Always, in December by Emily Stone

Chapter Twelve

‘Erin, let me get you some more. You must be famished after that flight.’ Max’s mother was already halfway to her feet, her gold necklace swinging with the movement, and was reaching to the middle of the table to the bowl of Spanish rice that had accompanied the roast salmon she’d served. Max resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and deliberately did not look at Chloe, in case he caught a similar expression there. His mum had been trying to force-feed Erin basically since she’d walked through the door, having even gone to this special biscuit shop bloody miles away to get some biscuits that she ‘thought Erin might like’.

Erin shook her head. ‘No, honestly, Valerie, I’m fine.’

His mum pursed her red-painted lips, then turned to Liam, who was sitting opposite Max, black jacket over the back of his chair so his red shirt was firmly on show, and already had a full second helping on his plate. ‘Are you alright, Liam?’ Her American accent seemed to become stronger when she spoke to Liam, like just being in the same vicinity softened the English edge she’d picked up. She smiled at him fondly when he choked down his food hurriedly to answer, and Max wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d crossed the room to pat his lips with a bloody napkin. Honestly, it was like Christmas for her, with Liam and Erin in the same room – like having her own two children over from England couldn’t possibly compare.

Their mum sat back down with clear reluctance and exchanged a look with Max’s dad, who smiled at her a little indulgently from where he was sitting at the head of the table, hands resting on his stomach as if it was painful. He worked hard to keep himself fit, Max knew, but despite that there was a slight pouch starting to appear around his midsection, though it was something the rest of the family tacitly avoided speaking about.

His mum’s gaze was still flicking between Erin’s empty plate and the remaining food on the table, and Max could just see she was about to try and get Erin to eat more, having already told Max twice in the two hours that Erin had been here that she was looking ‘very slim’, as if that was some kind of cause for alarm, rather than something Erin clearly worked hard at. Before he could interject, Erin got there first.

‘That was just amazing, Valerie, thanks so much. I’m sorry I couldn’t eat more – my body clock is all messed up and I ate on the plane – I wasn’t sure that we’d be eating here as I got in so late.’ She said it all graciously, but something about it made Max squirm in his seat.

Which wasn’t helped by the fact that Mum shot him a glare out of those green-gold eyes – eyes that she claimed he’d inherited and ‘made his own’, the gold-rimmed irises darker in his than hers. Jesus, it wasn’t his fault that she’d decided to host a bloody gourmet feast, was it? All he’d said was that Erin might be hungry when she got in – which also clearly meant that she might not be. How was he supposed to know the inner workings of someone else’s internal hunger cues, for God’s sake?

‘You ate on the plane?’ His mum’s perfectly plucked – not by her – eyebrows furrowed. ‘You did fly business class, didn’t you, Erin?’

Max’s dad reached out to give her hand a squeeze on the table, at the same time as Max said, ‘Mum.’

Chloe, unhelpfully, rolled her eyes, helping herself to a third helping of rice – unlike the two guests, their mum had not thought to offer either of her own children extra helpings. Max noticed the way Liam shifted slightly as Chloe reached across the table, making sure that her arm did not brush his, and couldn’t help the little smirk that crossed his face. The two of them had been nothing other than polite to each other – Chloe, he knew, was only behaving so because of their parents’ presence, rather than it being her innate nature, like Liam’s – and had barely said anything directly to each other over dinner unless it was part of a group conversation. But Max had seen the way Liam kept sneaking glances at her, the way Chloe was almost studiously ignoring those glances. Not that he was one to talk. Just as he was thinking it, Erin shifted position and, for the third time that evening, he felt her knee, clad in those skinny jeans that showed off her epic legs, brush against his under the table. It was brief enough that it could, theoretically, be accidental, and it was certainly something that would go unnoticed by anyone else at the table. But he was sure, by the subtle yet firm pressure, that it was a deliberate move on her part to let him know that while she might be talking to his mother, her attention was on him. Max picked up his drink – non-alcoholic, sadly – and concentrated intently on taking a sip.

‘What?’ his mother asked, in a tone of voice that reminded Max almost comically of Chloe. He might have got his mum’s looks, but Chloe had her personality, through and through, though each of them refused to see it in one another.

His dad cleared his throat, his eyes – brown like Chloe’s, though not quite as dark – on the side of his mum’s powdered face, and he gave her hand another little squeeze. His mum pretended not to notice.

