Chapter Text
For Max, summer had passed like a bad dream. Something she lived through instead of lived in.
She spent most of it alone, telling her mother the same line over and over, like a prayer:
It’ll be fine. Marcus will be home soon.
But it wasn't fine. Marcus wasn’t calling her, not during the limited times he was allowed. He didn’t want to see her. He didn't ask for her. He didn't ask about her.
Her mother said he wasn’t ready.
He needed more time.
It was all about the little steps.
Yet the silence felt like a verdict: he hated her for ratting on him to their parents.
She had done the right thing. She knew she had. If it came down to him or her comfort, she would always choose him, but that didn’t make the pain any less unbearable.
Sometimes she went to the Millers’ house to play with Austin. It was comfortable there in a way her own house wasn’t. Because Georgia never asked too many questions about Marcus. Max didn’t have to talk about anything serious. Didn’t have to laugh. Didn’t have to be anything.
It was the closest thing to relief she had felt. Something manageable. A break from her mother and everything she was carrying.
But with Ginny back, those little moments of calm would disappear. Max wouldn’t go to their house while Ginny was around. Because as much as it hurt, they weren’t friends anymore.
Norah had sent a few photos from her trips. Asked how Max was, whether she was having a good summer. Max answered politely. Nothing more.
Abby… she hadn’t seen Abby since Brodie’s party. Max remembered the smell of alcohol on her, how much she had stumbled, remembered how Abby had been mean to her without even realizing. But Max wasn’t angry. She didn’t even have room to be angry. Not with Marcus consuming all of her mental space.
It was supposed to be fine after school was over and summer started, but she hadn’t slept for weeks. Nights were endless loops: checking her phone, thinking maybe she had forgotten to reply to a text that didn’t even exist in the first place, replaying every conversation from the day, every task she might not have finished.
Did she turn off the stove?
Did she lock the door?
Oh right, her door doesn’t lock.
Did she say the right thing to her mother?
Every step had to be retraced, corrected and measured.
And now, after months of this quiet purgatory, everyone was coming back.
Ginny had returned from Korea, Ellen mentioned it casually. Normally Max would have rushed to the Millers’ to ask about everything. She had never cared much about Korea, but she loved stories, and Ginny always had so many.
But she and Ginny weren’t close anymore, and Ginny’s few messages were clearly a way to ask about Marcus. So Max ignored them.
Narah was kind enough to let Max know she was back. She had thanked Max for convincing Jordan to meet her with flowers at the airport.
Abby… she didn’t know if Abby had returned from camp. They weren’t speaking. Abby probably couldn’t use her phone at camp anyway. But Max didn’t think it mattered. Months ago, Abby had made it very clear: Max was too much, too intense for her to handle. She wasn’t someone Abby wanted around. Max was learning to accept that.
And Marcus would come home too.
Not from vacation.
From rehab.
The thought should have relieved her. Should have made her heart lift. But it didn't. Even though her parents tried to explain, told her he just wasn’t ready, she didn't believe it.
The truth was: he hated her and probably would never forgive her for what she did.
She tried to remember the last time she had been without him this long. She couldn’t. It was painful. A half of her had vanished, but she could still feel it somewhere out of reach.
And beneath all of it, was the strange pride of surviving the summer. She had kept everything together. She had kept her mother steady. She had kept herself alive. That counted for something, didn’t it?
Or at least it should.
___________
It was Labor Day, the first week of September, just days before school would begin again, when the thing Max had been dreading and longing for in equal measure finally happened: Marcus was coming home.
Max hadn’t been allowed to go with her parents to pick him up.
They said it would be too much for him. As if Max were some kind of hurricane he needed to be protected from.
So she was alone in the house.
Again.
She tried sitting on the couch, tried to be still, to breathe.
But her leg bounced. Her fingers tapped. Her mind looped.
Fifteen seconds later she was up.
She went to the kitchen. Opened a cabinet. Closed it.
Checked her phone. Checked the time.
Went upstairs because suddenly she wasn’t sure if she had shut her window.
Back to the couch.
Up again.
Down the hallway.
Back up the stairs.
Did I turn off the bathroom light?
Did I water the plants?
Did I answer Norah’s text?
What if I didn’t? What if she thinks I’m ignoring her?
Should I check again?
She knew she had done all of those things, but knowing wasn’t the same as feeling.
So she checked.
Again. And again.
It didn’t even feel like anxiety anymore. Just muscle memory.
Then, a sound.
A car door shutting outside.
Max stopped mid step.
The front door handle turned.
Her father stepped inside first, smiling in that way adults smile when they want you to think everything is normal. Her mother followed with tired eyes, the kind of tired that only comes from crying.
