My Beloved Mae (UC,Mi/?,MATURE) {Complete} 06/16

[Midwest Max]

Title: My Beloved Mae
Author: Karen
Disclaimer: The characters of "Roswell" belong to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, WB, and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement is intended.
Pairings/Couples/Category: UC – Michael, Max and Maria
Rating: Mature
Summary: A tag to My Beloved Wife and My Beloved Max. This is Michael’s story.
Author's Note: This will be a challenge A lot of you know that I have issues with writing Michael, so I’m hoping to be able to pull this off.


Prologue

“You have a lot of underlying hostility.”

That’s what she said to me the last time I saw her. It wasn’t an accusation – it was an observation. Probably an accurate one at that. What a bizarre woman…

It’s barely daylight and I’m fumbling to put on my work boots. More patios to lay, walls to build. A bricklayer’s work is never done in a warm climate. Maybe if I moved to Chicago to be around Max and Maria, I’d get the winters off or something. Then again, getting a little vacation isn’t worth being around Mae-Ling Xen so much.

Not that I’m afraid of her. Not in the slightest. But there’s something a little spooky about the way she sees through people. Or maybe not through them, but into them. There are no secrets around her, and I’ve still got a big one to protect.

I hear a rustling noise coming from the bedroom and fall still. Shit. What was her name? Melanie? Melody? Something with an M? To me, she was nothing more than a distraction, not even worth remembering her name. What kind of shit does that make me?

I grin as she appears in the doorway, in her underwear and a tank top. I can clearly see all she has to offer and I’m no longer interested. We had our one-night stand and I don’t ever want nor need to see her again.

“You leavin’, Pookie?” she asked in an immature, pouty way.

“Gotta work,” I say, sliding on my other boot. “And you’re leaving, too.”

She looks crestfallen and still half-asleep. What? Did she seriously think I was going to leave a complete stranger in my apartment while I go to work? Trying to be alluring, she shuffles over to me and starts playing with my hair. “Don’t you want to stay home and play with me today?”

I blink. Is she for real? God, this is the part I always hate. I can’t stand it when they don’t understand that I just wanted sex. No commitment. No second date. Thank you very much.

“Well, playing doesn’t put food on the table,” I say, rising to pull on a flannel shirt. “I’ve got a patio to finish today or I’m not going to get paid.”

She stops just short of stomping her foot. “Mike, didn’t you like what we did last night?”

For starters, no one had ever called me “Mike.” I’m Michael, period. Second, while I enjoyed the break from the monotony of sitting on my couch, watching TV and eating pizza, I’ve had better sex. Much better sex. And no, just because I got any sex does not make it good.

“Sure I did,” I say partly to save her feelings, partly because I did like it – sort of.

“Then let’s do it again,” she says abruptly, dropping my zipper and shoving her hand inside of my pants.

I withdraw, leaving her with a scowl on her face. “Go get dressed,” I urge, trying to sound polite. “I need to get going.”

The scowl turns into a full-fledged frown. “Can you drop me off at my parents’ house?”

Oh, Christ on a bike. She still lives with her friggin’ parents. How old was she again? At least legal, I hope. “I don’t have time,” I tell her. “Where did you live again?” At least I could get her a cab. If I had invested every dollar I’ve spent on cabs for one-night stands, I’d be a rich man by now.

“Over on Grant,” she says, fully deflated now. She crosses her arms over her breasts but it’s too late – I’ve already seen them, felt them, tasted them. I’ve seen better boobs before, too.

“Well, that’s only a couple of blocks,” I say cheerfully.

Her mouth drops open in disbelief. “You’re going to make me walk?”

“It’s a beautiful morning!” I chirp. “What better way to get revived after last night, eh?” I cuff her arm in a totally plutonic way.

She blinks, then turns on her heels and trots for the bedroom. I watch her ass – because I can’t help myself – and have to admit that’s a pretty good feature. For a skinny white girl. A few moments pass and she reappears, fully clothed, and marches straight past me with a toss of her head. I watch in semi-amusement as she clomps down the steps and disappears onto the street.

Well, that was easy.

I shrug, grab a piece of cold pizza from the refrigerator and follow in her wake. By the time I get to my truck, she’s nowhere to be seen. Maybe she ran home…or maybe she’s hiding somewhere waiting to flatten me with a Louisville Slugger. I swivel in my seat, cheeks stuffed with pizza, and look for an impending threat. There is none.

Okay, whatever. I pull out of the parking lot and start on my way to my most recent job – laying a paver brick patio for a wealthy socialite on the west side of town. The sun is peeking over the mountains and I feel pretty good today. I got a little attention last night and managed to dispel the giver of that attention without a scene. That’s a plus.

But then I see her walking briskly, her arms wrapped around her torso. To me, she’s just another conquest. But to her, maybe she saw me as something else. I can never let myself be that to her, or to anyone else. There was only one person that I will ever have had the opportunity to be that close to. And I fucked that one up in a major way.

I think about pulling over and giving her a ride even though I refused earlier, but that would just start the endless, needless process of banishing her hope again. So I turn my face forward and drive past her, like I wasn’t just plowing it with her six hours ago.

My morning no longer seems so good. Because it’s suddenly crystal clear that somewhere along the way, I’ve become a heartless shit.