‘Economy is awful these days,’ she continued, ‘the food especially, and I wouldn’t wish it on even Mrs Price on the floor below.’ She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. ‘Well, maybe her. She had the cheek the other day to ask if our cleaner also did our cooking, and I just know it was a jibe, because she knows full well that we can’t afford both—’

‘We wouldn’t want a cook anyway,’ Max’s dad butted in. ‘That would mean we’d miss out on your cooking.’ He twinkled at his wife, and Max noticed the way his mother tried – and clearly failed – to hide a smile.

‘Hear, hear!’ Liam said, in his best impression of a British accent.

‘Oh Liam, you’re such a sweetie.’ She gave him a warm smile, her eyes softening as if she was looking at her firstborn. She patted her dark auburn hair, as if checking the curls she’d had put in yesterday were still in place. Like her eyes, Max had got the hair too, though not the curls, given they were artificial, and he had to admit he was grateful for that – he wasn’t sure he could have pulled off little ringlets. His was a darker version of hers, too, only really truly auburn in the sun.

Liam’s eyes sparkled back, and he raised his glass of Pinot Grigio in a toast to Max’s mother. Chloe gave Liam a withering look, which he either didn’t notice or chose to ignore, and when she saw Max looking, she mimed gagging into her own wine. Their dad immediately gave Chloe a stern look out of eyes that were eerily similar to hers, and Chloe turned the action into a hacking cough, thumping her chest. Max tried not to laugh.

Luckily, their mum didn’t notice Chloe because she was beaming between Liam and Erin, who said, ‘Agreed,’ with a little smile. Erin took a sip of her own wine, though Max could see her trying to stifle a yawn. She looked knackered – though a polished version of knackered, carefully applied cosmetics blended to cover the dark circles and brighten the pale face he’d seen at the airport, the blue blouse she’d changed into clean and crisp after showering and doing something with her blonde hair to make it more . . . bushy. Though he was pretty sure that wasn’t the word she’d use. He knew she must be desperate to get to bed, but wouldn’t until she deemed it appropriate to leave the table.

Across the table, Chloe put her knife and fork together, sitting back and patting her stomach. ‘Is there any pudding?’

Their mum frowned. ‘You’ve just eaten enough for three people.’

Chloe smiled sweetly. ‘But your cooking’s just so good, Mum. I barely have time to cook when I’m working, you must remember what it’s like, in the early days . . .’ She gave their mother a baleful look, and Max saw his mum’s expression soften despite herself.

‘Alright, but you can come and help me serve it.’ Together, Chloe and his mum cleared the table, taking everything to the semi-closed-off kitchen behind them. Chloe shot Max a wink as she walked past. When Max looked back across the table, he noticed Liam’s gaze trailing his little sister. Max cleared his throat loudly, and Liam jumped, then shot him a guilty look.

Erin turned to his dad, slipping one slim leg over the other underneath the table. Despite the jet lag, she really did look good, Max had to give her that. ‘So, Roger, how’s retirement suiting you?’

Given that Erin was already engaging his dad in conversation about life in New York and how he was finding living in America for the first time, Max leaned in to Liam. ‘She’ll eat you alive, you know.’

Liam swirled his wine in his glass and gave Max an all-too-innocent look. ‘I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.’

Max raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that so?’

Liam laid a hand across his heart dramatically. ‘Don’t you worry, you know she’s not really my type.’ And it was true – Liam’s type tended towards the Erins of the world, long-limbed and sophisticated. Still, he was pretty sure that, if Chloe had decided she was interested, then the man didn’t stand a chance.

Max let it drop for the time being, and sat back against the grey chair that was sort of an armchair without arms. It matched the rest of the apartment, which was mainly white and grey and clearly designed to make the place look bigger than it was. He let his eyes trail around the place: the wooden floors, the corner sofa, the fucking massive windows all around the living room. It was a bit uniform for him, but he could see why his parents liked it here. Though he hadn’t been able to quite believe it when they’d told him they were moving to the Upper East Side, of all places – one of the places known across the world for being home to the posh people of New York. He’d known their childhood home had gone for more than they’d thought it would when they’d sold up a few years ago, but still. Not that he knew exactly how much this place cost – but given his profession, he could guess. A three-bedroom apartment in this kind of high-rise fancy building was not cheap. Plus, you got the views across the city here, though currently all you could see were the lights of the other buildings and streets below. The place even had a fancy-arse doorman who greeted Max by name every time he saw him. It made him wonder whether his mother was really doing the hospital consultancy work ‘to keep busy’ as she claimed, or if they actually just needed the money.