And then Marcus.
He stood in the doorway with a duffle bag slung over his hand.
His hair was longer, curling at the ends.
A shadow of uneven stubble covered his jaw.
He looked different.
Older in some ways. Younger in others.
Like someone who had gone far away and wasn’t all the way back yet.
He looked at her.
Not away.
Not past.
At her.
Max’s mind spiraled instantly,
He’s going to ignore me.
He’s going to walk right by.
He’s going to hate me forever.
He’s going to say it out loud this time.
He’s going to—
Marcus set his bag down. Carefully, like it was fragile.
Then he moved.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Until he reached her.
And he pulled her into him.
It wasn’t a hesitant hug.
It was tight , almost desperate, the kind of hug someone gives when they’re terrified you might disappear if they let go.
Max didn’t react at first.
She had imagined this moment a thousand different ways, and none of them were this.
Then her hands found his back, and she held him just as tightly, like she was holding the missing half of herself.
His voice was quiet, barely there:
“I’m sorry.”
Maybe he meant for the fight. Maybe for the silence. Maybe for everything. Maybe for nothing in particular.
Max didn’t ask.
Because after a summer of fear and guilt and imagining every worst case scenario, Marcus had come back to her.
Not with anger.
Not with hate.
But with a hug.
A few minutes later, Marcus went upstairs to shower, and Ellen asked Max to help her with dinner. So she did.
The excitement was still buzzing through her body.
She was happy, like, genuinely happy, to have her brother back. She was still confused about where they stood, of course. But he hadn’t yelled at her. He hadn’t ignored her. And that was a good start.
She could tell her mom was happy too. Even though it looked like she had been crying, Max realized, for the first time all summer, that they were tears of relief.
And that tiny detail made Max believe things could be good again. Or at least better than it was.
Dinner, though, was quieter than usual. Not peaceful. Just muted.
Max sat at the table with her fork in hand, eyes low. She wasn’t sure why she thought being together again would fix something.
Marcus was sitting across from her, hair damp, face freshly shaved. He looked more like himself than he had an hour ago. More like himself than he had in the last five months too.
He cleared his throat. “So… how was your summer?”
Max blinked, only then realizing he had been looking at her for a while.
“It was normal,” she said. Too fast.
She could feel it immediately: not enough. Not what people were supposed to say.
So she added:
“Just… nervous about school starting.”
Marcus nodded. “Right… school.”
His voice held something, but she couldn’t tell what.
She wouldn't ask how his summer had been. She figured rehab wasn’t the kind of place someone wanted to describe, and she didn’t know the rules anymore, what counted as caring and what counted as crossing a line.
She was terrified of doing too much.
Terrified of doing anything wrong.
Ellen leaned forward, speaking directly to Marcus, signing along for Max’s dad as she talked.
“Marcus, honey, listen. We didn’t tell anyone where you were, okay? Only Georgia and Ginny know about rehab. So you don’t have to worry about rumors or… or kids being cruel at school.”
Marcus dropped his gaze. “Thanks, Mom.”
Ellen touched his wrist softly. “And like we told you, the school worked with us. You won’t have to repeat the year. You’ll just have some extra assignments to catch up on. And they arranged a tutor, someone who specializes in transitions like this. So you won’t be overwhelmed.”
Her hands moved quickly as she talked, her attention fully on Marcus.
Max watched.
Ellen kept talking, explaining every detail of Marcus’s academic plan, reassuring him that everything was being handled, making sure he felt supported.
Max had spent the entire summer keeping Ellen steady. Sitting through the worst nights, reminding her to eat, grounding her during long stretches without updates from the rehab facility.
But Ellen never looked at Max the way she was looking at Marcus now.
Max nudged pasta around her plate.
No one was looking at her.
No one asked how she was.
No one noticed how quiet she had become.
She signed something to her dad, Food’s good, just to fill the space. Just to remind herself she existed in the room.
Marcus was home. And the entire house had shifted back into orbit around him.
Usually, when that happened, Max would force herself to be loud. She would make a joke, say something absurd, anything to draw a little attention back towards her.
But instead, she did what she had done all summer:
Made sure not to take up too much space.
At night, Max had been folding the same shirt for at least three minutes, unable to remember where she had put the rest of her laundry.
She heard a soft step in the hallway. Then another. And then a knock on her door.
Two taps.
His taps.
Max closed her eyes, breathed once just to make sure she still could.
“Yeah,” she said, without turning around. “It’s open.”
The door creaked, and Marcus stepped inside slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged here anymore.
He hesitated for half a second, then exhaled and closed the door behind him.
“Hey,” he said, voice small.