tbc

~~~~~~~~
Yeah, don't shoot me. Michael's story is going to be one of redemption.

[Midwest Max]

Part One

There’s something satisfying about getting dirty, about using your hands to create something. I feel the best here, outside, in the elements, creating a masterpiece. So to speak. Sometimes, the client knows what they want and I have to work from blueprints or ideas sketched on diner napkins. At other times, however, the client gives me creative license to do whatever I please. I’m lucky enough today to be working for the latter.

Her name is Alvita Vasquez and she’s filthy rich, the wife of a prominent Roswell land developer. In her late forties, she’s still quite an attractive woman – she has taken care of herself and still exercises on a regular basis. The only thing that might belie her age is her hair coloring; I’m guess at one time she had naturally black hair and the chemicals she’s using now don’t quite do her justice. Aside from that, I know she still turns a head or two.

It’s going to be a blistering day, I can feel it already. I’m only on the job for about a half hour before I have to shun the flannel shirt and work in my green tank instead. I guess I should worry about sun cancer, but that’s a needless concern since my best friend can work miracles with most injuries and diseases.

I haven’t spoken with Maxwell in a few weeks. That’s not unusual. Hell, we pretty much lived together unofficially for a few years after Liz died and I think sometimes we’d go days without more than a grunt in passing. Of course, he was severely depressed and mired in guilt, which would make anyone mute. There’s a little twinge in my belly when I think about that period in his life – in our lives, really. To lose Liz, and then for Max…

I don’t like thinking about it. I know that Max thought I never cared for Liz, but that’s not really true. I liked Liz okay. She was one of us. When she died, I hurt just as much as the next guy. But when Max tried to killed himself, I felt grief like I never thought possible.

At the time, Maria and I were still sometimes together. I will never, ever forget the sound of her voice as she called me to tell me what she’d found in Max’s bathroom – my best friend in a puddle of his own blood, his injuries self-inflicted. She’d been so hysterical she’d hardly made any sense and I had to be a little gruff with her to get her to hang up and call 911. I know she always thought I was a little gruff with her, but that time I really was. By the time I got to the hospital, she’d sought out refuge in the ladies’ room, puking up everything she had inside of her. In that moment, I hated Max more than he could ever imagine.

It’s always easier to look at things and analyze them rationally from the outside. I didn’t know that Liz’s death was his fault. I didn’t know that he couldn’t live with it. I didn’t know that he’d spend five years blaming Isabel for his survival without knowing it was Maria who had saved him. But I guess the thing that I didn’t know and which haunted me the worst was this – I saw Max Evans as someone who had every reason in the world to live. And he didn’t want to. That, I didn’t get.

But then I watched him struggle to overcome his demons, a good deal of the time being only a shell of the guy I grew up with. Sometimes I’d look at him and his eyes would be completely vacant, like his soul had drifted off to some unknown place in search of solace. It was haunting and devastating to see. And in those years, I came to realize that even though Max was destined to be king, that he was reincarnated from that royal stock, he’s really vulnerable beneath. My friend, the person who was always rock-solid in any situation, is breakable.

That was humbling.

These are the things I think of while I work. Sometimes I don’t want to think about them and they put me into a bad mood, but at other times it’s therapy. Sometimes I can turn things off entirely and just concentrate on what I’m building. I could never work inside like Max and Maria do. I’d feel penned up, caged like a wild animal. But, I won’t fault them for their professions – they have a mortgage and two kids to take care of.

Who would have even dreamed that one? Max and Maria, wed and parents. I shake my head and give a snort. I have to admit that I was surprised when I found out that they were involved. I found out in a rather rude way, at that – another car accident, over a bridge in Chicago. I can see what guys would see in Maria because I saw the same things. But I didn’t really see Max seeing those things in her. He’s so freaking serious all the time and she…is not. Two minutes with them, however, would convince the most hardened skeptic that they care very deeply for one another. Seeing either of them as parents is another story all together.

“Good morning, Mr. Guerin.”

I can’t help the smile that comes to my lips as I raise my head and find Alvita standing at the sliding glass doors, below which I am constructing her patio. Her voice is smooth and husky all at the same time. She’s wearing a hot pink halter top and holding a glass of lemonade against her neck; a thin line of condensation runs from the side of the glass, drips onto her tanned chest and slides down between her breasts.

“Good morning, Mrs. Vasquez,” I say politely, a knowing smirk on my face.

“It’s hot today,” she says, her dark eyes skimming over my bare arms.

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

“You don’t need that shirt, do you?” If there was a picture in the dictionary for the word “coy”, it would look a lot like Alvita.

“Nah,” I say, standing up on my knees. I reach for the bottom of the tank and pull it off slowly. Alvita likes to have things revealed a bit at a time. To add to the show, I wad the shirt into a ball and wipe the sweat from my chest and abdomen with it, then toss it to the side.

Alvita is motionless, her eyes fixed on my torso. Then she straightens and hands me the glass of lemonade.

“Thanks so much,” I say, then tip up the glass and drink the whole thing at one shot. Of course, my brain freezes and I want to scream, but I grin as I hand the empty glass back to her.

Her dark eyes rake across me one more time, then she meets my eyes. “I’m making lunch today,” she says.

“Sounds good,” I agree. “Gotta keep working.”

“You do that.” The doors slide shut in her wake, but I know she’s watching me. Alvita likes to watch. I would have had this patio done two weeks ago if we didn’t play these games.

With a momentary reprieve, I go back to leveling out masonry sand, preparing to lay the pavers. I think this particular patio is going to be special. I’ve put a lot of hard work into it, despite the daily distractions.

Out of nowhere, I think about Mae-Ling. It startles me so much that I stop what I’m doing to clear my head for a moment. I don’t know where that thought came from; I just had an image of her from the last time we were together. She was sitting on her bed, nude, folding small scraps of paper into different shapes – ducks, swans, lanterns. This was shortly after she’d told me I had a lot of underlying hostility. I’ve always wondered if she was upset by that and if folding paper birds was her way of reverting to childhood in order to not deal. I frown a little thinking about that.

To take my mind off it, I think about her nude instead. I can’t help myself – she may be slightly creepy, but she’s beautiful naked. She’s so lean, so long, so fit, so incredibly pretty. Her breasts are small – even smaller than Maria’s are – but they’re just perfect. I loved when she would lie on her back and her ribs would be really pronounced by the shift of her skin. I could trace my finger down her body, counting her ribs. Lying flat, her breasts would also flatten to the point where they barely existed. And that was beautiful.

Huh. I think I miss her.

Something deep within my jeans knows I miss her. Damn, I hate when that happens. How am I supposed to concentrate on my work now?

“Mr. Guerin, it’s time for lunch,” comes Alvita’s husky tones from the doors.

I grin. That’s how I’m going to concentrate on my work now. I get to my feet without appearing too anxious, dust off my knees and approach the doors. Here comes the game we always play.

“I’m dirty, Mrs. Vasquez. I shouldn’t come into your house,” I say apologetically.

“It’s okay, I assure you,” she says with a knowing smile. “Please come inside.”

I kick as much dirt from my boots as I can, then step into the nicely air-conditioned home. Immediately, I can smell my own body odor – manual labor in a desert climate will kick the sweat glands into overdrive. On the table is a plate with a sandwich on it and another glass of lemonade. It’s all for show, this much I understand. Especially if the hubby should come home unexpectedly.

“You have a choice to make,” Alvita says. “You can have corned beef on rye.” She looks down at my pants and raises an eyebrow of approval – if only she knew that boner was Mae-induced. “Or you can have something a little sweeter.”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Vasquez,” I say, playing the game. “I’ve got a lot of work to get done.”

“Am I not paying you?” she asks, sidling up to me and making a little swirly motion on my arm with her forefinger.

“You are.”

“That makes me your boss,” she explains, leaning a little closer. “And I’ve decided it’s time for lunch. So…what will it be?”

The one great thing about Alvita is that she’s been around the block once or twice. The second great thing about her is that she is more than willing to show you what she’s seen while traveling that block. It makes picking between her and a sandwich pretty darn easy.

“But Mrs. Vasquez, I need a shower,” I protest playfully.

She closes her eyes slowly, drawing in my scent. “No you don’t.”

I hold up my hands. “I should at least wash these, don’t you think?”

“Nope.”

“But they’re dirty.”

“Put them on me,” she says, grinding against my thigh. “Put your dirty hands on me, Mr. Guerin!”

It’s like a cheesy soap opera, really. But it’s fun and it’s sex and Alvita wants nothing more from me. In her room, I leave dirty stains all over her fresh linens and for some absurd reason, I wonder if she just pitches them and gets new ones or if she makes the poor maid try to remove them. This isn’t the first set of sheets we’ve ruined.

“I have a friend,” she announces as she bobs above me, her dark hair wild in the afternoon light.

A friend. I scowl – I don’t want a threesome, thankyouverymuch.

“Not for us,” she says, never breaking her rhythm. “She needs a garden path built.”

“Oh,” I grunt.

“I told her –“ She gasps, a sure sign she’s close. “I told her you’re very good. Oh! Very good!”

I watch her face as she orgasms and I think that she’s rather beautiful in her own right. There is nothing more beautiful than a woman reaching climax. Maria was the first person I saw do it and I remember being surprised at how she was transformed from girl to woman in those few seconds.

Alvita’s not selfish. Even though she’s done, she continues until I am, too. The bad news is that I’m having a hard time getting to that point. I don’t know what my problem is because I’ve never run into this before. Was it all of those thoughts about Mae?

That does it. Before I can stop myself, I’m going over the edge, seeing stars, screaming like someone stabbed me.

“Excellent, Mr. Guerin,” Alvita coos, laying a whisper of a kiss on my lips and dismounting.

Just like that, she’s getting dressed. Unlike that chick that was in my apartment this morning, Alvita never needs to be cuddled afterward. She understands that what we do has nothing whatsoever to do with love or romance or even affection. She gets that.

Mae got that, too.

Damn it! Why do I keep thinking about her?!

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Don't tell anyone, but I played hooky today

Part Two

“Michael, you’re becoming a man-whore.”

Isabel plops the remainder of her tuna sandwich onto its wrapper in disgust. My cheeks are full, so I can’t even retort. Bitterly, she wipes her hands on a paper napkin and it occurs to me how out-of-place she looks at this shabby little deli.

“What?” I finally say around a mouthful of pastrami.

Crossing her arms on the table, she gives me the Isabel glare – lesser men would be reduced to charred remains of bone by now, but I’m lucky enough to have built up immunity.

“Do you have any discretion at all?” she accuses.

In the many years I’ve known Isabel, I’ve discovered that the most effective method of communication is to answer her questions with questions. It frustrates the hell out of her and eventually she gives up.

“Why do you care?” I ask after taking a noisy sip of my drink.

“Because, Michael, there are diseases out there.” She glances over her shoulder to see how close the nearest patron is and drops her voice. “Diseases that not even Max can cure.”

I shrug and give her a look of incredulity. “Do you really think I’m not careful?”

“One hundred percent of the time?” she counters.

I try to remember if I’ve ever slipped up and I can’t say that I have. “Yeah, I think so. But back to my original question – why do you care?”

She frowns, her dark eyes clouding over. Tropical Storm Isabel is now visible on the horizon.

“Not jealous, are you?” I ask with a smirk.

Of course, the question is just to light the fire under the powder keg. Isabel is probably one of the few women I haven’t considered bedding. Well, that’s a lie because I have considered it – and then I came to the conclusion that I probably couldn’t do it. She’s my Izzy, more sister than anything else and to romp with her would just feel wrong. But that doesn’t stop me from teasing her just so I can see her ire rise.

“No, Michael, I am not jealous,” she says, her words so even that I know she’s holding down her temper. Then she sighs and rolls her head to the side. “I just worry about you, ya know?”

“Why?” I ask, biting into the sandwich again. All of these years and I’ve yet to convince her that I don’t need to be worried about.

Her expression softens and I see something resembling defeat and sadness in her eyes. She doesn’t answer me, however, as her gaze turns to her lap, where I know she’s picking at her fingernails. She always does that when she’s on the spot.

“Waiting for an answer,” I say.

Isabel draws in a breath, looks away for a moment, then snatches up her purse. “You know what? I’m late – I was supposed to meet Mom fifteen minutes ago.” And with that, she’s on her feet and out the door before I can stop her.

I look down at my lunch, only half-eaten, and immediately regret its passing. Son of a bitch. Groaning, I stuff one last bite into my mouth, then follow in her footsteps. Outside, the sun is blinding and I have to shield my eyes with my hand to check both directions to find out which way she went. She’s really moving and I have to jog to catch up with her. When I finally do, she’s already climbing behind the wheel of her bright red convertible.

“Iz, wait,” I call.

She looks up, her eyes now hidden behind her sunglasses.

“Hang on,” I say, bracing my hands against the driver’s door. “Don’t go away like this.”