When his mum and Chloe reappeared holding homemade apple pie and the dessert plates respectively, Max noted how Liam suddenly became ever-so-interested in the discussion Erin and his dad were having about the latest Broadway shows. Max let out a soft snort, and Erin briefly flicked a glance at him, eyes questioning. He only shook his head.

After the apple pie was mostly eaten – Erin eating half of her piece in a clear effort not to offend – Liam announced that he had to go, because they needed to be in the office early tomorrow ahead of a big pitch. Managing to get around Max’s mum’s protests, Liam said his goodbyes, kissing his mum and Erin on the cheek, shaking his dad’s hand, and giving Max a friendly pat on the shoulder. He turned to Chloe last, who was leaning back against her chair, having only got to her feet with clear reluctance because everyone else had. She looked up at him with measured eyes, and he ran a hand across the back of his neck. Honestly, Max felt sorry for the guy – the whole family and Erin were watching the two of them with interest, no sign of embarrassment for doing so. Not sorry enough to distract anyone though.

‘Well, it was nice to see you again, Chloe,’ Liam said, all airs and graces. Out of the corner of his eye, Max saw his mum give a little nod of approval – politeness went far in her book.

Chloe gave a smile that could in no way be considered sweet. ‘You too.’ And it was Chloe who straightened and stretched up, giving Liam’s cheek a swift kiss, resting one of her hands on his forearm as if to stabilise herself. She pulled back, cocked her head. ‘Maybe I’ll see you again while I’m here.’

Liam cleared his throat. ‘Right. Yeah, maybe.’ He gave Max a slightly wide-eyed look at that, and Max only nodded and shrugged, as if to say I told you so.

The moment Liam was out the door, Erin took the opportunity before everyone could sit down again. ‘I’m so sorry, but I think I’m going to have to call it a night, otherwise I’ll be rotten company tomorrow.’ She smiled at everyone, and Max’s dad and mum both shook their heads as if even the thought of Erin being rotten company was unthinkable. Chloe just sat down and dug into a second piece of apple pie. ‘Besides,’ Erin continued, ‘I don’t want to oversleep and miss out on anything – I want to make the most of the weekend as it’s my first time in New York.’

Another headshake from his mother, her tight little curls twirling with the movement. ‘That’s a crying shame.’ She shot Max a little frown and Max resisted the urge to sigh.

Erin gave Max’s shoulder a little squeeze before she left the table. Her touch lingered after she moved on, making it clear to him that he was going to have to make some sort of decision sooner or later, and from the expressions on their faces, the action was one which did not go unnoticed by the rest of the family.

When his mum started to clear the table – party officially over now the guests of honour had left – Max and Chloe jumped in to help, unable to ignore years of ingrained habit. His mum grinned at his dad. ‘Trained them well, didn’t we?’

His dad stretched back in his seat. ‘I take all the credit,’ he said lazily.

His mum’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that so?’ When his dad only grinned, his mum elbowed him on the shoulder as she walked by, in a way that made Max smile a little. It was nice that some things, at least, remained constant.

It was after he’d set the pile of dessert plates down on the kitchen counter that his mum fixed him with a very direct look. She crossed her arms. ‘Are you really going back to the UK, Max?’ Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chloe leaving the kitchen in a move that he had no doubt was deliberate. Bloody deserter. Max didn’t answer. He’d long since learned that the best thing to do with questions that his mother knew the answer to was to stay silent. ‘But what will you do there?’ she pressed. He started loading the dishwasher just so he didn’t have to look at her.

‘I don’t know, Mum,’ he said on a sigh. ‘But it’s not right to stay here with you just for the sake of it either. I’ve already been here longer than anyone expected.’

He heard the tapping of her perfectly manicured nails on the countertop. ‘It won’t be good for you. Just sitting around, doing nothing.’

He glanced up at her from where he was putting in the last plate, cocking one eyebrow. ‘Who says I’ll be doing nothing?’