Max nodded once. “Hey.”
He dragged her desk chair closer and sat down, elbows on his knees. His hands kept flexing nervously against each other.
“I wanted to… talk,” he said. “If that’s okay.”
Max shrugged gently. “Yeah. Of course.”
Silence filled the space between them. He looked down, then up again.
“I’m sorry.”
A breath.
“For how I treated you. I know I was,” he grimaced, searching for the right word. “Awful. And you didn’t deserve that.”
Max swallowed.
“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “You were going through a lot.”
“Yeah, but that’s not an excuse,” he said quickly. “I said things I didn’t mean. And I made you feel like you were a burden. That wasn’t fair.”
Her fingers curled in the fabric of the shirt in her hands.
If only he knew how easily she already believed she was too much, how little convincing it took.
But she nodded. “I forgive you.”
He let out a breath like he had been holding it for months.
They sat in a gentle silence before he rubbed his palms on his jeans again.
“Rehab was… weird,” he said suddenly. “Really weird. Lonely. And the first few days were the worst.”
Max looked at him fully now.
“I was ashamed,” he admitted. “Every single day. Still am, kind of. It’s like… I’m better, but not better better. If that makes sense.”
“It does,” Max said quickly, sincerely. “You’re trying. That matters.”
He nodded, eyes glossy but not crying.
“I just don’t want to go back to… that,” he said. “To feeling so far gone that I don't care if I hurt the people who love me.”
Max stepped closer, sitting on the edge of her bed.
“You won’t,” she said. “And even if you feel yourself slipping… I’m here. Okay? I’m always here.”
Marcus gave her a small, grateful smile.
They stayed quiet for a long moment.
Then Marcus looked up again.
“Have you seen Ginny?” he asked carefully.
Max blinked, caught off guard.
“Uh… not really,” she said. “Didn’t have time.”
It was a lie.
She had oceans of time.
But she knew Ginny probably didn’t want to see her.
Max had seen the posts with Bracia and some new friends. Ginny looked fine. More than fine.
“But she seems good,” Max added. “Happy.”
“Yeah?” Marcus asked, something unreadable flickering across his face.
“Yeah,” Max said. “She does.”
He nodded slowly, eyes far away, thinking too hard.
Max wondered what would happen between the two of them now.
Wondered if he was ready to fall back into something so complicated so fast.
She hoped he knew he shouldn’t.
She hoped he wouldn’t.
But she didn’t say any of it out loud.
Marcus loved Ginny. Sometimes Max wondered if he ever cared about her the way he cared about Ginny.
Marcus sniffed once, wiped his palms on his jeans again, and then, out of nowhere, he asked:
“So… how’s everyone? The others, I mean.”
Max blinked. “Uh... good, I think.”
“And Georgia?” he pressed.
Max hesitated. “She's fine. Busy.”
He nodded too fast. “And Abby?”
Max’s stomach did a tiny, involuntary flip.
“She’s… around, probably.” Max winced at how unsure she sounded.
Marcus raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push.
He tried again. “Did you go to any parties while I was gone?”
Max barked out a tiny laugh that sounded nothing like a laugh.
“No.”
“Right. Yeah. I guess, yeah.” He bit his lip. “Did… did Grandma and Grandpa visit?”
Max shook her head. “Not lately.”
Marcus nodded again, slower this time.
He kept asking, little fragmented things: who stopped by the house, if she had met anyone new, if people had asked about him.
And Max kept answering with half truths.
Not lies, just not truths.
Because the truth was, she hadn’t really been anywhere.
The house was empty. Her life was quiet.
And she was used to that now.
After the eight question, something inside her snapped gently.
“Marcus,” she said softly. “What are you doing?”
He froze. “What?”
“You don’t actually care about all this stuff,” Max said, not accusing. “Parties, and Abby, and whether I went out. So… what is this? Why are you asking me all this?”
Marcus stared at the floor. His jaw clenched once, then unclenched.
“I just…” He exhaled shakily. “I don’t know how to be around you.”
Max’s eyes softened, but she didn’t speak.
“I feel like I missed a whole life,” he said, voice small. “Like I hit pause on myself, and everyone else kept going. And now I’m back and I’m supposed to just… get into place like nothing happened.”
He swallowed.
“But things did happen. I happened.”
His hands shook a little as he rubbed them together.
“And the truth is…” He hesitated. “I'm asking you questions because I want to know what I missed. I want to know what you lived without me. And if I…” He stopped, throat tight. “…if I still fit in your life at all.”
Max felt her breath catch.
He went on, quieter:
“And I know you’re mad that I didn’t let you see me. Or talked to you from rehab.” He blinked hard. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
Max looked away, but she kept listening.