“Like what?” she says, her tone bitter.

“Mad.”

“You put me there, Michael. There’s no talking to you anymore. I don’t know why I bother.”

I feel a pang of guilt at having been so flippant with her in the deli. I know she cares, I know she means well, but I don’t want her to care so much about me. She hasn’t figured that out yet.

“I’m sorry, okay?” I say.

“Whatever,” she sighs, reaching down to put the car into reverse.

“No, I really am sorry,” I say sincerely.

“If you were really sorry, Michael, then this wouldn’t happen every time I try to have a serious conversation with you. Your behavior never changes.”

I straighten, removing my hands from the car door. She has spoken the blunt truth and I really don’t have a reply. I think she’s going to throw that car into gear and screech onto the street, but after a few strained moments, she lets out another sigh and slaps the steering wheel.

“Do you need a ride?” she asks without looking at me. The fight is gone from her tone.

I nod silently, then round the car and get into the passenger side. Equally as silent, she backs out of the parking spot and the car glides easily through the hot streets of Roswell. We ride without speaking for a long time, heading toward the community center where she and her mother are organizing some benefit. I’ve always admired that about Isabel – she wants to help everyone and gets frustrated when they won’t accept her help. Just like me.

“Look, I love you, Michael,” she finally says, her tone matter-of-fact. “I know I shouldn’t care about your sex life or love life or whatever it is. I know it’s none of my business. But I see you on this collision course with disaster and I can’t help but say something about it.”

“What disaster?”

“Damn it, Michael! Why do you always have to answer a question with a question?”

Inside, I get a perverse sense of joy that she’s irritated by that. Outwardly, I look penitent. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just asking for clarification.”

She glances at me, her lips a thin line.

“Honestly,” I say.

“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” she mumbles rhetorically. “One of these days, you’re going to fuck the wrong person, Michael.” She holds up a hand to cut me off before I can ask what she means. “Someone’s wife, someone’s daughter, someone underage, someone with a disease of some kind. You’re reckless. And I don’t…” Her words drift off and she draws in another long breath. “And I love you too much to see bad things happen to you.”

I stare at her in surprise. That was quite an outburst.

“And don’t think your superpowers are always going to get you out of the messes you get yourself into,” she adds, some of the anger gone from her tone.

I’m about to argue back, but then I see her left hand sneak under her shades and make a sweeping motion. She’s in tears. If there’s one thing I’ve never been able to tolerate, it’s Isabel crying. I turn into a pile of sympathetic mush. Crap – why did she have to play that card?

But maybe for Isabel, it’s not a card – it’s really how she feels.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, really meaning it this time.

She nods in acquiescence, but I doubt she believes me.

I don’t like being yelled at. I don’t like being yelled at by the Ice Princess. But I like being reduced to a heel even less. I feel like crap now, like I need to give her my kidney or something in order to make it up to her. Opening the glove box, I find a packet of tissues and hand her one. She accepts it with a nod of thanks, dabs her reddening nose with it. God, she breaks my heart. The bitch.

“Listen, I know you worry,” I tell her, laying my hand on top of hers. “But please don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy now, Iz. I can take care of myself. I’m not as out of control as you think I am.”

She glances at me and I wish to God I could see her eyes.

Playfully, I cuff her on the chin with my fist. “And you know I love you, too, right? Right?”

She cracks a smile and all is right again in the world – no need to offer up a vital organ as penance.

I pick up her hand and kiss the back of it. She smells tropical, like pineapple and coconuts. I really do love Isabel, but in a totally different way than other women in my life. She’s special. She always will be.

Isabel pulls the convertible to a stop outside of the community center – my apartment is walking distance from here. As she removes her sunglasses, I can see the pink after-effects of her tears and my heart lurches again. I was wrong – put the shades back on.

“Just be careful,” she says, taking my chin in her hand. “Please, Michael?”

I nod, but I know my ways won’t change. I will continue to do what I’ve been doing – in fact, I have a date with a girl from the carryout later tonight – but I will just be more careful about what information I share with Isabel.

She gives me a quick kiss on the lips, then climbs out of the car, all blond hair and long legs. She disappears into the center, but I sit for awhile in the car, thinking about her concerns.

But, in truth, I don’t want to give them any merit. I don’t want to change.

*****

Her name is Tiffany. When she shows up at my door, I realize that she looks young. Really young. I ask how old she is – she says she’s twenty. Since I don’t believe her, I ask to see her license. That will put a damper on a date really quickly. Of course, she refuses to show me her license, so that means one of three things – she doesn’t have a license, she’s not really twenty, or she’s not even old enough to drive.

Tiffany is dispatched without further ado.

So, I’m home alone without a date in my boring undecorated apartment. I count nail holes in the wall. I channel flip. I slowly go insane…

The phone ringing in my salvation. It’s Maxwell, all smiles and happily-married man that he is.

“Hey man,” he says all the way from Chicago.

“Dude,” I reply. Guy talk.

“What’s going on?”

“I have twenty three holes in my wall,” I tell him. “And there’s shit on TV tonight.”

He laughs and I recall those years when he couldn’t laugh. It sounds good. “That bored, huh?”

“Horribly.”

“Well, I’ve got something that might break the monotony,” he announces.

“Yeah? What’s that?” My curiosity is piqued.

“Maria and I are going to have a joint birthday party for the kids in a couple of weeks. Last year, Maria was pregnant with Brandon, so Allie didn’t really get a proper first birthday party. We thought we’d combine her second and Brandon’s first and do it up right. We want you to come, what do you say? Can you get away?”

Hell, no I can’t get away. Summer is my busiest time of year. Mrs. Vasquez is going to be expecting to have her patio finished some time before Christmas and at the rate we’re dealing with “distractions”, it’s never going to happen.

But, even though I’m busy and have a lot of responsibility right now, my mind involuntarily drifts to a certain Asian fashion buyer, folding paper birds on her bed in Chicago.

“Sure,” I tell Max. “I can make it.”

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Three

Alvita Vasquez is puzzled by my sudden dedication to work and my refusal to share “lunch” with her. By day number three, she’s upset with me – I can tell. There are no offers of lemonade, no coy visits to the sliding glass doors. I keep up a steady pace, laying more bricks in three days than I did in all of three weeks, only looking up occasionally to see her passing by a window and giving me the ugly eye.

It’s just sex, Alvita. You knew that. I knew that.

And now I have another agenda. Out with the old, so to speak. At any rate, I finish the job up by the end of the week and she stiffly writes me the final payment for her new patio. It looks awesome, some of the best work I’ve ever done. I take the check from her with a grin and ask for her friend’s phone number, the one who wanted the garden path – and she refuses to give it to me. Payback for not doinking her all week. I simply continue to smile like that fact doesn’t piss me off and stuff the check in my back pocket. Then I stop at the bank and cash it immediately before she has the chance to stop payment on it. Who knew that Alvita could be so vindictive?

I give a shrug as I deposit all but five hundred dollars of the payment into my bank account. I may never see her again, and that would be both a pity and okay. I did like her, she was a nice lady, but in the grander scheme of things, we meant nothing to one another. Although I do think I may have hurt her feelings. Unintentionally.

After a quick shower, I drive over to the community center to fetch Isabel. I find her sitting with an elderly woman at a buffet table in the empty hall, which is decorated for the upcoming fundraiser. The woman is sniffling softly and Isabel is holding her hand, her expression one of sympathy and concern. In that moment, it hurts to think that Isabel is so without someone to care for all of the time. She has so much to give and no one to give it to.

“Hey, Iz,” I say as I approach them.

She looks up, her eyes mournful, then she smiles at me and the room lights up. “Hey, Michael.” She glances at the woman, who is dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “This is Mrs. Roberts.”

“Hello,” I say, trying to be chipper despite the woman’s disposition.

She nods in my direction.

“Let me get a ride for you,” Isabel offers the woman, who protests weakly. “No, I insist. Hang on just a moment.” She looks up at me semi-apologetically. “I’ll be right back, Michael.”

I wait patiently while she jogs to the kitchen, then comes back with one of the volunteers.

“Mrs. Roberts, Tony is going to give you a ride, okay?” Isabel says gently.

“It’s really not necessary,” the woman says.

“No, but why stand out in the heat and wait for the bus when this nice man wants to give you a lift?” Isabel winks conspiratorially – woman to woman regardless of the age – as she helps Mrs. Roberts to her feet. “He’ll take good care of you.”

We watch silently as Tony helps the woman out the door and into the blistering New Mexico heat.

“Did I come at a bad time?” I ask as the door closes behind them.

Isabel shakes her head. “No, everything’s okay. Her dog died.”

Uh…huh? I raise my eyebrows in question. She was that upset about a dog?

Isabel shakes her head in mild reproach and bends to straighten the table cloth they’d mussed. “Be a little compassionate, Michael. She’s ninety two years old, her husband died twenty years ago – that dog was all she had.”

A feel a pang of guilt and hang my head in shame. Genuine this time.

“What brings you here?” she asks, reprimand abated for the time being.

“I wanted to see if you wanted to go shopping,” I offer.

“Shopping? You?” She laughs. “For what?”

“Birthday presents. For Allie and Brandon.”

One corner of her mouth lifts slightly. I think she somehow finds it amusing that I like being around Max’s kids. I know I’ll never have any of my own, so why shouldn’t I enjoy his?

“What?” I ask, mocking offense.

“Nothing,” she says, still grinning. “Let me get my purse.”

Isabel wants to look at little girl toys – Barbies and play cosmetics and baby dolls. I suppose I have to buy something like that, too, but I’m more interested in the little boy toys. I tolerate about ten minutes of her holding up this and that and squealing, “I had one of these!” or “I wish I’d had one of these!” before I abandon her for the more masculine aisle.

I salivate immediately.

In my head, I do a lot of “I wish I had one of these!” and not so much “I had one of these” as Hank was rather stingy in the toy department. Hell, I was lucky if I got two or three meals out of him a day. So, the experience of reliving a youth I never had is rather overwhelming – remote controlled cars, helicopters, model car kits, Matchbox cars, Hot Wheels, rollerblades, BB guns, sling shots, Creepy Crawler kits!

Isabel is looking at me like I’m a moron.

In her arms, a baby doll and some stupid Fisher-Price thing.

“What are you doing?” she asks warily.

“Playing with this remote controlled motorcycle,” I say, as though the answer should be obvious.

Her dark eyes shift to the bike, back to me, then to the group of eight year olds examining the same display. “Who is that for?” she asks.

“My nephew.” Duh!

She blinks a couple of times, then clears her throat and adjusts the toys in her arms. “Michael, Brandon is going to be one.”

“Yeah?”

She looks at the bike again. “He doesn’t really have the eye-hand coordination for that toy yet.”

I look at it dejectedly. Is that true? I’ve never really been around too many babies. Maybe he wouldn’t really appreciate it. “Well…what do I get him then?” My eyes fall on the Fisher-Price thing and I feel disappointment coursing through my veins.

“Come with me,” Isabel says. The bitch is trying not to laugh at me. That might be more insulting than if she’d just come out and do so.

Ugh. These are the toys for babies? I look at the selection and frown. Everything is clumsy and study and plastic. And bright – let’s not forget bright. There’s a stick thing that has donuts of different sizes and colors stacked on it. Hey, that looks like fun…

I sigh in defeat. Isabel chuckles and I glance at her sideways.

“This stuff sucks, Iz,” I complain.

“To you maybe, but not to a baby.” She’s grinning widely as she reaches out and picks up the donut thing. “How about this?”

I shake my head. Not that thing. I scan the shelves, eventually make it to the tub toys. I pick up a little boat that has three oversized men in it, their grins eerily cheerful. “This?” I ask.

Isabel tips her head to the side and nods. “Tub toys are good. And they’re big enough that he won’t choke on them.”

Great. He could have a really cool motorcycle, instead he’s getting Three Men in a Tub. I frown and stick it under my arm. “Alright. Where did you get that?” I point at the baby doll.

The next aisle over is full of foofy stuff. Girly stuff. Everything pink and lavender and sunny. It’s nauseating, really. I literally feel queasy – so much happiness I could spew. I look at stuff for a long time, and finally give up.

“Help me,” I say in desperation.

Another snicker from my partner. “You would be such a hero,” she says as she reaches out and picks up a box, “if you got her this.”

I take the box and look at it skeptically. Birthday Surprise Barbie. She’s wearing a pink fluffy dress and there’s a little tiara made of silver-painted plastic on top of her head. Inside the box are also a miniature plastic cake and some plastic balloons. I lift one corner of my mouth and look at Iz from beneath my eyelashes.

“Are you serious?”

She nods. “You’ll be her hero. I assure you.”

God. This trip didn’t turn out to be half the fun I thought it would. We go to the register and I feel somewhat deflated. While we wait in line, I spy the Play Stations and Nintendo Game Cubes behind the counter. Now there’s a cool gift – any one who got me one of those would definitely be my hero.

“Iz, could we get them –“

“No.”

The wench has learned to read my mind.

