Page 73 of In Your Wake

Can I forget about the Maxine I dreamed about, the one I thought I’d always be with? Can I move on from the what-ifs that continually plague my mind?

In this moment, there’s only one thing I want to do and I’m freaked out by how much I want to risk everything to make it happen. Because when Max looks up at me with her sad, round eyes, all I want is to take the pain away. I want to make her smile, to make her feel better like I used to do.

I want to give in so badly.

Forcing a long inhale into my lungs, I lean down, bringing my lips to her temple. “Go to bed, Max,” I whisper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

15

Positive Pickle

Mitch

No matter what I do, this restless need to move hasn’t left me. I’ve done so many push-ups and sit-ups that my arms and stomach are aching. I went for a long swim in the ocean. Even forced myself to jog, which only made the pain in my hip flare up. And even after a long, ice-cold shower, nothing has eased this constant pressure that barrels down on my shoulders. My skin feels stretched taut across my ribs, and no matter how much I try to catch my breath, this pressure in my chest won’t lessen.

I’m not sure why I agreed to this camping trip. I might be looking for some sort of connection to my past, trying to hold on to something that doesn’t exist anymore, or hoping to rekindle it. Who knows? Whatever the reason, it would be shitty if I bailed and went back to bed.

I drink my third glass of water, and Mom walks into the kitchen, makeup done, her hair set in a bun with two curls sticking out and framing her face. She’s such a beautiful woman, but the pain in her eyes still shows even after all this time. She deserves to be happy, not be stuck with a man who never deserved her to begin with. Someone unfaithful who broke her heart. I wish Mom realized that. Then she could have spent less time taking him back and more time finding someone who treated her right.

“Good morning, Chi-Chi,” she says, kissing the top of my head. “Have you been up long?”

“A few hours. I made some oatmeal and coffee.” I nod toward the stove.

She lifts the lid on the pot, breathes in the scent and smiles. “You’re going to make some woman very happy one day.”

“I bet,” I reply, heavy on the doubt. I’ve been happy being a bachelor for some time, and I haven’t bothered looking for the one. Hell, I’m not even sure where my next paycheck will come from, let alone if I’d make a good husband or father. But the hope in Mom’s voice fills me with a sudden desire to be more than a guy with no one to call mine.

“When are you heading out?”

I glance at my watch. “In a few minutes. Just need to pack the car.”

Mom sits down next to me at the table with her bowl of oats. “I’m so happy you are all spending time together again. It’s like the old days.” She places a hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle rub. “And I’m relieved you and Max are working things out. Camping sounds like the best way for you all to reconnect.”

I hurriedly distract myself from the memory of last night and what I think almost happened in Maxine’s apartment, shoving my dishes into the dishwasher. “Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

I hate lying to my mom. She doesn’t know about our little chat with Dad. She has no clue what it brought up for me, and I’m sure for Max. I told her things were fine between me and Maxine. That we made up, which I guess we have. But when I see how relieved she looks, and how the worry etched on her face a few days ago has vanished, it makes the lie worth it.

Only now, after a restless night, I’m starting to feel like there’s this massive gorge that’s opened up and I have to decide whether to flee from it, or leap over it. Which could explain this constant pit I have deep down inside.

“I have to go, Mom.”

“Okay. Drive safe. Text me when you get there.”

Her concern makes me smile. I hug her, kissing the top of her head. “Yes, Mommy.”

She giggles as I pull away, but then reaches out, taking my hand and stands, tucking herself between my arms. I realize this isn’t about me going camping. Dad isn’t doing great today. Still in bed, he didn’t even want to get up this morning when I went to see him.

She takes a deep inhale. “I love having you home, Chi-Chi.”

“I love being home.” Another lie, but this one I say in hopes it will eventually be true.

When I step out of the kitchen, I hear Dad hacking and hurry upstairs to his bedroom, finding him hunched over, coughing into his hand, his face so red he’s nearly purple. The sight is like a fist clenching around my heart, and I rush to his side.

“Dad?” I gently tap his back with one hand, pulling my phone out of my pocket with the other.

He waves away my concerns, leaning back into the pillows. I offer him his glass of water and help him take small sips.

“Are you okay?”