“I didn’t call because I was embarrassed,” he admitted. “Of everything. Of how I treated you. Of how things ended between me and Ginny. Of how fucked up I was."
He pressed his lips together before continuing.
“And I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. Not when I didn’t even know if I could go a day without falling apart.”
He shook his head. "I didn’t want to make things worse. And… I didn’t think I deserved to talk to you after everything I did.”
His voice cracked.
“And I’m terrified that things won’t go back to the way they were. And that it’s my fault. And that I ruined it forever.”
Max looked down for a second.
Marcus breathed out, almost a whisper:
“And that kills me.”
Max let out a slow breath, eyes fixed on her comforter. She smoothed it with her thumb before finally looking at him.
“Marcus, of course things aren’t just gonna be easy,” she said quietly. “You hurt me. A lot. And I still think about it.”
Marcus’s face crumpled, guilt rising fast, but before he could speak, she kept going.
“But,” she said, softer now, “I also know you weren’t okay. I know you weren’t trying to hurt me just to hurt me.”
Marcus blinked hard.
Max shook her head gently. “I’m not saying that makes everything magically fine. It doesn’t. But I get it. I really do.”
Marcus looked down, twisting his fingers together. “I didn’t think you would ever want to talk to me again.”
“Well,” Max said, giving him a sad half smile, “you’re still my brother. Even if you're terrible at communicating.”
A tiny huff of breath escaped him, almost a laugh. She continued:
“And I’m not pretending I wasn’t angry. I was. Furious, actually.”
She looked at him fully. “But I will never stop caring about you.”
Max leaned forward, elbows on her knees, matching his posture. Her voice dropped, honest and small in a way she didn’t let out often.
“You think you ruined everything.” She shook her head. “You didn’t ruin us. You hurt us. And it’s gonna take time. But we'll be fine.”
Marcus lifted his eyes, and they were wet, still not quite crying.
“I just… I don’t want to mess up again,” he whispered.
“You will,” Max said without hesitation.
His head jerked up a little.
“And so will I,” she added. “That’s kinda what we do. But we also try to fix things.”
He breathed in shakily.
Max continued, voice steady:
“You going to rehab? That was you trying. Even if you didn’t want to go, I'm still proud of you for that. Even though you didn't talk to me. And I really wished you had.”
Marcus swallowed, eyes dropping again.
“I wanted to,” he murmured. “The whole time. I just… didn’t know how to talk to you again.”
Max nodded slowly. “Okay. I can understand that.”
Marcus wiped under his eye quickly, pretending he wasn’t doing it. “So… we’re okay?”
Max hesitated, because honesty mattered.
“We'll get there,” she said.
Marcus nodded, a relieved, shaky breath leaving him like he had been waiting months just to hear that.
Max nudged his foot with hers. “You’re not alone, Marcus. Never.”
He nodded again, eyes dropping in quiet gratitude.
“I should let you finish whatever you were doing,” he said. “It’s late.”
Max looked down and finally noticed the shirt completely unfolded and crumpled, like it had been fighting for its life in her hands.
“Yeah,” she said. “Guess I got distracted.”
Marcus stood slowly, a little stiff, like the conversation had left him exhausted.
Then he opened his arms.
Max stood up immediately, almost instinctively, snuggling into his arms.
“Goodnight, Max,” he murmured against her hair.
“Night,” she whispered back.
He pulled away, gave her one last quick look and then slipped out of her room.
Max sat down on her bed and stared at the door for a long moment before finally looking down at her hands. The shirt lay wrinkled across her lap. She didn’t move to fold it again.
She lay back on her bed, exhaling slowly.
They had never talked like that before. Not ever. Not in their whole lives.
And it was good. It was needed.
But it hurt too.
Because she had so much she wanted to say. About the summer, about how scared she had been, about how angry and lonely she still felt. But she didn’t know if she was allowed to say any of it.
This conversation had been about him.
And she loved him. She wanted him okay. She wanted him safe.
But under all that loyalty, she didn’t know where her own feelings were supposed to go. There never seemed to be any space for them. Not with her mom. Not with her friends. Not now.
Her job always was to hold everything together.
It had been all summer.
And maybe it would keep being that way.
Max picked up the shirt again, smoothing the fabric slowly, methodically.
Marcus was home. He was trying. He needed her.
So she would be whatever he needed.
Even if it meant she had to keep breaking in silence.
The next day, time slipped past in a blur.
It was strange for Max to have someone else moving through the house again.
Marcus had always been quiet, easy to forget you weren’t alone, but all summer, she had felt the weight of his absence. Now, it was comforting just knowing he was there, moving from room to room, brushing past her on the stairs, talking low to their mom.
