His hand pauses in mid-pour and some of the liquid sloshes over the side of the glass. “What do you mean?”
“That’s why he doesn’t want to see you. He thinks you’re up to something. That there’s a good reason that I should stay away from you. Is he right?”
Max pours a little more in the glass before he turns to face me. “Probably. Does that mean you’re going to stop coming?”
This is the first time he’s acknowledged any wrongdoing. Even though it’s a small concession, it makes me feel better anyway.
“No, I’m not going to stop coming.”
For a moment, his eyes flash with joy and then he turns back to his drink. This seems to be an obsession of his, getting all of his children back together, making contact with all of us. Not that it’s not a fine sentiment but I can’t help but wonder why it matters to him so much. It’s been years and all of our lives have been progressing just fine. Why the sudden need for a family reunion? Why the urgency?
“Whatever it is, you might as well just tell us. It’ll come out in the end anyway so why fight it?”
He grunts. “Only young people think that way. We older folk know there’s something to timing. To waiting for the perfect moment.”
“I’m not sure I believe perfect exists anymore.”
All I can think of is Rissa’s face this morning. She'd looked so right in my bed, as close to perfect as I think exists in this world. The first time I loved her, I would have done anything, given anything for her. I've had her on a pedestal in my mind for all the wrong reasons. Both of us have used time to twist our memories and only focused on the good things. We'd dreamed of so much together, building a home, filling it with kids someday. But that's all they were. Dreams.
None of those dreams took into account our very real flaws and the inevitable pitfalls of just living life. Maybe it was because we were so young or maybe it was just our destiny to walk away from each other before we could find our way back. But I've come to the understanding that just because things weren't perfect between us doesn't mean that they were wrong.
Or maybe that's what perfect really means in this world. Seeing the flaws in someone yet loving them anyway.
My father is struggling to reconnect with the people in his life after manipulating and lying to them. I don't want to end up like that. I pull out my phone and quickly compose an email to Patrick Stevens.
Patrick,
My plans have changed. Put all company acquisitions on hold until further notice.
I send the message and then look up to see Max watching me. His eyes narrow. "I see a lot of me in you."
“I'm nothing like you, Max."
His eyes glaze over slightly and I move forward, worried that he’s having another attack.
“Max? Are you okay?”
He nods quickly. “Just short of breath sometimes. This old body is failing me. And I don’t have the time to right all the wrongs I’ve done. I’ve done bad things, Finn. Hurt people. Mainly people who loved me. I’m just trying to make it right.”
“Some things can’t be fixed that easily.”
Max watches me with sad eyes. “I know. But we can try.”
* * * * *
After I leave my father, I head over to the hospital. Mom was scheduled to have another procedure this morning but she assured me it was nothing serious. I would have rescheduled my time with Max anyway if Tank hadn’t told me he would be there with her. He already texted me her room number.
Having Rissa at my place in the mornings has altered my schedule slightly. I smile wondering if Mom has figured out that Rissa is practically living with me yet. Usually she’s on top of these things. She’s always noticed everything, especially when it’s something I’m trying to hide.
My smile fades as soon as I enter her room and see the look on her face. Something is wrong.
“I’ll be back later when we get the latest test results.” Dr. Singh, her oncologist, nods at me before leaving the room.
Mom smiles brightly when she sees me. “Finn. I told you, you really don’t have to come every time I'm scheduled for a procedure.”
Suddenly she claps a hand over her mouth. The action doesn’t cover her soft cry. She takes another deep breath in and out. Then she squeezes her eyes shut and tears spill over her cheeks and onto her hand.
“Mom?” I rush to her side and sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed. She grabs my arm and that sends a cold shaft of fear arrowing straight through my heart. Throughout this entire process, she’s been steady and positive. No matter how much comfort I’ve offered, she’s always seemed as though she doesn’t need it. I knew it was because she just didn’t want me to see her cry. But the way she’s holding on to me now means she’s too distraught to hide it anymore.
Eventually her sobs slow and then taper off until she manages to catch her breath. Her fingers unfurl from the sleeves of my shirt and she raises her head. When our eyes meet, she manages a shaky smile. “I’m glad you’re here, Finn.”
“Me too.” There’s really nothing else I can say. I have no idea how to process what’s just happened.
Mom pulls the sheet on the bed higher, looking like she wishes she could disappear behind it. For once, the television isn’t playing in the background and the silence swells around us. The mindless shows that usually annoy me make more sense now. Noise and activity of any kind is preferable to this awful silence.