She bit her lip. ‘If you had a plan or a . . .’ Max straightened to see her glancing down the corridor, in the direction of Erin’s bedroom. At least she never claimed to be subtle. ‘A someone, well then it would be different, but . . . You can’t just go home and do nothing. You can’t just let your life stop like that, Max.’ Max felt his control slip slightly, enough that he glared at his mother. She winced and he shook his head in apology, pulling one hand through his hair.

Chloe provided a brief distraction, coming in with the remainder of the clutter from the table, but his mum was not giving in so easily. ‘What about your old firm?’

Max sighed. ‘I doubt they’d take me back now, even for freelance.’

‘Well, have you thought about where you’ll live?’

‘I’ve got my flat.’

His mum pursed her lips. Her lips were still red, making him wonder just what kind of nuclear lipstick she’d applied. ‘Yes, the flat you rented out and, as far as I’m aware, you’re doing nothing to end the contract.’

Max gritted his teeth. ‘I’ll figure it out, ok? Stop worrying.’

‘He can stay with me,’ Chloe piped up, leaning back against the counter next to Max and giving his arm a friendly punch.

Their mother frowned at her. ‘You don’t need the distraction,’ she said sharply. Then she softened her tone. ‘You need to focus, sweetie, your residency is one of the most important times in your career.’

Chloe just rolled her eyes at Max.

Clearly considering it a losing battle now Chloe was on his team, his mum sighed. ‘I’m going to bed, I’ll see you both tomorrow.’ She hesitated before she left the kitchen and glanced back at Max. ‘I can’t stop worrying, you know.’ Her tone was ever so slightly sad. ‘It’s a mother’s prerogative.’ She smiled almost wistfully before she left them alone.

Max looked at Chloe, grimacing. ‘Am I a terrible son?’

She shrugged. ‘Yeah, I reckon so.’

He stared at her a moment, then laughed, turning to put the kettle on to boil. ‘Thanks.’

‘Any time.’ She patted him on the arm. ‘So. What’s up with the sexy architect?’

Max got down two mugs, smiled at her over his shoulder. ‘Well, I’m just fine, thanks for asking.’

She huffed. ‘Why don’t you bring him along tomorrow?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘No. I didn’t even invite you.’ He put a mint teabag in one mug, regular in the other. Held up a third mug to Chloe, who shook her head.

‘Don’t make it sound like that, you know full well I’m doing you a favour by making it a group thing and not a date.’

He chose to ignore that. ‘You barely said two words to him all evening, I doubt he’ll even want to come.’

She shook her head and gave him a wicked look. ‘Oh, he’ll want to come, trust me.’

Max couldn’t help the little wince. ‘What’s up with that doctor from your course that you were seeing?’

She shrugged. ‘He’s boring.’ She narrowed her eyes at him and he held up his hands.

‘I said nothing.’

‘You don’t have to say anything, it’s written all over your face.’ Then she sighed. ‘There’s just no point in keeping at something unless it’s the real thing. You might think I’m harsh, but I’m not. I’m just waiting for the one, you know?’

Max nodded slowly, his attention on the kettle that was now bubbling. ‘Yeah. I know.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘You do?’

He filled the mugs with the boiling water and kissed Chloe briefly on the cheek as he left the kitchen, mugs in hand. ‘Night, sis.’

His dad was setting up the sofa as a bed for Chloe when Max stepped out of the kitchen into the living room. He caught Max’s eye, then crossed the room to him. Tonight, it seemed, was a night of interrogations. His dad ran one hand through his hair. Like Chloe’s, it was dark, though it was a little longer than hers now, and the flecks of grey became more obvious every time Max saw him, in both his hair and the small beard that he’d let grow out a little in recent years. ‘I, err, could hear your mother flapping.’

Max took a sip of the normal tea in his right hand. ‘Yep. But that’s ok, we’re all used to it.’

His dad nodded, then rocked back on his heels. Always took the time to figure out what he wanted to say, his dad. ‘I know it’s not ideal, living with your parents, but I want you to know that we both mean it. There’s always a place for you here, if you’re not ready to go home yet, or else if you want to come back if things don’t . . . work out, back there.’

Because he knew how it was meant, that his dad wasn’t trying to push him into anything, Max clapped a hand on his dad’s shoulder. They were almost exactly the same height. ‘Thanks.’

