” she says. “Indulge me in some happy memories.”

“It’s not that, it’s just I don’t need Max to be looking at— Oh god, Mom, the first page?”

And that’s when I see it. The first page of Stoner’s baby book includes an adorable photo of him dancing naked around this very apartment. I gasp. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”

He groans even louder. “Jesus, Ma!”

“Watch your mouth, this is still a Catholic household, you know.”

“Sorry, Ma.”

“Talbot, I can’t blame your mom for showing me your baby pictures. You were a seriously cute baby,” I say.

Dianne giggles, and it is the first time I hear her laugh all morning. “And he was funny! He made me laugh all the time. He loved to dance around the apartment, and when he got older, he’d play with all his toys in his underwear, like it was no big deal. He was always a free spirit. At least until…”

Her voice and her demeanor suddenly go quiet and dark.

I jump in. “Dianne, you raised a fine young man. Did you know that twenty years ago, on grad night, he drove me and my friend home and made sure I got into my bed safe and sound?”

Her face changes. “I didn’t know that. Thank you for telling me.”

We glance through the photo album for a bit longer while Dianne regales me with stories from Stoner’s childhood. After a while, Dianne grows fatigued and announces she’s going to take an afternoon nap.

I hug her goodbye and tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her tomorrow.

Stoner hugs and kisses his mom, and it warms my heart to see this. I’m so glad she has a kind, strong son in her life. I’m so thrilled by the way he’s turned out, despite how things could have gone.

Nobody would have blamed him if, because of all his trauma, he drank himself into an oblivion, or worse.

But he’s here, he’s clear-headed, and he seems to have it all together.

As I watch him carefully lock up his mom’s apartment behind us, I think to myself I hardly deserve a chance with this guy.

In his car, I say, “I should probably get home and see if Mom needs help with anything.”

Stoner puts the car in gear and pulls into the street. “Yeah, you probably should.”

His voice sounds strange and I wonder what’s up.

I text my sister. How are things at the ranch?

She texts back a moment later. Prep work done. Dad wants you to stop at the liquor store and get supplies. Mom says bring home ice.

I huff out loud and text back, Can’t you get that stuff?

Yeah, but you’re already out. And I told you, the liquor store won’t sell to me.

I reply: Just get what you can. It will do you some good to get out of the house, Sam.

She texts back: You’re not my mother or my therapist.

I growl out loud and toss my phone back in my purse. “Gah,” I say, exasperated.

“What’s up?”

“I have errands to run even though all the food prep is done.”

“What’s left?” he asks.

“Just a run to the liquor store and some ice, apparently.”

Stoner laughs loudly as he takes a corner, in the opposite direction of my parents’ house.

“What?”

“Max, I own a bar. Remember? Give me a list of what you need and I’ll bring it all tomorrow,” he says.

“That’s too nice, but I’m not going to say no.”

His voice drops lower. “And anyway, you’re not running any errands right now.”

“I’m not?”

“No, you’re coming to the bar with me,” he says.

“I am, huh?”

“I wanted to take you home, but we spent so long with my mom there’s no time for that. I gotta go get set up for tonight.”

“Oh,” I say. “OK.”

I stare at Stoner’s firm jaw and his piercing eyes as he keeps his attention on the road.

“And also I’m just not ready to bring you home yet.”

I reply, “I’m not ready for you to bring me home yet.”

He flashes a grin even though he doesn’t take his eyes off the road, and it’s all I can do to keep from leaning over and feeling those luscious lips of his against mine.

He grabs my hand in his. His hand is large and rough and covers mine completely. His grip is firm but also a comfort. Just like walking together last night arm in arm, holding hands in the car feels so sweet and familiar.

“I’m starting to wonder if we were together in a previous life. This feels like our hands have known each other forever,” I say.

We’re at a red light and his gaze finally reaches me. “I think it means we should have been holding hands forever, and now our skin is making up for lost time.”

I stare at him dumbfounded. I’m about to say how that’s the strangest, loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me, but I don’t quite go there. His full lips are on mine again. I realize it’s been a couple of hours since we kissed last—in his old bedroom—and my lips are telling me they missed this.

Maybe he’s right. Our skin, our lips, our hands seem loath to waste a second more of our time together. His hand is between my inner thighs before I realize it, and he’s cupping my mound through the barrier of my jeans. It’s really fucking heating me up.

We break apart when a car behind us honks. The light has turned green and we drive on. But his right hand does not let go of me.

I know one thing. I’m not going back to California. Not without him, anyway.