Chapter Fifteen

Rounding the corner into my hotel suite, I'm overcome by an intense feeling at the sight of my shattered iPad screen. And the broken wall of which my American Express Black Card will pay for upon checkout. This stark reminder brings about a sense of shame washing over me, crashing against the frigid air of the room. But relief follows close behind—I'm proud of myself for not succumbing to the siren song of alcohol. Especially not now, with a custody battle looming on the horizon like Custer's last fucking stand.

The nerve of the Baxters, thinking they can judge my fitness as a parent because of my sexuality. As if my decade of sobriety means nothing in the face of their archaic prejudices. I rummage through my luggage, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of a clean white tee and black cashmere lounge pants. The detriment of Melanie's unread texts press into the caverns of my conscious, offering a silent symphony of anxiety and anticipation in the same breath.

After a quick splash of water on my face, I change into my comfortable clothes and retrieve my phone from the bed. Sinking into the couch, my weary body melts into the shallow bed of plush cushions. My gaze shifts towards the mini bar, revealing an array of gleaming liquor bottles. Each one crying for attention, digging into the furrows of my soul for just a sip. I shake my head insistently. No, Max. I'm stronger now. I will not fall into that trap again.

With a resolute sigh, I pick up the hotel phone and request the removal of all liquor from this suite. Then, I turn my attention back to the cell phone, where my heart pounds in succession as I scroll through the call history to find Melanie's contact. It's a familiar path, worn smooth by countless conversations filled with laughter, tears, and her staunch support.

This call isn't just about catching up, it's about finding solace in the voice of the one person who knows me better than anyone else, besides our mother, of course. It's about sharing my hopes and fears, my longing for moving to Seattle, and the anxieties that burrow into my soul. This phone interaction will hopefully offer me the strength I need to overcome my adversities, and clinging to the unwavering belief that love will always prevail. Melanie is my AA group tonight. Fuck Trevan, that prick.

"Max, my God! I've been trying to reach your all day," Melanie answers, her crackling voice emanating through the phone with urgency.

"I know, I'm sorry," I offer. "I have pictures of this amazing place I saw today, but I'm on my phone—shit," I reply, feeling a twinge of guilt just as Lily chimes in over Mel.

"Well, mister, that's another trip to Bloomy-hales," she hisses sarcastically.

Melanie and I both burst into laughter. Lily sure has grasped the concept of my insurance policy for swear words by now.

"Munchkin, it's called Bloomingdale's," I correct her. "And you just use that card for whatever strikes your fancy this week."

Melanie brings the conversation back on course. "Send the pictures from your iPad, silly," she says.

I roll my eyes, momentarily forgetting to mention my recent fit of rage. Or maybe it's my brain's way of shielding me from the shame.

"To be honest—" I'm reluctant to articulate my thoughts. "My iPad isn't working," I lie, knowing the truth will eventually come out.

However, I'm like a child caught in a fib, humiliation outweighing reason. It's not like she's our mother, even if she tries to be. A knock at the door heralds my conscience's ability to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Come in," I call out, covering the phone with my hand.

Melanie chokes. "Expecting company tonight?" She asks, sounding curious.

"No, I just forgot to ask for the minibar to be removed," I shrug, smiling at the hotel attendant as he enters with a service cart full of sparkling water and an array of alcoholic-friendly snacks.

"Maaaaaxxxxx—"

I interject Melanie's show of concern. "I know, I know," I plead. "I didn't have a single drop, I promise you," I add, placing a palm on my temple. "I even went to a meeting."

Heat rises in my veins as I think about Trevan Donoghue, the man who made me feel like a na?ve, horny teenager with hungry eyes.

Melanie replies, relieved. "Well, that's something," she says. "I'm proud of you, boo."

Clearing my throat, I try to focus on the present. I can't let a moment of weakness derail my fresh start. And I don't want to think about anyone but Brogan. And—maybe Durango Walters. There's a spark about him, something deep inside that intrigues me. Perhaps it's because, in some ways, he reminds me of Brogan, a fellow nurturer. But that's a thought for another time. Right now, my focus must return to Melanie and Lily Bean.

"Hello? Earth to Max?" Melanie's voice snaps me from my thoughts.

"Sorry, sis," I apologize, realizing this isn't one of our best conversations. "My mind's just racing with a million different things. But it'll be okay," I reassure her, trying to convince myself of that as well.

Her response is filled with worry. "You seem pretty preoccupied."

