Max lets out a loose and happy laugh, settling back into the corduroy chair, screen sharing his laptop to the TV. A PowerPoint pops up with a picture of Seattle and the Superstition Mountains in Arizona.
“Places that have tarantulas, places that are polar opposites, places that have good fish tacos . . .” I say.
“Close,” he smirks. “I’d like to talk to you both about baseball season and what that means for the Adler-Hutchings household.”
Emma pulls her second popsicle from her mouth and points it at the TV, waving it around. “Question. I thought you two were calling it quits before the season started.”
“No, Em.” I turn around. “We need to stay together for some of the season while Max gets settled onto the team. Part of his deal is showing he’s a family man.”
“But when you divorce, that takes away the image for him, doesn’t it?” She’s correct, as usual, but this ethical discussion could take all night and that’s not what Max called this meeting for.
“It’s complicated,” I tell her.
“Toyou. I don’t understand why you have to break up, anyway. You were just cuddling,” she says, as if that’s all it takes. I appreciate the simplicity of her reasoning and wish I could be ten again, believing in the magic of fairy tales and princess movies.
“Let’s give Max the floor, okay?” I concede and point at the TV.
He gives me a nod and taps on his laptop. A house pops up. It’s a cute, stucco new build. Two stories with a Pygmy date palm tree in the front yard. “My season starts in Arizona, the middle of February, where I’ll be for about a month for spring training. I went out on a limb and bought this place.
“Lots of guys rent, but I’m about to move to Seattle for a good portion of the year, where it rains all the time. I thought it’d be cool to have a getaway spot when I haven’t seen the sun for weeks. Spoiler alert: this place has a pool. I know the timing isn’t great for you guys with work and school, but I was hoping maybe you two could come visit during spring break? Catch a game?”
The contract drafted by Stella’s lawyer states I’ll be present at more than one game, including preseason. Despite that clause he knows is there, thanks to our conversation a minute ago, his pitch comes off with an air of uncertainty. He fidgets in his seat like he’s not sure I’d be willing to make the trek down to warmth and sun and a private pool in the middle of Idaho’s never-ending winter months.
Max clicks a few times, and we’re treated to pictures of the house. He pauses on the very private landscaped backyard where a large pool complete with faux rock and waterslide is front and center. It’s gorgeous and I want to move there now.
“Mom!” Emma squeaks from under her pile of blankets. “Can we go? Can we?”
“Yeah,” I say as chill as possible, like when I tell her we’re having pizza for dinner. Mentally, I’m buying and packing new swimsuits.
“Max, do I have my own room?” she asks.
“Of course, kid. We all do.” He gets excited by our reactions and continues his presentation by pulling up, side-by-side, two places in Seattle. A condo on Elliott Bay or acharming little cottage-style house on Lake Union.“We have a little more time before I’m in Seattle, so I need you two to help me out.”
The rest of the evening turns into a conversation about which part of Seattle and which home would make us most comfortable. Emma jumped right in, sharing her many opinions, and by the time she went to bed, we’d expanded the list of options with another two potential properties.
“How are you feeling tonight?”Max asks, leaning against my bathroom counter as I brush my teeth.
I spit and place my toothbrush in its holder. “I’m weak but knock on wood, no more episodes since this afternoon, so I think I’m in the clear. I’m worried about you, though.”
“I’ll be fine,” he assures me, following me back into my bedroom.
The decorative pillows get tossed aside and I pull back the covers, climbing into my soft bed. Next thing I know, he nudges me over and I scoot to the other side.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, dropping my head onto a pillow. My eyelids go heavy and I close them. “Oh, no, sir. I am not being relegated to one side. I sleep in the middle of the bed, Maxford. That’s facts.”
“You can handle it for one night. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m not ringing it in by myself.” His voice is low, and he runs his index finger from the top of my forehead, down my nose, and to the bottom of my chin. This seems to be his thing and I’ll take any excuse he finds to touch me. “Besides, if you get dehydrated and die on my watch? Well, that would undo all the positive PR that’s been spun for me.”
A snort escapes me, and I’m embarrassed. I partially crackopen an eye. “You should be out doing something better than this. I’m sure the bar is open.”
“Nope. This is where I want to be.” He studies me with his serious face, lips pursed, the wrinkle near his brow extra wrinkly at this hour. It’s the sexiest expression I’ve ever seen. Even more so than the rare times he’s let loose because, right now, this is him worried while taking care of me.Me.
Emotions of cosmic proportions pulsating in the room mix with my exhaustion and make me a little unnerved. I resort to the only thing I know how to do in moments like this. I tease. “I think I know why that is.”
He kisses my forehead. His voice is low and gravelly. “Why’s that?”
“You think I’m gorgeous, you want to?—”
“Don’t you dareMiss Congenialityme.” He shakes his head and fights a grin.
