A man whose bed I had invited myself into for comfort, nothing more.
I fled.
I haven’t managed to meet his eye for more than an instant in passing since. I’ll have to do better. The girls will notice, otherwise. They’re already hurting from missing Max. Unlike me, they hadn’t worried and mourned in advance—not that I’ve done such a good job of it.
I stand by the fridge, holding the handle for balance, and breathe deeply. I’m a mature adult. I can handle this, especially fully dressed in a soft, comfy long-sleeved shirt over loose pants, hair tucked behind my ears, and game face on. My toes flex inside the bunny slippers the girls all love seeing me wear.
Nearby, Caity wields a sharp knife with ease, preparing the fruit cup while calling instructions to Bebe, who’s setting the table. Bebe rolls her eyes and indulges Caity half the time at best,though she does take Caity’s suggestion of adjusting five chairs around the table so we can see each other more easily. The sixth—Max’s—she sets aside.
They’re both dressed similarly to me, excepting the bunny slippers, as are Corin and Anamaria shoulder to shoulder at the stove, cooking eggs and pancakes. Nearly a foot shorter, she leans into him, occasionally rubbing her head against his arm. He turns his head to smile down at her, and suddenly, I have trouble tearing my gaze from him.
He’s both the same and different at once. From irritating but loved family member and business partner, to all that plus an attractive man who held me all last night, keeping nightmares at bay. Instead of loose pants, he wears jeans that cup his backside, showing nicely rounded buttocks I don’t remember noticing before.
I turn away, focusing on the girls instead.
They’re all variations on their father to some degree. Same hair and basic coloring, same general build, many of the same gestures, tempered merely by their different designations and the extent to which they accept being alpha (easiest), beta (almost), and omega (trickiest). I prefer not to connect what they inherited from their mother to the actual person, whom I liked—sort-of—until she failed to accept her oldest daughter’s designation with grace or even tolerance.
It's one thing for a person to choose to reject or recognize elements of themself. I supported Max in his fight against the limitations he found in being an omega. Encouraged his efforts to be different from his selfish, self-centered parents. Helped him every way I could in developing techniques for minimizing what he didn’t like about being an omega, while accepting what he couldn’t change and celebrating the aspects he loved.
But no one should learn to dislike their designation because someoneelse, someone close, aparent, resents their child becoming something they once longed to be.
If I were an omega or an alpha, I might growl. My hand tightens on the fridge door, though I can’t remember what I came over to this side of the kitchen for.
I must’ve made some noise, for Caity turns to me with a look of concern.
“Bad thoughts,” I say, smiling at her and deliberately not looking at the loving father and oldest daughter on the far side of the room, who didn’t hear.
“We love you, Aunty Jo.” Leaving the knife behind, Caity embraces me, careful not to rub her sticky hands on my shirt, though I wouldn’t mind too much.
“Oh, is it that time already?” Bebe finishes the table and rushes at me, practically knocking Caity out of the way. “Hugs!”
Anamaria joins her sisters, surrounding me with warm arms and smiling faces as I hug back as best I can, having but two arms for the three of them. Corin remains by the stove, tending the pans, but can’t resist glancing over at us a time or three with a sappy grin that twists into something dark and knowing when he meets my gaze.
Whatever else I got from being with Max, he gave me this family, this pack in all but name. By accident, maybe, but it still counts.
Unfortunately, what Max left us turns out to be the theme of the morning.
Corin allows us to finish eating before he raps on the table to get our attention. I’m warm, well-fed, and feeling loved in my seat not quite opposite him.
“Clear the table, then it’s time for business,” he says.
The girls groan. A flicker of tension wells in my chest.
“What kind of business?” I ask.
“Max’s estate. Some matters will have to wait as the usual processes grind through the courts, but others need attention sooner.” He looks around, catching each of our gazes one at a time. “I want to make sure you’re all aware of the basics.”
“Of course we are, Dad—you’ve told us already.” Caity rolls her eyes from next to me. Bebe is between her and Corin, and Anamaria between Corin and me.
“And you remember it all?” He faces Caity, but the quick shift of his eyes my direction suggests he’s thinking as much of me.
With some validity, perhaps. Max and I updated our legal forms every decade, but it’s been six or seven years since we last talked through everything. I’ve been focused on the memorial service and our business, and holding everything together, versus worrying about the details since Corin is Max’s executor—and would’ve been mine, had I died first, because Max was sure that in such a situation, he wouldn’t be capable of doing much for ages.
Yet Max wrote to Dan over the years, and Dan came to Max’s memorial service from wherever he lived. I’d been careful not to keep track.
What else had Max done?
The taste of maple syrup lingers in my mouth as the pancakes and fruit sit heavy in my stomach.