A week later, we’re onboard Continental flight 520 bound for Chicago. I don’t really mind flying. It’s just kind of boring. Isabel is traveling with me – her parents will be coming tomorrow as her dad had a case he couldn’t leave until then. Mrs. Deluca won’t be coming this time – she doesn’t like to fly and refused to let any of us drive her.

In the seat next to me, Isabel pulls out a magazine and starts reading an article on something I couldn’t care less about. In fact, I couldn’t care less about reading, so I brought no form of entertainment with me. Hmm, while I was at the toy store, I should have indulged myself in one of those PSP’s.

“And what would you like to drink?”

The voice is so soft and so friendly that it immediately takes me off guard. I look to the aisle and find one of the prettiest women I’ve ever seen in my life. She has a thick, full mane of auburn hair, her skin fair and unblemished.

“Just a ginger ale for me,” Isabel says, moving her magazine to make room on her tray table.

“And you?” the flight attendant asks me.

I want to ask her if this is a “full service” flight, if maybe I can expect something a little more than drinks later. I want to ask her if she’s ever done the nasty at thirty thousand feet. I want to ask her if she’s a resident of Chicago and if she’d like to go out after we land. I let my eyes skim down her uniform and I see that she has round, generous breasts, just the kind I like. Then I realize that they remind me of someone else’s…Isabel’s.

The thought makes me shudder a bit and I glance to see my travel companion looking at me with more than a little pleading in her expression. She knows what I was thinking – well, at least she knows I was thinking about bagging the flight attendant, not necessarily that they have the same boobs.

“Just water,” I say with a plutonic smile.

Isabel practically gasps in relief.

The flight attendant sets the water and a packet of peanuts on my tray and then moves to the next aisle. Isabel picks up her magazine and says softly, “Thank you” without looking at me.

In reassurance, I put my arm around her shoulders and give her a little squeeze. I don’t think she realizes that I didn’t stand a chance with that sky waitress – I’ve found that most women will run for the hills when they see Isabel with me. She’s too much competition, as simple as that. I think they don’t believe I could ever be interested in them when I’ve got her on my arm.

But Isabel’s not on my arm. She’s not on anybody’s arm and that makes me sad. I don’t know what happened with Stephan the pharmacist – she refuses to talk about it – but I know that whatever it was was serious enough that she hasn’t had a date since. I feel a rush of protectiveness at the thought that she was so badly wounded and I gently push her head down to my shoulder.

She laughs lightly. “What are you doing? I can’t see my magazine now.”

I turn my head and kiss her on the top of the head. “Just letting you know I love you,” I murmur, curious if my words can even be heard over the roar of the jet engines.

But apparently they were heard as she closes her magazine and snuggles in next to me. “Love you too, Michael,” she says.

We stay like that for a long time, silent, lost in our individual thoughts. I think about Iz being alone and wish that she could find someone to make her happy. She’s fragile, too, just like her brother. To the world, they both put up a good front, but I know beneath the surface they’re both breakable.

And I pride myself on being the only one who isn’t.

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Four

Brandon Evans looks like a monkey.

I come to this realization as I watch him chewing on my knee, my jeans darkening with a wide ellipse of drool. I turn my head sideways, wondering how denim tastes – can’t be that bad with the way he’s gnawing away down there. He’s got jet black hair that stands up straight and his ears were obviously inherited. Add to that the staggering, wobbling, not-meant-to-walk-on-two-feet way he stumbled over here, and the Evanses have an honest-to-God primate on their hands. Maybe the hair is intentional – it kind of looks like mine did when I was in high school. As a test, I reach out and push it down, feel no product on my fingers; it bounces back up as soon as I remove my hand. Nope – it’s natural.

“Oo oo, ah ah,” I say to him, doing my best Cheetah.

He stops gumming me, blinks, then laughs.

Another baby – this one stark naked – scoots past the living room door squealing and waving a towel happily. On her heels, Max, his shirt soaked.

“Brandon, Uncle Michael doesn’t want your spit all over him,” Maria sighs, handing me a soda and reaching to retrieve her youngest child. She plops him on her hip and he hangs there…like a monkey. “Look at your pants,” she says to me, apologetically.

I look at my knee, all slobbered up. “Not a big deal,” I say, giving her a smile. It’s odd to be in Maria’s house, watching her hold someone else’s baby. Not that I ever expected her to be holding mine, it’s just sort of surreal at the moment.

“Do you have a change?” she asks, still apologizing. “I could throw those in the wash if you want.”

I shake my head. “Maria, don’t worry about it, okay?” I sip my soda and cross my legs, trying to make the spot less visible so she’ll quit obsessing over it.

“I’ve got you now!” Max declares from the kitchen. Shortly, a sob, then a wail ensues.

Maria clears her throat and pushes a hair behind her ear. “Sorry – we’re loud these days.” Her hair is longer than it was the last time I saw her. She’s thinner too. She looks good and it fills me with a million regrets.

“Like I said, it’s not a big deal,” I reply, waving her off with a hand. In truth, my head is splitting. The only screams I’m used to are the ones that come from my own bedroom from time to time.

Maria sits on the opposite side of the room and puts Brandon in her lap. He tugs on his ear, frets a little. “He has an ear infection,” she explains, kissing the side of his head.

I frown in empathy. It couldn’t get more uncomfortable in here if we tried. I’m glad Isabel and I decided to get hotel rooms – at least there’s a reprieve from the noise and awkwardness.

“That’s Daddy’s good girl,” I hear Max a few rooms over. “You’re such a big girl. Yes, you are. In fact, you’re Daddy’s favorite girl.” His words are followed by a little girl’s giggle.

Maria smiles warmly. “Max is good with the kids,” she says.

“So are you,” I add, pointing to her son, who is sitting in her lap quietly fascinated by his own toes.

She blushes lightly. “Thanks, Michael.” She almost sounds like she doesn’t believe it. I know that motherhood was unexpected for her and that she struggled with it for a long time, but she seems so much healthier than she did the last time I saw her. It makes me feel good.

“Here she is,” Max says as he enters the living room, his two-year-old on his hip. He’s a little breathless and still wet – I think Allie will one day get the best of him. “Say hi to Uncle Michael.”

Of course, that makes her shy and she buries her head against his shoulder. While Brandon is a monkey baby, Allie is absolutely beautiful. She has Maria’s green eyes and light hair. Her frame is slight – she’s going to be petite like her mother. She’s wearing a little pink nightie.

Max cranes his neck to look at her, then gives me an apologetic shrug. “She’s shy sometimes,” he says, plopping down beside me on the couch. Allie leans out slightly, sees me looking at her, then tucks her head back in like a turtle. “Give her some time – she’ll come around. What happened to your jeans?”

I point at the knee-licker in Maria’s lap.

Max laughs. “Well, wait until he gets a cold – he likes to wipe his nose on anything that passes him.”

“Including my skirts,” Maria says in disgust. “Nothing like going to work with snot on your clothes.”

My eyebrows lift slightly. “You’re working again?” I didn’t know this. Then again, it’s not like Maria and I are on a need-to-know basis about anything.

“Part time,” she says, shifting Brandon over her shoulder. “Just a couple days a week.”

Max smiles at her, a smile full of knowledge I will never have.

“That’s great,” I say, not really sure how to feel about the fact that she can juggle work and motherhood or the fact that Max knows her more intimately than I do.

“I need something,” she says. “Something of my own. Besides, I missed the girls at the office.” She laughs lightly. “I missed Mae.”

At the sound of her name, I feel a little jolt in my stomach. God, I hate when that happens.

“How can you possibly miss Mae?” Max asks, smoothing out Allie’s nightgown. Her eyes have started to drift shut – bedtime looms. “She’s here half the time.”

Maria snorts a laugh. “That’s true.”

I want to fish for information. But I don’t want to look like I’m fishing for information. “Is that bad?”

Max shakes his head. “Nah. We love Mae. I mean – it’s hard not to.”

“She’ll be here in a little bit,” Maria says, checking on the sleepy baby on her shoulder.

Um…what? Mae is coming over? Tonight? Why didn’t anyone tell me this? And now I’ve got drool on my leg, dammit! I can’t see Mae with baby drool on my pants!

“You okay?” Max is looking at me quizzically.

“Yep,” I say confidently. “Just wondering where Iz went.” Smooth.

“She left her camera at the hotel,” he says. “She’ll be back in a few.” Allie’s eyes fall completely shut and shortly thereafter, her tiny lips part in slumber. Max grins down at her, then shifts her tiny body so that she’s lying against his chest. “This is the best,” he says to me, so much pride in his eyes that I’m immediately jealous – not that I want to be in his position, mind you.

“She’s a doll,” I say, giving my best friend a grin.

“Max,” Maria sighs from the other side of the room. There is a slight reprimand in her tone. I glance between them, waiting for an explanation. “Papa here likes to hold her while she sleeps – he’s done it since she was a baby. Then when he goes out of town on business, she expects me to hold her while she sleeps.”

I blink. What’s the problem?

In answer to my unasked question, Maria jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “I can’t hold both of them at once.”

Wait – Max goes out of town on business? Man, am I behind the ball with these two.

Gently defiant of his wife, Max tightens his grip on his daughter and kisses the top of her head. “I don’t get to do this as much as I used to. Let me enjoy it.”

Maria rolls her eyes and lets the subject lie.

I watch Allie sleeping soundlessly, her little body rising and falling as Max breathes. She looks so content with the world, so at peace.

“Why do you travel?” I ask him, trying to keep my voice down so I don’t disturb her.

“Just work stuff,” he says vaguely.

I look at Maria and she grins. “Max is bashful about it,” she says, a Cheshire cat grin on her face.

“Maria,” he says in gentle warning.

“I don’t know why you want to keep it a secret,” she accuses from the other side of the room. She shifts her gaze from Max to me. “Max is moving up in the law firm he works for. As a matter of fact –” she glances at him, perhaps waiting for a reprimand that never comes – “he’s sitting for the bar next month.”

I look quickly at Max, who is humbly looking at the carpet. “Really, man?”

He nods mutely.

“Wow, that’s so cool.” Following in his daddy’s footsteps…while I lay bricks and any chick that comes along. I have never felt more inadequate in my life.

But Max deserves everything that comes his way. He had finished school before Liz died and totally gave up on his career afterward. Sometime in the last two years, he’s picked up the pieces of that broken life and made something of himself. I will begrudge him nothing.

But that doesn’t make me feel any less crappy.

Before Max can deliver his speech of humility, the front door opens and closes and I assume that Isabel has returned with her camera. When I look that way, however, I don’t find Isabel – I find Mae-Ling Xen.

She’s cut her hair to chin-length and it gives her a sleek, runway-model appearance. Her skin is still flawless, her body lean and beautiful. She’s wearing a pair of jean cut-offs and a red halter top.

My pulse has quickened and I absolutely hate that. I can’t even form words.

“Hey, Mae,” Maria says, not even bothering to get up to greet her guest. Then again, if someone is at your house all the time, are they really a “guest”?

“Hey, sweetie,” she says, bending to kiss Maria on the cheek. She brushes Brandon’s hair with her hand on the way back up. “Max, you sexy dog,” she addresses my friend.

“Mae-Ling,” he says, as though he totally didn’t hear her editorial.

“Hello, Michael,” she says, her eyes fixed on mine.

I clear my throat. “Hi, Mae. You look, um, great.”

She smiles, genuinely, and cocks her head to the side. She always looks like that when the cosmos has just spoken to her. I expect her to take a seat, but she doesn’t. Instead, she steps out of the way and reveals her guest – a shorter Asian girl, stunning in her own right.

“This is Kim,” she says. “Kim, that’s Michael Guerin.”

Ah, Kim. Must be a relative – perhaps visiting from the homeland? “Hello, Kim,” I say. I wonder if she speaks English.

“It’s nice to meet you, Michael,” Kim says, speaking flawless, Midwestern English. Okay, not from the homeland then.

“Michael’s a friend of mine from New Mexico,” Max says, making a circular motion on Allie’s back with his hand.

Kim smiles politely, then looks expectantly at Mae. Weird.

“Are you a relative of Mae’s?” I ask just to break the silence.

Kim giggles. “You could say that.”

Mae smiles at the tiny woman and I get the first real feeling that something is amiss here. You don’t look like that at your friends or your family.

Then Mae turns her gaze to me, her dark eyes steady. The words that come out of her mouth stun me to the bone. “Kim is my girlfriend.”

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Five

Mae is a lesbian.

I stare at the carpet of my hotel room and roll the thought around in my head. My Mae, my naughty, naughty Mae…is swinging a bat for the other team.

Every horrible nickname for gay women runs through my head and I cringe at the sounds of some of them. At one time, they may have been funny, but now they apply to Mae and I can’t stand any of them. They’re mean-spirited and bigoted and right down filthy. And Mae is only filthy in the good way.

Christ, how did this happen? Did I do this to her? Was I her last male lover and I turned her gay? Is that possible? I feel a rush of panic – maybe I was so bad at being a lover that she ran screaming to the other side of the pool. From here, my mind runs rampant, remembering every time that sex wasn’t so good – come on, no one can be perfect all the time – and wonder if I was always bad. Maybe my good days were bad. Maybe I’m too stupid to realize it.

Shit, what if I’m a terrible lay?

Isabel is looking at me sympathetically. She hasn’t said a word about Mae’s switch and neither have I. She, of course, handled herself like an adult in the aftermath of that big announcement. Me, I sat on the couch like someone had just slapped me hard.

“Kim seems nice,” Iz ventures.

I scowl. Nice in a gay kind of way.

“She does.”

“Whatever, Isabel.”