He turned to go, but his dad spoke up again. ‘Your mother just worries.’

‘I know, Dad.’

‘And look, she won’t push—’

‘But you will?’

‘But she’s getting to know a few people, the longer she’s here,’ his dad continued calmly, evenly. ‘If you wanted to have a chat with someone, consider your options, I’m sure she could introduce you—’

‘No, Dad.’ It came out more sharply than he’d intended, and Max took a breath. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but we’ve been through this. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, it’s just . . .’ It’s just that this was so repetitive, an echo of similar arguments they’d had when he was a teenager, his mother in particular wanting him to do things the way she thought was best – the medical career, especially. But he couldn’t say it, not outright, not without offending one or both of them. So instead he settled with, ‘I just have to do things my own way, ok?’

His dad stared at him for a moment, as if deciding something, then nodded slowly. ‘Fair enough. As long as you’re sure. Go and check on Erin before you go to bed, will you? It’s rude to leave a girl like that without saying a proper goodnight.’ He turned away, back to the sofa, so he didn’t see Max’s headshake. But really – a girl like that? As opposed to any other girl?

Still, he did just that, knocking on Erin’s door a moment later. She opened it, already in her pyjamas but her face not yet stripped of cosmetics. He hadn’t seen her without them in a long time – a privilege he’d given up when they’d broken up.

‘I brought you tea,’ Max said, lifting the mint tea that he’d made, hoping that it was still what she liked to drink before bed. An offering, he supposed – one to let her know that he was genuinely thankful she’d bothered to come out and see him, no matter what happened next.

She smiled, took it, and opened the door a bit wider. He stepped in, though he left the door open behind him deliberately. She was in the smallest room, but it was still plenty big enough. Her suitcase was currently open on a green and brown rug that he thought was hideous but his mother obviously liked, which was covering most of the spare wooden floor at the foot of the bed. The sight of her clothes neatly folded and piled there made him smile a little. No doubt she was ready to transfer them all to the drawers in the wardrobe, no matter that she was only here for three nights.

‘You ok?’ he asked. ‘All settled?’

Erin nodded, blew on her tea and took a sip. He started to rock back on his heels, remembered his father doing just that and stopped, clearing his throat. Why could he suddenly think of nothing to say? It never used to be this awkward between them – even when they’d been recently broken up they’d always been relatively easy around each other. But for some reason this time it all felt forced, like there had been some irreversible change. Maybe it was just that six months had passed with barely any contact. That, and the fact that the last time he’d seen her he’d barely been functioning like a human being, clouded with the weight of something he’d been told time and time again was grief.

Erin set her tea down on the bedside table – Christ, his mother had put flowers there, yellow flowers, no less, Erin’s favourite colour – and turned back to him, taking his spare hand, the one not holding his own tea, in both of hers. Her scent drifted over to him. She’d always smelled the same, ever since university, some kind of lavender scent which he presumed came from the same shower gel or whatever that she used.

‘I’ve been so worried about you,’ she said softly, with a fleeting glance at the open door.

‘I know,’ Max said, grimacing a little. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve been in touch more. I’ve just been a little . . . distracted, I guess.’

She nodded vigorously, her hair, longer and lighter than when he’d last seen her, bouncing as she did so. ‘I get that, I do.’ But it was said in a way that made him doubt it. Feeling his shoulders tense, he pulled his hand from hers, then patted the top of her hand to make the action less abrupt. He just wished that she – that everyone – would treat him normally again, would stop tiptoeing around him. He’d decided to move on from it, as much as he could anyway; the least everyone else could do was respect that.

She stepped towards him, hooked her hands behind his head so that his mug of tea was pressed awkwardly against him, the steam of it coiling in the space between them. She tilted her head, the way she always used to, when gauging his reaction. ‘I missed you.’

Her eyes were so blue. He’d almost forgotten that. He cleared his throat. ‘I missed you too,’ he said, because it was true. He wasn’t sure he meant it in quite the same way, but he’d missed having her around. She continued to watch him, like she was waiting for some kind of decision. He hesitated for just a moment, then leaned in, planted a whisper of a kiss on her smooth cheek. He stepped away from her, lifted his mug in a kind of toast. The corner of her mouth crooked up.

‘Night, Erin.’ With that he closed the door behind him and let out a slow, long breath.