Pieces of Him (13 page)

Shit. I’m running this through my head, trying to figure out how I can make this work. How I can manage to cut my hours twice a week and not fall behind.

“I can watch him in the afternoon those days.” Emelia pipes up, her eyes on me looking almost excited. “I’m usually home by three-thirty.”

“You would do that?” That she would offer floors me. I’m legitimately stunned because I can’t believe this girl is this full of generosity where I’m concerned. I remind myself that she’s taken with Xander; it has nothing to do with me. I remind myself that she’s just trying to be a good neighbor.

“Sure, I would. I mean it’s only for a couple of hours, and I love spending time with Xander.”

“I would pay you,” I say, letting her know that I’ll compensate her for the time she’s giving me.

“No,” she returns immediately. “You don’t have to pay me. I’m doing it because I want to. It’s no big deal, Max.”

“Emelia …”

“I get bored at home after work anyway. This way, I have Xander to keep me company.”

I nod my head because there’s nothing to say. If I could I’d kiss her right now, I would. If I could, I’d do more than that, but I’d settle for kissing her. I know that she’s not the kind of girl who would ever get involved with me. She’s young, beautiful, smart, and she appears to have her shit together. Unlike me, who’s fledgling and trying to get by one day at a time. Half of the time, she’s more scared of me than anything else. She needs the kind of guy who isn’t rough around the edges. A man who can take care of her and not add stress to her life. I can’t deny the fact that I’m attracted to her, though.

We spend a little while longer with Mrs. Park. She holds Xander for a while and she chats some more about her time as a teacher. Normally, this would bore the shit out of me, but the lady is literally saving my life, so I sit here and listen. We finalize the schedule with her, agreeing that she’ll watch Xander in my apartment since all of his things are there. Emelia takes Xander from Mrs. Park as we say good-bye. When we reach her apartment door, she carefully slides him back into my arms.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve thanked you since last night but …”

“Don’t,” she says reaching out and stroking Xander’s cheek. She looks at him as if she wants to absorb him. Like if she had the power to take away every bad thing that could ever touch him, she would. “Don’t thank me.”

“All right, then,” I say, looking over her shoulder and at her door. I’m unable to explain why I suddenly don’t want her to open that door. A look about her tells me she doesn’t really want to open it either. She said she gets bored at home, and I have to wonder if she’s as lonely as I am at times. I wonder if it would be totally out of the question to use each other to kill that loneliness. “What are you going to do now?”

“Ah. I don’t know.” She shrugs, looking down at her shoes and then back up at me. “Nothing, I guess. Maybe I’ll finish unpacking.”

“Sounds boring,” I say with a smirk.

She smiles and agrees. “It is.”

“Then let me take you to lunch?”

“Lunch?” she asks, her eyebrows creasing in confusion as she tilts her head to the side. Damn, she’s cute.

“Yeah, I’m assuming you haven’t eaten. Neither have I. Treating you to lunch is the least I can do for you.”

“Um. Okay, sure. Let me just get my bag,” she says.

“I’m going to get Xander’s bag.” I jerk my head in the direction of my apartment. “Just come to my place when you’re done. I’ll leave the door open.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

I put Xander down and look around trying to figure out exactly what I need to put in his bag. I try to imagine how fucking ridiculous I would look pushing a stroller with a diaper bag hanging from my shoulder. Jesus, this sucks. I go to my closet and grab my black backpack because there’s no effing way I’m using that thing Keri bought for him. I throw a couple of diapers in there and a packet of unopened baby wipes.

“Max, you ready?” I hear Emelia, and I turn just as she’s closing the door behind her.

“What the hell am I supposed to put in here?” I ask holding the backpack up.

“Why aren’t you using the diaper bag?”

I cock my head to the side and glare at her with an
are you serious
look.

“What? You’re too much of a badass to carry a diaper bag around?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I’ll carry it.”

“Fine,” I say pulling the diapers and wipes from my bag and handing them to her. She puts them in the bag and looks up at me.

“A change of clothes in case he spits up or blows out his diaper again,” she says with a smile.

“Right. That’s a good idea.” I go to his nursery and grab a change of clothes. When I get back, Emelia is in the kitchen pouring water into bottles. I put the clothes in the bag and go to the kitchen.

“Can you fill that dispenser with the formula powder?”

I look at the blue cup thing she’s pointing at, and I pick it up and examine it.

“Is that what this is for?”

“Yeah, you fill it up and you have enough to make him three bottles.”

“Interesting.” Every day, there’s something new. Something happens, or I figure out how to use something else or do something else to take care of Xander. Two weeks ago, I thought that it would be impossible for someone like me to manage taking care of a baby. Two weeks ago, I didn’t want one thing to do with any of it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s still hard, but maybe it’s not quite as bad as purgatory.