She liked it. Liked having someone to notice when she was around, to answer her when she spoke.
Wednesday, she was tucked into her room, music blasting through her headphones. She probably needed to turn it down.
A knock at the door made her pause.
“Come in,” she muttered.
Marcus stepped inside. He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets.
“I just talked to Ginny,” he said.
Max pulled out an earbud, blinked at him. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” he continued. “Apparently… she’s seeing someone. Going out with someone.”
That made Max gasp.
“Did you know?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
Max almost laughed. She hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t asked, hadn’t been part of that world for months. But Marcus didn't need to know that.
“Uh… no,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t.”
He looked down. Max could see the brief flicker of sadness in his eyes, but it wasn’t the same dark thing she had seen before.
Max remembered the messages Ginny had sent at the start of summer, the ones she ignored. Ginny hadn’t seemed ready to let Marcus go back then. But things had changed, apparently.
She didn’t know exactly what had changed. It wasn’t her place to ask. She wasn't part of that anymore.
Still, she worried. She caught herself thinking about how this new piece of information might affect Marcus. How he might feel.
Not like before, not like the worst of it, but still enough to keep Max alert. To make her watch him, like she had her whole life.
Thursday came. Abby’s birthday. Max had seen a story she posted the day before, which meant Abby was back in town.
Max spent the morning trying to distract herself. Ate some oreos. Walked around her room. Opened a book, flipped a few pages, then stared out the window.
She should send a message, something small, at least.
But what if Abby didn’t want to hear from her? What if every word came out wrong, or too much?
She paced, sat down again, made the bed meticulously, then unmade it. Fiddled with her phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Maybe Abby was waiting. She probably wasn’t.
Max tried to quiet the noise in her head by focusing on the little things, but everything kept going back to Abby.
To what she should say, how it might be received, whether she should reach out at all.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Max exhaled. “Screw it,” she muttered under her breath.
Her fingers typed, paused, typed again, then hit send:
max: happy birthday abby
max: hope you have a good day, x
She stared at the screen for a long moment, heart still thumping, wondering if it was enough or if Abby would even appreciate it.
After a few minutes, Max checked her phone again. Nothing. No little bubble, no “seen,” no notification.
She scrolled through her feed. Tried to distract herself. Tried to convince herself it didn’t matter.
Eventually, she let the phone fall onto her bed. “Whatever,” she muttered.
She got up and wandered down the hall. Marcus was in his room.
“Hey,” she said, stepping inside.
He looked up, gave a small smile. “Hey.”
They sat on the floor for a while, talking about nothing. Max laughed more than she had all morning. It was a good distraction.
A bit later, she wandered out to the garage. Checked if her dad's car needed to be moved. Didn’t. She went back inside. Walked around the kitchen. Poured herself some water. Went back to her room.
Her phone was on the bed. She picked it up, almost afraid to see it.
There it was. One new message.
abby: ty maxine
Max’s stomach dropped. She blinked, reread it.
Ouch.
Max locked the phone and tossed it onto the foot of the bed like it had burned her fingers.
She stood there for a second, then ran a hand through her hair and left the room before she could stare at the screen again like an idiot.
She found herself in the kitchen again, opening cabinets, closing them, grabbing a bowl, putting it back, pretending she was looking for something when she wasn’t.
Anything to not think about that ty maxine.
She eventually leaned against the counter, staring at the pictures on the fridge.
“Max?”
Her mom’s voice cut through the silence.
“I’m here.” Max yelled.
Ellen stepped into the kitchen with her coat half unbuttoned, purse on her shoulder.
“I just came from Joe’s,” she said, dropping the purse on a chair. “Saw the girls there.”
Max’s shoulders tensed instantly.
“Oh,” she said, pretending to reach for a glass she didn’t need. “Cool.”
Ellen watched her for a moment.
“They asked where you were,” she continued casually, opening the fridge. “It’s Abby’s birthday. I thought you would be with them.”
Max snorted before she could help it.
“Yeah. They don’t want me there.”
“Don’t be like that,” Ellen said, closing the fridge and leaning against it. “Maybe they’re the ones who think you don’t want to be around.”
Max let out a short laugh.
“Yeah. Sure. That’s definitely it.”
Because obviously the months of trying so hard to stay close, of being left out, of being told she was too much, none of that mattered.
And Abby’s message… Max didn’t even want to think about it.
Ellen kept talking.
“Nancy mentioned she had a conference today. Something with family systems? She’ll be gone all day. So Abby’s probably… you know. Wanting her friends around.”
“I’m not one of her friends.” The words slipped out of her mouth. “She has plenty of people. Better people.”