“Michael, you didn’t even talk to her.” My sister’s words aren’t harsh, just bluntly honest.

“I didn’t want to talk to her.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s been –” The words that were going to come out of my mouth were going to be extremely vulgar, so I stop them in my throat. Isabel cocks her head as she fills in the blanks.

“Just because she’s dating Mae doesn’t make her a bad person, Michael,” she says.

How does she know? Maybe this little Kim chick was a bad influence on my Mae. Maybe she corrupted her and turned her gay or something.

“Stop scowling.”

I meet Isabel’s gaze again. Was I scowling? Probably. Who wouldn’t if they were thinking of their ex-lover doing the nasty with someone of the same sex?

Isabel sighs and leans back on the couch. “I don’t know why you find this so unbelievable out of her, Michael. Mae’s a very open-minded person. She’d probably even accept the fact that you’re…um, different.”

I snort. “No fucking way I’m telling her that, Iz.”

“I didn’t say you should. I’m saying that she’d probably not bat an eye about it. You have to admit that she’s not like anyone else you’ve ever met.”

That’s true. Mae is different. But I always thought she was different in an incense-burning, channeling-the-universe kind of way…not the lesbian kind of way.

“Do you really think Kim is her first female lover?”

My eyebrows shoot up and I feel a twinge of nausea. “Huh?”

Iz waves a hand in the air. “She’s what – twenty-six, twenty-seven? Do you really think she’s never done this before?”

In my head, I imagine High School Mae picking up a cheerleader. Then Collegiate Mae picking up a law student. Then I imagine the toy aisle, only without Barbies of every breed – instead I see Confused Pubescent Mae, I Only Tried It Once In College Mae and finally Alternative Lifestyle Mae, all with that same Prozac-induced Barbie grin. I can’t take it.

“You’re jealous.” Isabel’s smirking, victorious.

I snort and it sounds fake even to my own ears. “Am not.”

She nods vigorously. “Yes, you are.”

“Isabel, why would I be jealous?”

“Because you like her.”

I shrug. “So what – everyone likes Mae.”

“Not like you do.” Her dark eyes twinkle with a spark I haven’t seen in a long time.

“What are you saying?”

“Michael, are you in love with Mae?”

I sputter even as I struggle not to. “No! When did I ever say I was?”

She doesn’t reply, other than to grin a little wider. I stare back at her, wondering why my heart is beating so fast – I feel like a cornered rabbit.

“Look,” I finally say, “Mae is free to do whatever – or whomever – she wants. If she wants someone from her own country, fine.”

Isabel’s eyes crease at the corners as she grins a little wider. “Mae is from the US, Michael.”

“You know what I mean!” God, she’s exasperating! “I meant someone from China!”

Isabel sits up and folds her hands between her knees. “Kim is also from here.”

“You know what I meant!” I reiterate. She’s really pissing me off.

“But,” she continues, “she’s of Korean descent, not Chinese. You would know that – if you’d spent even two minutes talking to her.”

“I had nothing to say to her.”

“And it was obvious.”

Ouch. Stung by Isabel the School Marm. Scolded. Stood in the corner. Sent to bed without dessert.

“You spent all evening ignoring both of them,” she points out. “Everywhere Max went, you went – unless of course it was anywhere near Mae or Kim. I started to wonder there for awhile if you two were tethered together.”

“I haven’t seen Max in awhile,” I reply impotently.

“Me neither,” she agrees. “But there were other people there that I hadn’t seen in a long time either. Not to mention one I just met.”

I look at the floor. I’m an ass. A selfish, skittish, paranoid ass.

Isabel is, of course, less judgmental. “I know it sucks,” she says gently. “But this is the path Mae has chosen for now. You need to respect it, Michael. She’d respect your decisions.”

That’s true – she would. She must think I’m a complete jerk. “Do you think she’s mad at me?”

Isabel shakes her had. “I doubt it. You know Mae – she accepts things for what they are. I’m sure she’s reasoned that your behavior has a cause and that the cause isn’t her.”

But the cause is her. Or at least, her lover.

Isabel kisses me on the cheek, her light perfume drifting to my nose. “You should adopt her philosophy as well, Michael. Just accept her choice. It doesn’t make her any less of a friend, does it?”

But Mae and I weren’t friends. Mae and I were lovers and that’s different. We did some pretty incredible, intense, intimate things together. Things that she couldn’t possibly do with Kim. Unless, of course, they were only incredible to me. Shit…maybe I am a lousy lay.

“I’m going back to my room,” Iz says, standing and stretching her hands toward the ceiling. Then she reaches down and cuffs me on the chin. “Chin up, Michael. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I watch her leave, then sit in silence on the hotel couch. I don’t even feel like turning on the television. I can’t quite understand why I feel so strange inside, like something is just not right, something is out of sorts. It’s an unnerving, unsettling feeling. The worst part is that I can’t put my finger on the source of it.

Any other night, I’d go downstairs to the bar and pick up some entertainment for the night. I’ve found that women are suckers for men who don’t drink – they think it’s noble or something. I could go down there, claim a stool, get a soda water and look for a diversion.

But I don’t feel like it. My mind keeps going back to Mae and what she and Kim might be doing right now. I don’t want to think about it, and yet I can’t help myself. It’s exquisite torture.

Then my mind drifts back to a night last October, when she had a Halloween party. She’d expressly asked me to invite “that hot little policeman friend” of mine. Kyle. I’d almost forgotten about him and the role he played last fall. I think I may have just wanted to block it from my memory.

Mae was fond of Kyle. Very fond of Kyle. At the time, I didn’t really care if she had sex with him. After all, sex is sex. That’s all it is, nothing more. I figured I’d bring the irritating little runt with me and let her have her way with him just so maybe I could have my way with her.

I never thought she’d want me to watch.

And she did. She wanted me to watch the things that she and Kyle did to one another. She made me sit in a corner, in the dark, silent. I wasn’t allowed to speak or move or intervene in any way. I can still hear the rain hitting the glass panes of her slanted roof, see the lightening playing across their bodies as she stood over him, dripping candle wax onto his chest. If I try hard enough, I can still smell the wax, hear Kyle’s gasps of surprise.

I close my eyes against the memory. I had blocked it out because of the way it had made me feel.

Jealous.

Maybe that was her intention. Maybe Isabel is right – maybe I am jealous of Kim.

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Six

If Max and I were normal men, we’d be sharing a beer right now.

But we’re not normal men and we will probably never share a beer. It’s Thursday night, two days before the birthday party. Maria and Isabel took Allie with them to grocery shop for the event. Max and I were left with Monkey Boy. Huh. That sounds like a bad sitcom title – Max, Michael and the Monkey Boy.

We’ve spent the evening setting up tables in the garage, moving lawn equipment out of the way, getting dirty – manly things. Things that scream out for hops. Instead, Max and I are sharing lemonade. It’s rather deflating.

Brandon has awoken from his nap and is staggering drunkenly around the living room. I watch him fall half a dozen times, but it never seems to piss him off – it seems that God made babies heavy in the butt so that every time they fall, that’s where they land. I do notice, however, that the Evanses have no coffee table and no end tables. I have to wonder if poor Allie taught them that lesson.

“Thank God that’s done,” Max sighs as he slumps into a chair. He’s dirty and sweaty and I’ve never seen him happier. His grin seems so out of place it’s eerie.

“Not a big job,” I say easily.

“No, but you didn’t have Maria reminding you for the last two weeks that it had to be done,” he says light-heartedly.

I’ve gotta give him that one – I remember well Maria’s skills at nagging. I don’t think she means it that way; I just think she’s nervous sometimes and it projects itself in the most annoying ways.

“Hey, baby,” Max says, holding out his arms for his son. Brandon looks at him for a moment, then goes back to pounding one of his toys on the floor. Max shrugs and sips his drink.

My eyes settle on the little chimp. It’s somewhat surreal to me that my friends are married with children. It seems only yesterday that we were in high school, Liz was alive, Maria was my girlfriend and had high aspirations to be a world-famous singer. Now Maria is Max’s wife, she’s abandoned that dream and Liz Parker is dead. All of this in such a short period of time.

Max cocks his head to the side as we both stare at his son. “I don’t know,” he begins, his voice sounding far-off. “I can’t see why Maria thinks he looks like me.”

My head shoots up in surprise and I find him smirking at me.

“Just checking to see if you’d zoned out,” he says.

“Nah, I’m still here.”

I watch the baby climb to his feet, sway this way and that, then totter straight for me. I think of all of the dirt on the knees of my jeans and have a fear that he’s coming to assault my kneecaps again. Instead, he stumbles between my legs, bouncing off my thighs like a pinball. Then he holds up his arms.

On the other side of the room, Max snorts a laugh.

I furrow my brow, not quite sure what is happening here. Then Brandon whines and sort of jumps. I raise my eyebrows, at a loss. Then he lets out a wail and stomps his feet.

“He wants you to pick him up,” Max says with a grin.

“What? Why?”

My friend shrugs. “I guess he likes you.”

So I bend down and scoop him up. I’m not really quite sure what to do with him, so I plop him on my lap. He just sits like a sack of sand, staring at me, like he’s trying to figure me out. After a few long moments, he reaches out one chubby hand and pokes me in the lip. I stare back, waiting for the novelty to wear off and eventually it does – he resumes playing with his toes. He’s quiet and doesn’t smell, so I guess I’ll let him stay for awhile.

“Max,” I finally say, drawing in a breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you want me to know that you were going to take the bar?”

He seems surprised by my question. “Well, it’s not that I didn’t want you to know. It’s that I didn’t really want anyone to know until I passed.”

“Would you have told me then?”

His eyebrows draw together slightly, like it’s a ridiculous question. “Of course. What’s this all about, Michael?”

I watch Brandon playing on my lap and have to admit to myself that even if the first impression he gives is that of a chimpanzee, he is cute. And he’s healthy and loved. His sister is beautiful. Max and Maria are happy – while not a mansion, they have a nice home in a nice neighborhood. Max is going to be a lawyer; I have no doubt he’ll pass that test on the first try. They have friends – I have Isabel. We couldn’t be more different.

“You’ve done well,” I finally say to him.

“Thank you, Michael.” His sentence sounds incomplete, like he’s waiting for me to add a ‘but’ to my compliment.

“You have, Max. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have expected this out of you.” He looks a little sad and I’m sorry I brought up the dark period. “But, I think you’ve done great. You’ve really worked things out.”

Max puts his glass down and leans forward in that fatherly fashion he always uses when he’s about to lecture me. “And you think you haven’t.”

“I didn’t say that,” I say quietly.

“You implied it.” I cast him a look and he cocks his head. “I know you better than you do,” he reminds me. “I think you’ve done fine. Not everyone is meant to have a wife and kids. But that doesn’t mean that you’re not meant to, Michael – maybe it just hasn’t happened yet. You have a good career – you’re one of the best around. You’re responsible and you take care of the ones you love. What more can anyone ask?”

“I want Mae-Ling,” I mumble before I can stop myself. My cheeks flush dark red and I glance at him then quickly away.

Max sits back on the couch, that smile still on his face. “Are you sure about that?”

I nod.

“Well, then I can tell you where to find her.” There’s something in his expression that tells me he might know something I don’t. I hate that it gives me hope.

*****

She’s exactly where Max said she would be.

It’s noon on Friday. The sun is high overhead, sweltering in the dead center of summer. She’s sitting in a courtyard between several office buildings, eating one of those pink marshmallow/coconut/cake things and drinking a Pepsi. The suit she’s wearing is classic navy blue, the skirt short, the jacket fitted perfectly, her high heels lengthening her beautiful legs. My flight instinct tells me to run, but I don’t – I keep walking straight for her.

I’m still several yards away when she looks up, her dark eyes hidden behind sunglasses. But she smiles and I feel my knees go to jelly. She jumps to her feet and throws her arms around me, squeezing me tightly. Then she presses her lips to mine in an all-too-brief kiss.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily as she sits, taking my hand in hers.

I have to clear my head to form a coherent thought – I’m still three seconds in the past, feeling her body pressed to mine. “I wanted to talk to you,” I begin. “I fear I was a bit of an ass the other night and I wanted to apologize.”

Mae waves a long hand in the air. “Oh, pish posh. You were out of sorts, I could tell. Water under the bridge.” Then she lifts my hand to her face and I think she’s going to suck my fingers or something and my insides flip. Instead, she sniffs my hand, then grins. “You stopped smoking.”

I nod. “Maria made me. If I didn’t, she was going to kick me in the nads.”

She chuckles, her laugh bouncing off the surrounding buildings.

“I like your hair short,” I compliment. “I like the way it frames your face.” Did I really just say that?

She gives a toss of her head, a shampoo commercial swing of her short locks. “You like it? Good.”

“Did you cut it that way because – because you’re a lesbian now?” Well, let’s cut right to the chase, Captain Tact. The stutter in the middle helped, I’m sure. I wish I could see her eyes because her smile has faded.

“Why must we label people?” she asks, sounding depressed by the thought. “Are you male or female? Caucasian or Asian? Straight or gay? Why can’t we just be?”

I smile in spite of myself. Half the time I have no idea where her musings come from, but it’s good to see them in full force again. “I’ve missed you,” I tell her.

She nods, rubs my hand between hers. “I’ve always had a special place for you, Michael. I’ve missed you, too.”

Something flares inside of me and I want her so badly right now I could scream. It hurts. I know I can’t ever have her – not while Kim is in her life.