Changing the subject, I press on for more information about her texts. "So, what was the news you had earlier while I was looking at houses?"

Melanie's tone makes a complete one-eighty. "Well, are you sitting down?"

"Obviously," I retort, my tone filled with frustration and sarcasm. "But you asked me the same thing a few days ago, and you know how that turned out."

"No, no, sweetheart," she says, all the while asking Lily to go get ready for bath time. "This is fantastic," she pauses, the sound of shuffling papers filling the silence between us. "Okay, I just opened the letter from your lawyer, and it's a copy of what he sent the Baxters."

I sit up and rest my elbows on my knees. "Go on?—"

"It basically says they don't have a chance at getting custody of Lily and your lawyer wants to settle out of court," she informs me. "With an amicable arrangement where they could have her during the summers, at their own expense."

Relief washes over me. "Oh my fucking God, that's great news," I cry out with zeal. "I knew I had a shot at keeping her. I mean, they barely saw her since she was two-years-old. And that was only because of her cousin's Bar Mitzvah in New York."

"What assholes!" Melanie exclaims. "I'm so sorry they weren't more inclusive of you, Max."

A single tear escapes my eye. "You know, I'm sure they're good people in other ways. But for some reason, they just never liked me," I affirm, wiping my eye. "I don't think they're like this to everyone. We just started off on the wrong foot."

Mel sighs. "Clearly."

I wipe away the fresh tears from my face as the hotel employee wheels away to hooch from my suite. Silence descends between us for a few moments before Melanie breaks it.

"So, what's this place like?" Melanie asks, intrigued.

Finally, a wave of pure joy warms my face. I can't wait to tell her about the house. My McMansion of sorts.

"Oh, sis, you have no idea," I squeal. "I wanna put in an offer right now—it's three times the size of our current place."

Though miles away, I can hear her smile through the phone. "My God, Lily would love a bigger place," she says. "As if this one isn't already humongous—if I hadn't been here before, I'd need a map to get around."

Enthusiasm returns to my voice. "Then you'll need a GPS device to navigate the halls of this mansion overlooking the water."

"I can't wait to see the pictures," Melanie says. "Before we go, don't you want to say goodnight to your daughter?"

My daughter? Given the arrangement we've previously had, it's rare for anyone in the family to automatically refer to Lily Bean as my daughter. But formalities aside, she is now. One hundred percent. As much as I've hesitated to fill Brogan's shoes these past few months. It's not out of avoidance, no. But more from a place of respect for Brogan, since she still calls me ‘Uncle Max' anyway.

"Of course I want to say goodnight," I sigh, rubbing my forehead. "Switch it to FaceTime so she can see me."

For the second night in a row, my plans to relax are foiled by a last-minute request. I don't want to be rude, but it better be worth it. I was even going to hit up a dispensary and truly unwind. Like someone with autism, I get frustrated when plans change without warning. The text message on my screen catches me off guard. It's fucking late. And the sender is, well, unexpected.

Hi, Max. Would you want to meet up and have a drink tonight? I can't seem to stop thinking about you and Lily for some reason.

First of all, the universe is testing me with this ridiculous temptation right after I had the mini bar removed. Secondly, there's a spark of intrigue. Durango, Lily's potential therapist, wants to meet up again. And in a casual setting? It feels ethically questionable, but something about him calls to me, just begging me to explore this hunch. I smile and start typing a reply.

Yes, absolutely. I'd love to meet up.

That sounds too desperate. I delete and try again.

Well, I'd be happy to make it coffee, instead. I don't drink at all.

Staring at the phone causes my impatience to grind at the gristle between my bones, my left leg bouncing in expectation that Durango will respond immediately. Based on the green text box, Durango doesn't have an iPhone. So, I can't see if he's fashioning some clever reply. Perhaps he's wanting to complete some professional details before I fly back to Denver. Am I reading too much into this? Do I really want to learn more about Durango, the esteemed child psychologist?

Regardless, I'm starving after touring what felt like the entire state of Washington. Rising to my feet, I shuffle into the bedroom and toss my phone on the bed. Now to find presentable clothes. I'm probably falling for this guy too quickly, but something feels right about opening up to him. It's not just his approachability, nor his profession. He's growing on me, digging under my skin, encouraging me to step outside of my comfort zone. There's a connection I can't explain. A sort of ‘click' that I know will take some time to unravel.

As I slip on a jade green Armani shirt, my phone chimes with a new message.

Sure. That's ok with me.

My heart skips a beat.