Ellen gave her that sympathetic look Max hated.
“Max,” she said softly, “don’t disappear on them just because you’re upset.”
Max let out a small breath.
“Well,” she said, “I didn’t get any invite. So maybe I’m not the one who’s upset.”
Ellen’s expression softened even more, and Max couldn’t stand the implication she should try harder.
Before Ellen could say anything else, Max turned away, pretending to reach for something on the counter, and walked out.
She climbed the stairs two at a time, each step a little faster than necessary, like it would keep her from thinking about how stupid she felt.
In her room, the phone was still facedown on the bed.
Max shut the door behind her, leaned against it, exhaled.
At least up here no one expected her to pretend that any of it didn’t hurt.
Max didn’t touch her phone for the next few hours.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Then she got up, sat at her desk, tried to draw something. She changed her shirt, then changed back. She tried watching a show but didn’t make it past the intro.
The light outside shifted slowly, until her room settled into that orange late afternoon glow. Max put on some music and let the noise fill the space.
When she finally took off her headphones, it was already almost dark.
Then her phone buzzed.
Max grabbed her phone way too fast for someone who would claim she didn’t care.
abby: im having a party here tonight
abby: if u wanna come
abby: idk
Max stared at the words until they stopped looking like English.
Then she shot upright so fast her headphones hit the floor.
“She invited me,” she whispered, stunned.
Too scared to overthink it, she ran straight to the bathroom, turned the shower on way too hot, and replayed the messages in her head three times to make sure they were real.
When she got out, she grabbed her phone, half expecting the screen to be blank.
But the messages were still there.
Her thumb hovered.
Should she reply?
Was she supposed to?
Would it look desperate?
Would it be rude if she didn’t?
Max chose the safest option she could think of: she reacted to the messages with a heart.
Cool enough.
She threw her towel aside and opened her closet, staring at it like the right outfit would magically materialize.
What kind of party was it?
Something small, she hoped.
Maybe just the four of them.
Maybe she could talk to Ginny without it being awkward.
And Norah, she actually missed Norah.
And Abby… she couldn’t even remember the sound of Abby’s laugh anymore.
She finally pulled out a soft pink dress she loved but never wore because it felt too pretty. She paired it with her sparkly gold jacket and her favorite Converse.
Cute, but not trying too hard. Perfect.
Downstairs, Ellen was in the living room sorting papers.
“Hey, Mom,” Max said, trying to sound casual even though her pulse was doing the absolute most. “Can I borrow your car tonight?”
Ellen looked up, surprised. “You’re going out?"
Max nodded. “Yeah. Abby invited me. To her party. At her place.”
Ellen’s face softened into a smile.
“I told you she wanted you around.”
“Okay, okay,” Max said, rolling her eyes but smiling despite herself. “Don’t get excited.”
Ellen handed her the keys.
“Drive safe. Don’t stay out too late.”
Max nodded, already halfway to the door.
She stepped outside with her heart floating, climbed into the car, and for the first time in months, felt something she almost didn’t recognize:
Hope.
Max had barely driven two blocks when a thought hit her so hard she actually groaned.
She didn't have a present.
She smacked the steering wheel, sinking lower in her seat.
Of course she didn’t.
Of course she forgot the basic concept of birthdays.
“It’s fine,” she muttered to herself. “I’ll explain. I’ll get her something this week. She’ll understand.”
She pictured it for a second: catching Abby alone somewhere in the house and telling her she forgot but would make it up to her. Maybe they would even laugh about it.
But as she turned onto Abby’s street, the picture she had in mind dissolved.
Cars lined both sides of the road. Not just a few, a lot. The kind of crowd that meant the house was full.
Definitely not a small gathering.
Max parked half a block away.
She took a breath. Then another.
She walked towards Abby’s house, and each step made the music louder. People were spilling out onto the porch, red cups in their hands, smoke drifting from a group of people from Red.
When she reached the driveway, she recognized exactly zero faces.
Okay. Fine. Maybe the girls were inside.
She pushed through the front door, or rather squeezed through, because someone else was coming out at the same time, and the smell hit her immediately.
Alcohol. Sweat. Weed.
A lot of weed.
The living room was packed, wall to wall with people she had never seen in her life.
Someone was yelling the lyrics to a song they clearly didn’t know. A couple was making out like they were trying to fuse into one person. Someone had knocked over a plant. Or maybe it just died from the atmosphere.
Max hugged her jacket
This was not what she imagined.
She stood there for a moment, trying to find something familiar, but every direction looked like a party she had not walked into on purpose.
She started to wondered if this was really Abby's house.