“See that building over there?” Mae asks.

I follow her gaze as best as I can. “Which one?”

“The gray one with the smoked windows?”

“Yeah?”

“I happen to know that that building has a freight elevator.” She looks back to me. “I also know that the dock crew goes to lunch from noon until one.”

No more explanation needed.

The elevator is only an elevator in the academic sense – it goes up and down on command. It’s more like a cage on a pulley, one that is used to haul heavy equipment and supplies to various floors of the high rise. Mae pushes the button to make it go up, then stops and locks it between the third and fourth floors. Then she’s all over me.

The temperature in the elevator shaft is nearly unbearable and we’re sweating already. After a few breathless kisses, I push her jacket off her shoulders and it falls behind her with a rustle of summer fabrics. Then I push her thin white shirt aside, revealing a bra that has no function other than to tease men like me. I groan when I see her perfect, small breasts again. Unable to control myself, I bite her through the lacy fabric and she gives a little gasp.

With my other hand, I push up her skirt, searching desperately for the promised land. Inside, I start to realize that this means too much to me. I’ve screwed many girls before, but I’ve never felt so desperate, so needy, like if I didn’t have her I’d curl into a fetal position and die. Her hands are on my zipper, dropping it down.

Then we’re together, one of Mae’s high heels locked into the bars of the elevator, giving her leverage. I pound into her mercilessly, harder than I ever have before. She’s along for the ride and I know I’m not hurting her. Let’s see Kim do this for you, Mae. Clumsily, I push her bra aside, kiss her breast, willing her to come with me. My heart rages inside of my chest in reaction to the heat and our excitement.

Mae reaches behind herself and grabs the steel bars of the elevator, her eyes closed in concentration. A light sheen of sweat covers her chest, her cheeks flushed with desire. I stare at her the whole time. She’s so beautiful, so perfect.

She’s all I want.

A few moments later, she lets out a cry and her body shudders. I follow right behind her, my head going momentarily light with the rush. Mae falls against me, wraps her arms around my shoulders and our hearts pound crazily together. We both gasp for air, drained.

Once I can speak, I whisper against her ear. “Mae, drop Kim. Be with me.”

She pulls back slowly, her expression kind but lacking something I can’t quite put my finger on. Somehow I know her words are going to crush me. “I love Kim,” she says gently. She takes my face between her hands and gives me a whisper of a kiss. “This, Michael, was just sex.”

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Seven

“Of course it was.”

My words still haunt me. A whole day later, I can’t believe I said that. She said, “This was just sex” and I said, “Of course it was.” I had my opportunity to make my case, stake my claim and all I could do was agree with her?

I stare despondently at the industrial carpet in my hotel room. Why did I agree with her? Why couldn’t I tell her that it’s more than sex to me?

Because I’ve used that line ten billion times and I know what it really means. It means that she’s interested in my body and what I can do with it, but as a person I’m useless. Needless. Just something to take out once in a while for amusement and then put away again.

I feel used.

Most guys would kill to get it on with someone like Mae-Ling. Most guys probably couldn’t get anywhere near her. She’s out of a lot of leagues. Including mine.

So what was this? A tour through the trailer trash section of her psyche? Here comes classless, brainless, useless Michael so I might as well do him? Anger flares inside of me at the thought. I can’t stand the fact that I’m just here to humor her.

With a jolt, I realize that the last girl who made me genuinely angry was Maria. Sure, women have irritated me here and there, but no one ever made me doubt myself and become angry like Maria did. Well, now Mae, too.

I’m remembering why I don’t let myself fall in love. It hurts too fucking much.

There’s a knock on my door. “Michael?” comes Isabel’s muffled voice.

I glance down at my clothes. I’m wearing a T-shirt and my boxers, nothing else. I haven’t even taken a shower yet. I know we’re supposed to be on our way to Max’s house for the birthday party, but I just can’t go knowing she’s going to be there. I can’t face her. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll either run out of there screaming or simply piss my pants in her presence. Maybe I can fake being sick…

“Michael?” Isabel again. Another light knock. “Are you ready?” Another pause, then I hear the tumblers in the lock clicking – I forgot that there is no locking out an alien.

Isabel is wearing a crisp white summer sweater and a short red skirt. Her long blond hair is in a braid that falls down her back. She’s so pretty and turns so many heads…and I’ve never been attracted to her. What a fucked up asswad I am.

“Michael,” she says, marching toward me with that I’m-going-to-beat-the-pulp-out-of-you-for-holding-me-up look on her face. “You’re not ready.”

I shake my head mutely.

“Why not?” She checks her watch. “The party starts in an hour. I told Maria I’d help her put the food out. We should have been on the road ten minutes ago. What’s your problem?”

Her words come out as sharp as they seem. My Iz can be sensitive and nurturing at times – and extremely demanding at others.

“I don’t want to go,” I confess.

She cocks her pretty head to the side. “What?” The word comes out clipped, only a nanosecond long. “We came all of the way from New Mexico and now you don’t want to go to the party we traveled all this way for?”

I shake my head, stare at the floor again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her glance at the TV, which is silent. Now for sure she knows something is wrong – she knows that I occupy 99% of my free time with the tube.

I feel some of her irritation abating as she slowly sits down in the chair adjacent to the couch. “What happened?” she asks, all anger gone from her voice.

I draw in a breath. “I tried to fuck her straight.”

The silence that ensues lasts so long that I finally look up. Isabel is stunned, I can see. Her mouth is opened slightly, her dark eyes sort of round.

“You did what?” she finally asks.

“I…” I sigh, realizing that maybe my terminology is offensive to her. “Yesterday I went to visit Mae at lunch.”

“And?”

“We had…um, relations.”

I can see one corner of her mouth quivering, just begging to lift upward into a smirk. She manages to hold it back, though, and I’m proud of her.

I shrug. “I thought if she had sex with me, then she’d see that maybe she wanted me more…” I sigh again. “More than Kim.”

Isabel’s hand is warm as it covers mine. I wrap my thumb over the top of her hand; she has soft skin. “It didn’t turn out so well, did it?” she asks gently.

I shake my head.

“How bad?”

I hate how she can wheedle her way under my skin, get to what makes me tick. I feel more naked than I actually am, splayed out for her to examine. I’ve always hated that about Isabel. I purse my lips and give a shrug. I don’t want to answer because I don’t want her to see how much I hurt inside.

Isabel leans over and puts her arms around me. She smells like roses. “I’m sorry, Michael.” As she sits back, her eyes are tender. “I’m sorry that happened. But you have a niece and nephew who are waiting for you to come to their party.”

No, I have a niece and nephew who barely know who I am. Allie still avoids me and all the other one wants is to gnaw on some part of me.

“Tell you what,” she says. “I’m going to get the hotel courtesy car to give me a ride over to Max’s. Why don’t you take a shower and get ready and use the rental car to come over?”

I shift in my seat. Did she not hear me when I said I didn’t want to go?

“There will be plenty of people there,” she says. “You might not even have to talk to her. I could even run interference if you’d like. But I can assure you of this – if you skip this party, you’re going to regret it. And Maria will make your life hell for it.”

In spite of myself, I snort a laugh.

Isabel kisses me on the cheek as she rises. “Get dressed,” she urges. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

I watch her leave. She’s overconfident, that one. Regardless, I find myself in the shower, lazily washing away a day’s worth of grime. Then I’m getting dressed and actually driving over to Chez Evans. Somewhere along the way, Isabel has become a master manipulator. I had no intention of doing this, of being here, and yet here I am.

Sigh.

I can’t believe the amount of effort that has gone into a party that neither of these kids is going to remember a week from now. There’s a clown. And Jungle Jerry, a guy with tubs of critters to entertain the kiddies. Oddly enough, the clown is more disturbing than any of the creepy crawlers in those containers.

Monkey Boy agrees with me. He spends a good deal of time running – if you can call what he does “running” – and screaming in horror. The clown accosts him with a balloon animal and that’s the final straw. Unable to deal any longer, wee Brandon Evans plops to his ass on the grass. His little face turns a shade of red I’ve only ever seen on burn victims and for one horrible moment I’m afraid he’s stopped breathing. But then he lets forth with the loudest wail I’ve ever heard in my life. I see years of therapy ahead for that kid.

Max swoops in and snatches up his son, tucking him protectively against his chest as he disappears into the house. I feel relieved that the kid is being spared this mess, but I feel bad for Max – I’m sure he thought the clown was a good thing.

Allie, a little twisted like her mother, has her hand in the RubberMaid container holding a snake. Her sweet little face is creased with a huge grin. Most babies would be scared of snakes. Not this one. Jungle Jerry takes the snake out of the box and holds it up for her. She points a finger, which the snake accidentally flicks with its tongue and I wait for another scream. She does recoil, but then she laughs and looks at the Jungle man like he’s a god.

Mr. and Mrs. Evans are here, mingling as always. There are some people from Max’s office and Maria’s work as well. Of course, Mae and Kim are here and I try like mad to avoid them. I can’t even bring myself to look at Mae. I feel like an ass.

Time to open the presents rolls around and I take a seat on the back steps of the bungalow. Brandon has never reappeared and I assume that Max put the poor kid down for a nap. So Allie is in the spotlight, all eyes and cameras on her. She loves it, I can tell. With her pink party dress and ribbons in her hair, she’s the perfect party princess. When she opens the Barbie I got her, she lets out a squeal and her face lights up. Across the yard, I see Isabel wink at me. Yeah, yeah, I know – she called that one.

As the presents are winding down, Mae crosses the grass and sits down beside me on the steps. I move over as far as I can, until my thigh bumps into the handrail. I want to flee, but I guess that would be a little obvious.

Then she picks up my hand. My insides jump at her touch and anger flares inside of me that she could be so ballsy.

“Huh,” she says.

I look over at her and she’s studying my palm, her brow furrowed in concentration. I can see straight down her shirt and that fact pisses me off. “What – huh?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from being bitter.

With one finger, she traces my palm, sending unwelcome shivers through my body. She stops with her finger at the heel of my hand, a fraction of an inch from my wrist; for some absurd, disturbing reason, I think of Max’s wrist and the scars he still bears.

“You have a clouded past,” she finally says.

I blink at her. I have no idea what that means.

She drops my hand a little, then looks into my eyes. “Almost like it’s incomplete.”

I hate when she does shit like that. Of course my past is incomplete – I was born the size of a six-year-old. I missed a lot. Not that I can tell her that, so I snort. “How can my past be incomplete?”

She studies my face, then shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she answers wistfully. “But, maybe I’m not supposed to know. There are just things that we’re not meant to understand.”

Apparently that’s enough of an answer for her as she drops my hand entirely and grins toward Allie, who is struggling with the paper on Max and Maria’s gift. Soon, the paper pops off and Allie lets out a shriek of glee. It’s one of those battery-powered kiddie cars – a pink Barbie Jeep. Immediately, she lifts her leg – oblivious to the fact that everyone can see her panties – and climbs in.

My eyes settle on Max and Maria and they look so happy that it hurts me right in the solar plexus. I didn’t think I’d see the day when Max could grin as widely as he is now. Maria, in a yellow sundress, is thin and pretty and totally smitten with her little family. I envy them so much that I ache.

“About Kimmy,” Mae says tentatively.

From one hurt to another…I turn to her sullenly. I know that Kim is buried in the crowd of Allie’s fans, but I’m sure she can see Mae-Ling and me sitting here talking.

“I want you to understand about us,” Mae says.

“What do you mean?” Maybe I can get out of this situation if I flop onto the grass and wail like Brandon did…

“Love, Michael, goes where it’s sent. It doesn’t care if you’re a man or a woman. It will find you. Right now, I love Kim. She loves me. We’re happy together.”

I want to die.

“It doesn’t make me gay. It doesn’t make her gay,” she continues.

I snort. “How do you figure?”

“Everyone has a homosexual tendency of some kind,” she theorizes. “Many creatures in nature have homosexual tendencies and humans are no different. Right now, I’m attracted to Kim. Maybe sometime in the future, I’ll love a man again. It doesn’t make me gay.”

“It makes you bi.”

“Not really.”

Please. Someone shoot me. I don’t want to have this conversation. I thought Isabel was going to run interference – where the hell is she?

“A lot of people have homosexual encounters and it doesn’t change their orientation.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“You’ve never thought about it?”

“What?! No!”

Mae looks toward Max, who is giving his daughter a crash course in Barbiemobile. “Not even with him? He’s pretty yummy, Michael.”

“What?! No!”


“What about when you were watching me and your friend Kyle?” Did she have to bring that up? “Didn’t you think about – “

“Absolutely not!”

My flustered demeanor doesn’t seem to have an effect on her as she continues to smile placidly at me. “A lot of people experiment. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Well, I’m not going to experiment.”

She shrugs. “Okay. I’m just saying that it’s natural to want to.” We sit in uncomfortable silence, then she says, “Did I ever tell you what Maria and I did once?”

Gah! I can’t take it! I get up and retreat into the house before I spontaneously combust.

tbc