Emelia~

His eyes are on me as I scour my menu. I can feel them. After our first few encounters, I wouldn’t have been okay with that, but now … Now, I like his eyes on me. It’s crazy, I know. His life is chaotic. His son’s mother died only two weeks ago, and I still don’t know anything about her or their relationship. He couldn’t be thinking about more than just a friendship with me. I think he’s just grateful that I stepped up and helped him with Xander. The thing is there are times when he doesn’t realize how vulnerable he looks. Times when he looks lost and I don’t know why but I want to help him. At first, I had a connection to Xander because I thought Max didn’t want him. A part of me understood that—what it felt like to have a parent who didn’t want you. When I thought he might be in trouble, I had to help him because he was helpless. Then I realized that Max wasn’t that bad; I realized he loved his son. He might not understand that, but seeing his reaction last night to what the sitter did confirmed this for me. He loves Xander, but he’s lost and alone, and he may even be scared of getting things wrong. But I’ve seen him look at his baby with pride, I’ve seen how tender he can be with him, and I like it. A good man exists somewhere underneath the attitude he exudes, and I’ve seen glimpses of him. That’s who I’m attracted to.

The waiter comes and takes our orders. I look at Xander, who’s asleep in his carrier, perched on a sling at the end of the table. I have nowhere else to look but up at Max.

“This place is cool,” I say in an effort at small talk.

“You’ve never been here before?” It feels strange to have his undivided attention. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who gives his attention away easily.

“I just moved from Connecticut. I haven’t really been anywhere.”

He leans back in his chair in one very fluid motion. He has an ease about him, an air of confidence that makes him effortlessly cool.

“What brought you here?”

“I got a job.”

“To get a job you had to have been looking for a job.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So you were looking to leave something behind.”

Oh shit, I don’t like this topic of conversation. I need to figure out a way to steer us out of it and into less disturbing topics.

“No. I just thought it would be a good way for me to gain some independence. Get out from under my parents’ roof. I think that’s normal, right?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says with a shrug. “I’ve been on my own since I was seventeen.” He says it like it’s no big deal, like this sort of thing happens every day.

“Seventeen?” I ask trying to hide the fact that this revelation stuns me. I’m sure I’m doing a crappy job of it.

“Yeah.”

“Why so young?” I probe, wanting to hear the story behind this.

“My mother left when I was young. I don’t even remember her. My dad was useless. He didn’t want a kid, but he put up with me. Kept me fed, sheltered, and somewhat clothed. When I got old enough, I started taking care of myself.”

“How old was old enough?”

“Ten.” He picks up his glass of water and takes a sip, never taking his eyes off me.

“How’d you take care of yourself?”

“Got my own clothes, fed myself, got myself to school, shit like that.”

“How’d you manage all that?”

“You do what you have to do,” is all he gives as a response. He doesn’t really need to say it; I can only imagine. This breaks my heart a little to hear what kind of childhood he had. I can picture him as a little boy fending for himself, and I hate the mental image. I hate that his father didn’t take care of him.

“Anyway, by the time I hit seventeen, shit had gotten bad with my dad. Well, it was always bad, but it just got worse,” he says, amending his statement. “He was addicted to drugs and blew all his money on that shit. He met some old chick, was mooching off her, and she was supporting his habit, so he left, moved in with her.”

“He just left you?”

“Yeah, he’d stopped paying the mortgage on our house, obviously … but I got a job after school. I paid the utilities and cable and stayed there until the bank foreclosed. By the time that happened, I was eighteen. I got a full-time job and rented a room in some old man’s house. I’d help him out around his yard and shit, fix things for him, and he’d give me a discount on rent. I think he mostly just wanted the company. I stayed there for a while until I met Jack.”

“Jack?”

“My boss. He gave me my first legit job. For some reason, he took a liking to me. He took me under his wing and taught me everything I know.”

“About what? What do you do?”

“Construction. I got promoted to project manager about a year ago. Money is good, solid. It’s stable work, and I make a decent living now.”

“Max, that’s amazing,” I tell him because it is. I’ve never met anyone like him before. I’ve never met someone who literally went from having nothing to making a life for himself. A life he can be proud of. He can be an asshole at times, he can be crass, but I get it. I get it because that type of behavior is all he’s ever known, yet he tries every day to break out of that mold.

Our food is brought out and the topic of Max’s childhood comes to an end. He shifts the spotlight back to me.

“So?” he starts as he pours ketchup on his french fries. “What is this big job that you moved here for?”

“I’m a social worker.”

“Ah, that explains a lot.”

This gets my attention. I put my burger down and take a sip of my drink.

“What does it explain?”

“Your need to fix things.”

I shake my head in rebuttal. “I don’t have a need to fix things.”

“It’s not a bad thing. You won’t see me complaining about it.”

“I like to help people. That’s true, but I don’t think it’s so much fixing things as it is…” I stop mid sentence because I don’t know exactly what I’m trying to say. I guess I’ve honestly never given my career path much thought; it was just something that I wanted to do. I didn’t think of the hows and whys of it.

“As it is what?”

“I don’t know. I guess maybe you’re right. I like to fix things,” I concede with a shrug. I pick up my burger, and I know he’s staring at me, but I ignore it as I take a bite. We’re both silent for a while, eating our meals, enjoying each other’s company, and it’s nice. I should leave it alone and not ask, but the curiosity is killing me. I need to know about Xander’s mom.

“What was her name?”

“Who?”

“Xander’s mom.”

“Her name was Keri.”

“Were you together long?”

“We weren’t together at all. She was my friend.”

“Friend with benefits?”