A guy she had never seen before bumped her shoulder with a sloppy “my bad,” and she gave him a smile, trying not to look like she wanted to evaporate.
Where were they?
Where was Abby?
Max started weaving through the crowd, scanning for red hair, curly hair, any of her friends, any sign she wasn’t completely out of place.
She wasn’t nervous.
Just trying very hard to keep the hopeful little balloon inside her from deflating all at once.
But somewhere in the back of her mind, a quiet thought whispered:
This doesn’t feel right.
Still, she kept walking.
She kept searching.
Nothing.
Until,
She froze.
There she was.
Abby.
Sitting on the arm of a chair in the far corner, head tipped back in a laugh Max hadn’t heard in months. Her hair was a little longer, the ends curled from the humidity, her cheeks flushed from alcohol. Or the heat. Or both. There was glitter on her eyelids. A red cup in her hand.
For a second, Max forgot how to stand.
It was like someone pressing a bruise she didn’t know she still had.
But then her eyes shifted to the person sitting next to Abby.
Tris.
Leaning into her, a hand over Abby’s knee, holding a joint between the other two fingers. They laughed at something Abby whispered into their ear.
Max’s chest tightened.
She didn’t know why it still bothered her so much.
Maybe it was because Tris had been a secret she wasn’t trusted with.
Another thing Abby hid from her.
The reminder that Max wasn’t a person Abby ran to tell about her life anymore.
Max didn’t move. She didn’t even realize she was staring until Abby’s laugh suddenly faded.
Abby’s eyes lifted.
And everything else blurred.
Abby’s smile softened in this strange, slowmotion way. Like she had to recalibrate for a second. Like she wasn’t sure if Max was really there or if she was imagining her.
Then Abby blinked once. Twice.
And she stood.
She handed her cup to someone without looking and walked toward Max through the crowd, like she was moving underwater.
Max couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
They stopped in front of each other.
“Maxine,” Abby said, eyes unfocused. “You came.”
Before Max could answer, Abby leaned in and wrapped her arms around her.
It should’ve felt familiar.
It didn’t.
The hug was strange. Abby smelled like vanilla, vodka and smoke. Her cheek was against Max’s shoulder and Max put a hand lightly on her back but didn’t know where to put the other.
When Abby let go, she pressed an empty cup into Max’s hand.
“Come on, have a drink,” she said, grinning.
“Oh uh, I’m not drinking,” Max replied quickly, stepping back half a step. “But thanks.”
She didn’t want to go home smelling like alcohol. Not with the chance of running into Marcus.
“Booooring Maxine,” Abby teased.
Max laughed awkwardly.
Abby was drunk.
And it wasn’t even nine yet.
Before Max could say anything else, a voice called from across the room:
“Yo, birthday girl! Come do a line with us!”
Max turned, confused at first.
And then she saw it.
A guy sitting cross legged on the floor near the coffee table, a white line on a compact mirror in front of him. Another already disappeared. A folded dollar in his hand.
Her smile died instantly.
Max didn’t mind weed. She even smoked sometimes, badly, but still. Weed was fine.
But coke?
Coke was different.
Coke was something she despised.
Everyone knew Max hated that shit.
Brodie once joked about bringing it to his basement and Max got so mad he had to apologize twice.
And Abby had agreed with her.
Past tense.
Because now, Abby turned towards the guy, and smiled.
Even took a step.
Max reacted before thinking, reaching out and grabbing Abby’s arm, fingers tightening without meaning to.
“Abby, what are you doing?”
Abby looked down at Max’s hand on her arm, then up at Max.
“What?” she asked, still smiling.
“Coke?” Max said, disbelief breaking into her voice. “Seriously?”
Abby didn’t answer.
Didn’t stop smiling.
Max stared at her.
“Why did you even let him in your house?”
“What’s the matter?” Abby said. “He’s cool.”
Max blinked, like Abby had just spoken in another language.
“This is insane,” Max said, voice low. “Coke has always been off limits and you know that.”
“Oh, please,” Abby sighed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”
There it was.
Again.
Max, the dramatic one.
Max stared at her like Abby had grown three heads.
Or lost the one she had.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Abby groaned, tipping her head back with a sigh.
"God, I told Norah it was a bad idea to invite you.”
Max felt something inside her tear, like paper ripping.
A physical hurt.
Norah was the one who asked her to come.
And Abby hadn’t even wanted her there.
Max looked at Abby again, who was still smiling, still too oblivious to see what her words had just done.
“Fine,” she said, voice cracking despite her best effort. “Go ahead. Do whatever you want.”
A shaky inhale.
“But if you do… don’t even look at me again.”
She turned.
Pushed through the crowd.