~~~~~~
Hmm, this is turning out a lot gayer than I'd planned

[Midwest Max]

Warning: Lots of suicide talk ahead

Part Eight

Night has fallen and most of the partiers, the clown and Jungle Jerry have gone home. It’s only around nine at night, but it will be years before the Evans children have a birthday party that goes into the wee hours of the night. Inside the house, Mr. and Mrs. Evans – the final remaining guests - are chatting up a storm with Max and Isabel; the babies have been put to bed. Me, I’m sitting out here in the garage at a table Max and I put up by myself, looking at a tired piece of cake.

The cake tastes bad. Too sweet or something. It’s kind of disappointing because it looked really good sitting there on that plate. I snort. It’s astounding how good things can look until you get a real good taste of them and then find out they’re actually very bad.

The door to the kitchen jerks open and Maria appears with a trash bag in her hand. The tables around me are littered with used paper plates, cups and napkins. She looks tired, but happy nonetheless.

“There you are,” she says, snapping open the bag and starting to clear one of the tables. “We wondered where you went.”

I wave my fork nonchalantly. “Just getting some air.”

She looks at my cake, only missing a small bite. “I didn’t have any of that. Is it bad?”

I shrug. I don’t have the heart to tell her.

Her face lights up suddenly and she disappears into the house, then reappears with a bottle of Tabasco. “Try that.”

She’s smiling so widely that I can’t deny her. I shake a little on the cake, then take a bite. It’s better – marginally.

“I bought too much cake,” she muses as she picks up the cake server, gives it a shake so that a glob of icing falls onto the board. “I knew that was going to happen.”

Well, maybe people would have eaten cake if she hadn’t stuffed them with everything else first.

“Hey,” she says. I look up and see her looking at me curiously. “You okay?”

I twirl my fork on the plate, look back to the plastic table cloth. “Can I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

“Between you and me…” This is going to be hard to talk about. “Was it ever just sex between you and me?”

Maria’s eyes grow a little round and she looks toward the back door. “Michael, Max and I are –”

I hold up a hand. “I know, Maria. I’m not going to hit on you. I just want an answer to the question.”

“Oh.” She sinks into a chair on the opposite side of the table. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head – she knows something’s up but can’t quite figure out what. “Maybe once or twice,” she finally confesses. “You know how sometimes you just want to have sex, foreplay be damned? Like that it was just sex, I guess.”

“But, if I hadn’t been there to give that to you when you just wanted to get laid, would you have looked somewhere else?”

She snorts. “No. I loved you, Michael. I wasn’t going to go find someone to fuck just because I was horny.”

Then it wasn’t just sex between her and me. It couldn’t have been. If it had been just about getting laid, then she would have found someone else when the time came. And Maria’s attractive enough that I believe she could have had her pick.

“Why do you ask?” she finally says, tossing some more rubbish into the bag.

I give a shake of my head. “No reason.”

She stops her tidying and lifts an eyebrow. “Liar.”

I look at her in surprise, then give a little laugh. I forget that she knows me so well. “Alright. It’s Mae.”

“Ah.” There is complete understanding in her expression now. I wonder what she and Mae talk about…

“I think she’s trying to make me gay.” My ears redden slightly at the revelation.

Maria laughs so suddenly and so loudly that I jump in my seat. “What? My God are you paranoid!”

I shift a bit, uncomfortable with her gentle ridicule. “She is. She asked me if I thought Max was hot.” I look away in embarrassment.

She’s still laughing. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t answer her!”

“Well, do you? Think he’s hot?”

“Maria! You’re not helping!”

She settles back in her chair, her expression victorious – she can still get my goat if she tries. Confident, she crosses her arms over her chest. “You haven’t figured Mae out yet, have you?”

I’m still glowering at her about the Max question, but I shake my head in defeat anyway. No, I haven’t figured her out yet.

“You try too hard,” she says. “Mae’s a complex person, Michael. It’s best just to take her at face value and let that be it.”

“I don’t want to take her at face value.” Crap – diarrhea of the mouth again.

Maria is looking surprised now. “What’s going on, Michael?”

I look at my shoes. Telling Iz that I might be in love with Mae is one thing; telling Maria is a totally different thing.

“Michael, do you have feelings for Mae?”

Her words are so tender and supportive that all I can do is nod.

“Let me guess – she tried to explain why she loves Kim. You in turn took that for her pushing homosexuality on you.”

Yep – she reads me like a book.

Maria gets to her feet. “Come on – I want to show you something.”

I look at her curiously. “What?”

She holds out her hand. “Just come with me.”

We enter the house through the kitchen door. Immediately, I can hear Max and his father talking about law, Isabel and her mother laughing over something someone just said. It’s just like the nights I used to escape Hank’s trailer and take refuge on Murray Lane – the buzz of a warm family unit.

Maria leads me away from the living room and into an office. Motioning for me to sit, she rummages on one of the bookshelves and pulls out a large black book. Then she sits down beside me, our thighs touching, and balances the book on both of our laps. When she opens the cover, I see that the book is actually a photo album, filled with black and white pictures.

The first picture is of a man’s back, his arm raised over his head. I can’t see the man’s face and the picture seems to be focused in on his shoulder blade, the rest of his body irrelevant. Technically, as far as lighting and shadows go, it’s superb. Maria waits a moment, then flips the page. The next two pictures are similar, one of a woman’s bent knee, the other of a delicate ankle.

“They’re nice,” I finally comment. “Well done. A good eye.”

“Keep going,” Maria urges.

I flip the page and I see two hands belonging to the same person, intertwined and twisted around each other; foremost in the shot is a scar, a jagged reminder of a desperate act. My heart sinks. They’re Max’s wrists. A little bit of anger flares inside of me – who would want to take a picture of that?

“That’s not funny,” I say, my jaw setting.

“It’s not meant to be,” Maria responds. “If you didn’t know Max and you saw this picture, what would you see?”

I see blood, lots of it, dried into the grout in his and Liz’s old bathroom – that’s what I see. I can see nothing else and I don’t know why she’s doing this to me.

“Michael.”

I look up at her, still angry.

“Put that aside,” she says gently. She was there too – she knows the same horror. With one perfectly manicured nail, she taps the picture. “If you didn’t know it was Max, what would you see?”

Her eyes are encouraging and she’s been a sweet hostess, so I turn back to the picture. “I would see years of pain,” I finally say. “I’d see a tortured soul, someone driven to give up. I would see defeat.” I frown. I don’t like how this makes me feel.

“As would most people.” Maria grins, a bizarre reaction to her husband’s mutilation. “Mae-Ling saw beauty.”

My head shoots up, my mouth dropping open. Mae took these pictures? “How is this beautiful?” I ask, a little stunned.

“She doesn’t see things the way that you and I do. To us, we see pain and shame and devastation. She sees beauty in that he can wear his scars where others can see them – Max never tries to hide what he did. He’s learned from it and accepted it and now he’s stronger for it. Mae embraces that conflict while you and I shy away from it.”

I look down at the picture again, turn my head sideways as I study it in a whole new light.

“Mae saw Max’s flaws and imperfections as beautiful, Michael.”

I glance at her. “What does this have to do with me?”

Maria smiles. “I wanted you to see why you’re trying too hard. You think like a normal person. She does not.” She says it with affection.

“She claims that having a female lover doesn’t make her gay.” I furrow my brow – can’t wait for the explanation of that one.

“It doesn’t,” Maria laughs. “Love is love – doesn’t matter where it comes from.” Then she winks. “At least not according to Mae.”

I snort a small laugh, then turn back to the book. As I flip the pages, I realize that Mae is very talented and some of the pictures are extremely personal. Maria doesn’t attempt to take the book from me, however; she just sits silently beside me and looks at the photos as well.

I come across a picture of Max and a baby, taken from over his left shoulder. He’s bare-chested, the incredibly tiny, naked baby curled up against his chest. I’m guessing the child is only a few days old judging from its size and the fact that its legs are pulled up so tightly beneath it; Max’s hand on its small back eclipses it. The ears on the baby are of normal size, so I’m guessing it’s Allie and not Brandon.