Shoulders. Cups. Noise. None of it registered.
Her heart was slamming against her ribs.
Her chest hurt.
She wanted out.
Out.
Out.
This was a mistake.
A horrible, humiliating mistake.
She never should’ve come.
By the time she made it to the porch, her eyes were burning, her vision blurring. She kept walking fast towards her car, hoping she wouldn’t fall apart before she reached it—
“Maxine! Wait!”
Abby’s voice.
Max’s feet stopped instantly.
Every muscle went still.
Abby’s footsteps came fast. Uneven. She was running.
“Please,” Abby panted. “Go back inside.”
Max squeezed her eyes shut. She almost laughed. Of course that’s what Abby would start with.
She didn’t move.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Abby said, the words messy and sloppy. “I shouldn’t have said it was a bad idea to invite you. I… I really wanted you here.”
That was the thing that made Max turn around.
Abby’s blue dress was riding up her thighs from running. Her hair was messy, glitter smudging under her eyes.
Max felt her chest ache. But her voice came out flat.
“You think that’s why I’m leaving?” she said. “Abby, there is someone doing cocaine in your living room.”
Abby blinked at her, slow. “Max, relax. We’re just having fun.”
“Fun,” Max repeated, laughing once. “This is your idea of fun now?”
Abby waved a hand, almost annoyed. “You’re overreacting. You’re just… I don’t know. Off.”
“No,” Max said. “You’re off.”
She stepped closer, and Abby staggered slightly.
"It's not even nine," Max said loud, "and you're already drunk."
Abby's expression hardened, defensive in an instant, as if Max had insulted her instead of stating a fact.
Max pushed on.
“This is the first time I’ve seen you in months,” she said, “and you’re just as drunk as the last time.”
Abby blinked fast. Her eyes were glassy.
“I can barely remember what you’re like sober,” Max said, and she hated how true it was. “Every time I see you, I’m scared of what version of you I’ll find next.”
Abby’s voice cracked in this small laugh. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Max said, breath trembling. “Every time I see you, you find a way to make me feel bad about myself.”
Abby’s brows furrowed. "That’s not true.”
“It is.” Max swallowed, hard. “And I don’t get it. Because you’re good. You’re good, Abby. You’re decent and sweet and you don’t treat people like that unless they deserve it.”
Max covered her mouth with her hand for a second, then lowered it slowly.
“So why?” she whispered. “Why are you being like this, Abby?”
Abby looked down. “I’m just being myself.”
“No,” Max said immediately. “You’re not.”
Abby laughed, but it wasn’t real. She wiped under her eye with the back of her hand. “How would you know?”
Max pointed towards the house. “Because that?” She let out a breath that sounded like disbelief. “That is not you. Letting a bunch of strangers snort coke in your living room? We used to hate that shit.”
“I don’t see the problem,” Abby said, shrugging.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Abby. Stop. This isn’t you.”
Abby laughed again, but a single tear slipped down her cheek.
“What?” Max said.
“It’s just funny,” Abby said, shaking her head. "hearing you say all this when you’re the last person in my life who knows me.”
The words hit like a knife.
Max’s knees almost fell.
“Don’t say that,” she whispered. “I know you, Abby.”
“No,” Abby said, backing up a step, hands trembling. “No, you don’t.”
“Stop.” Max’s voice cracked. “Please stop.”
“If all I do is make you feel bad about yourself then why are you still my friend?”
Max blinked, stunned. “Because I want to. Jesus, Abby."
Abby shrugged again. “Well, I don’t think we should be.”
The street tilted under Max’s feet.
“What?” she breathed.
Abby wiped her cheeks. Straightened a little. Took a breath that sounded like it hurt.
“I don’t think we should be friends anymore.”
“No.” Max shook her head instantly. “No, Abby. You don’t mean that.”
Abby hesitated. Her lip trembled.
And then she whispered:
“I mean it.”
Max's cheeks filled with tears she couldn’t hold anymore. The street blurred. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
So she stepped back, because if she stayed close, she would fall apart on Abby’s shoes.
She turned and started walking blindly down the sidewalk towards her car, tears spilling faster than she could wipe them away.
If she didn’t reach the car soon, she was going to collapse on the sidewalk and cry until morning.
She reached the car, somehow. Her hands were shaking so badly she fumbled the keys twice.
She got inside. Closed the door. Sat there for one long, lonely second.
When she looked up through the windshield, Abby was on the sidewalk. On the ground. Knees up, head in her hands, shoulders shaking.
Max put the car in reverse.
Drove away because she didn’t know what else to do.
Halfway down the street, the realization hit her like a punch:
She never even wished Abby a happy birthday.