“That’s one of my favorites,” Maria says. “I was in the hospital still after the C-section and Mae took this.”

There is so much emotion in that single shot that I find myself lost in it. Once again, I can’t see Max’s face since the picture is taken over his head. But it’s not necessary. To look at a life so vulnerable, protected against a body so strong – it says it all doesn’t it? For one moment, I feel like I’m seeing things through Mae’s eyes. I feel like I get her.

It only makes me want her more.

Sighing, I snap the book shut.

“Are you okay?” Maria asks. Her expression is wary.

I nod, rub my temples. “I’m fine. Thank you for sharing these with me. They’re beautiful.”

She smiles as she takes the book and slides it back into its spot. “Not a lot of people know about these – they’re kind of personal, ya know.”

Really? I wasn’t going to mention some of the ones she posed for…

“What are you going to do, Michael?” she asks, leaning against the bookcase.

Well, it’s obvious that Mae doesn’t see me as beautiful. Right now she sees Kim. As for me, I’m just sex. “I’m going home to Roswell, Maria,” I say.

She looks surprised, like she expected me to go riding in on a white horse to fight for the girl I love. “You’re giving up on Mae?”

I shrug. “I have to. She wants to be with someone else and I don’t have a right to interfere with that.” Of course, that’s hypocritical as I’ve already tried to interfere and have failed miserably.

Maria looks down at the carpet and kicks at the pile with her toe.

“Can I ask you something else?” I say.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Did you two ever -?”

She looks up, blushes, then giggles.

And that’s the only answer I get.

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Nine

On the plane, going home.

We’ve been airborne for a while now. I sit and stare out the window at nothing but cloud cover below – the earth has been eclipsed from my view and I wonder what’s going on down there that I can’t see. I don’t know where we are in relation to Chicago or Roswell, I only know we’re somewhere in between.

In the seat beside me, Isabel is silently flipping through another magazine, a clothing catalogue this time I think. She hasn’t said much and I haven’t told her much – I think she just understands the funk I’m in. She’ll always know me better than I know myself.

Because I don’t think that I know myself at all. Nothing like love to put self-doubts into your head. It was a rough trip and I regret having gone. At first I was excited because I got to see my friends again and maybe start up something with Mae. Now I’m just deflated, depressed, going home with my tail between my legs.

Seeing Maria again was an eye-opener. She’s still attractive to me and she probably always will be. I know she’s out of reach, I know that she loves Max now and that he’s absolutely goony for her. I would never try to come between them. But as I watched the two of them getting along so easily with one another, it dawned on me that mine and Maria’s relationship issues weren’t her fault. If she can make it work with Max, then why couldn’t she make it work with me?

Because I wouldn’t let her. It’s the only conclusion I can come to. If she wasn’t the source of the problems, then I must have been. I can see it now, years in retrospect. I was always making unrealistic demands of her, pushing her away only to pull her back, picking fights just because I liked to argue with her. That wasn’t a relationship. That was hell.

Maybe that realization is why I’ve given up on Mae. I liked being able to control Maria and push her buttons. But after looking through that photo album, seeing how free and liberated Mae is, I know that I will never ever be able to control her. Maybe that’s what frightens me. Maybe I do have control issues. Maybe I can’t stand the fact that Mae is more her own person than I will ever be.

I feel soft fingers slide through mine and look away from the window to see Isabel smiling at me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Just letting you know I love you,” she says with a wink.

I give her a half-hearted smile – I said those same words to her on the flight out, fearing that her heart was in bits. Maybe she now has the same fear for me.

“I love you too,” I say, leaning over and giving her a quick kiss before returning to my window.

Of all of my jumble of emotions, there’s one I really don’t understand - I don’t understand why I’m not attracted to her. Yeah, I know we grew up together and she’s my best friend’s sister and all, but damn – Isabel is hot. She’s beautiful, in fact. And she’s kind and generous and just a really special person.

I don’t think I could get it up for her if I tried.

Jesus, what’s wrong with me?

Back home, life falls into routine again. I have a message from Alvita Vasquez on my answering machine, telling me that her friend changed her mind and would like that garden path laid after all – which I take to mean that she’s forgiven me for not doinking her the last week I was working on her patio.

So I meet the friend – a lady in her sixties that isn’t interested in sex. She genuinely wants a nice path for her garden. I lay out some designs, she picks one and I work without the threat of 1970’s porn dialogue cropping up at any moment. The lady leaves me alone, lets me work at my own pace, checks in every now and then to see if I need some water, but that’s it. I will forever be grateful to her for just letting me be.

Of course, old habits die hard and I go out in search of companionship. The bars are full of all of the same people – women I’ve had, women I don’t want to have, women who don’t want me. It’s a boring scene and I stop going. That doesn’t mean I stop looking.

I find Kristy at the movie theater one night when I don’t feel like sitting home again. She’s a ticket-taker and very sweet. She’s over eighteen, which is a plus. We hit it off and I tell her I’ll swing by and get her after my movie is over.

I watch the movie without any anticipation of what’s to come. I’m not sure I’d even care if Kristy has a boyfriend who came to get her in the meantime. But, if she’s waiting for me, it will all be bonus.

And she is waiting for me – changed from her maroon movie theater vest into a macramé tank top and a pair of jeans. She’s very pretty and I’m glad to see her.

But two hours later, after I’ve bought her a couple of drinks, I’m no longer interested. We’re parked with a bunch of teenagers on a ledge that overlooks the city. I feel stupid, like I could be a parent to one of these kids. Kristy has descended upon me with little preamble; I watch her head bob up and down and feel oddly empty. My body reacted to her touch immediately, but inside I feel cold. She’s not Maria. She’s not Mae. She’s not even Isabel.

Rejecting her does not make me popular.

So I quit trying to find a diversion. There is none. I work. I go home. I sleep. I work. That’s it. I’m a wad of emotions inside and they have paralyzed me.

A few weeks after my self-imposed isolation, Isabel stops by to visit me. She has a plate of brownies and I can’t help a wry smile – someday she will be the chairman of the PTA or at least of the Welcome Wagon when new people move into the neighborhood. For now, she’s just a caring friend to a lost man.

“Michael,” she says as she swats the end of the couch clear of dirty laundry. “Remember how I called you a man whore?”

I lift the plastic wrap on the brownies and nod.

“Well, now you’re the opposite.”

I look up at her, my fingers hovering over a chocolate square. “What do you mean?”

She kind of folds her hands together and looks uncomfortable. “I’m worried about you. You never go out. All you do is work and sleep.” She glances around my cluttered apartment. “And accumulate garbage.”

I cock my head. She’s going to critique my housekeeping skills now?

“I’m serious,” she says. “You’ve never been this much of a slob, Michael. I’m worried that you’re becoming…” Her words drift off and she looks away, like she can’t put voice to what she wanted to say.

“What?” I ask. I put the brownies on top of an old pizza box on the coffee table. “Like Max?”

She works her mouth but doesn’t look at me. After wringing her hands for a few moments, she finally glances up, her eyes full of concern. “Depressed.”

Like Max. I sigh. “Iz, I’m not suicidal, okay? I’m just at a cross roads. I need to figure out where I’m going. That’s all.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but maybe a little hopeful.

“Seriously,” I assure her. “It’s time I grew up, don’t you think?” I wink at her and she grins. “I thought I had things under control and I don’t.” I shrug. “I just need some time away from things to figure out what I want to do. Ya know?”

She nods, her long blond hair swinging with the motion. “Yeah, I know.”

I reach across and cuff her knee. “So stop worrying about me. I’m fine.” I know that will relieve her a bit – Max never assured any of us that he was fine.

“Okay. But if you need anything, call me, okay? You know I care about you.”

I nod. “I know, Iz. Thanks.”

Isabel glances at her watch. “I’ve gotta meet Mom.”

“Another fund raiser?”

She laughs lightly. “Yeah. Polka night with the seniors. Interested?”

“Uh, no.” I reach for one of the brownies again as she giggles. “If you can get Metallica to come to town, then I’m in.”

“Okay.” Reaching over, she puts her arms around me and gives me a tight hug.

But this time she lingers a little longer. I know it’s not meant to be anything more than what it is, but it takes me off guard. She’s soft and smells good and I know that she’s not a malevolent force in my life. So when she leans in to give me a friendly kiss goodbye, something inside of me shifts gears. Just as she didn’t let go of the hug immediately, I don’t let go of the kiss right away.

For the first five or six seconds it feels great. She responds to me, which I have a feeling is just a surprised reaction, not really full participation. It’s the first sexual kiss we’ve shared and it totally feels wrong.

Isabel pulls away, her face a mass of confusion. I immediately feel like an ass. I don’t know why I did that. I had no right to do that. Her expression leaves no doubt as to how she feels – I’ve betrayed her trust. Of all of the people I never wanted to hurt…

Shakily, her eyes fixed on mine, she gets to her feet.

“Isabel, I’m sorry,” I say guiltily.

“Why did you do that, Michael?” she asks, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

“I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.” My words sound hollow and insincere, though I mean them whole-heartedly.

Isabel straightens her shirt and looks away. I think she’s going to vomit. “I have to go,” she says, her voice strained.

Then she’s gone, out the door, running away from me.

I sit on my couch, staring into space. I’m stunned at myself. I truly am. I should follow her, but I don’t. In my head, I imagine her running through the parking lot, not watching where she’s going and getting hit by a Hummer or something. The image is so real that I have to go to the window to make sure she’s okay. I see her emerge from the building, her hand over her mouth and she is indeed running for her car. I know she’s crying and I feel a big gaping hole open up in my conscience. Jumping into the car, she throws it into gear and tears out of the parking lot, a New Mexico dust storm rising up behind her.

My God what have I done?

I can’t possibly make any more mistakes. Especially not with women. I messed around with Maria’s emotions, I tried to screw Mae straight and now I’ve defiled mine and Isabel’s friendship for reasons I don’t even understand.

The most angering part – I now know for sure I can definitely get it up for her.

That plate of brownies taunts me from the coffee table. In an immature rage, I pick it up and throw it as hard as I can against the wall. Cake and glass fly everywhere, but it does nothing to assuage the conflict I feel inside. I run my hands through my hair, grab my head, trying to squeeze out the demons. There’s no escape.

Except for maybe one.

My bike hasn’t been touched in over a year. I jerk the tarp off it and look at it lustily. I want the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, so I toss the helmet off to the side. A couple of kicks and the engine roars to life. Already, I feel the tension running out of my body.

Then I’m on the road, gunning the engine, passing slow-moving cars. I forget about Maria and Mae and the awful thing I just did to Isabel. All I can feel is the hum of the motor beneath me; all I hear is the rumble of the exhaust. The wind assaults my face and I realize that I left my sunglasses in the helmet I hastily discharged. The faster I go, the more I have to squint. It would be nice to have the shades…

But I put that worry aside as I see the desert road stretching out before me. I’m starting to feel light, free. I give the accelerator a quick twist and the bike leaps forward, so quickly that it nearly squirts out from under me. I laugh out loud at the panic/pleasure jolt that races through my body.

I see the rock too late. It’s not a big rock, perhaps the size of a softball, but it’s definitely large enough to lay waste to this little dirt bike. I swerve to miss it.

Then I see blue sky over head, a horizon tilted to the left.

And then nothing more.

tbc