Clayton runs his hands up my arms, over my shoulder, until he reaches my face and cups my cheeks in his hands. “They will love you. They are beyond excited to meet you. Just be yourself, okay? Nothing to be afraid of, baby.”
He kisses me. Not hard, not deep, but slow and soft. Pulling back, he leans his forehead against mine. I look down him, taking in how he looks.
His hair is slicked back and I’ve never seen it that way before, but it shows his face. The green of his eye popping against his long, dark lashes. He’s wearing a white crewneck t-shirt beneath a brown blazer, light jeans with a belt that matches his jacket, and brown shoes too.
“Is my outfit okay? Should I wear more color? Ugh, I don’t even own color,” I ramble.
“You look perfect, Max. Let’s go,” he says, gripping my wrist and pulling me. I let him lead the way because I’m not sure my feet will work on their own. We are silent on the way down to student parking. My head spinning with thoughts that won’t slow down.
“I’m going to drive us, okay?”
“We aren’t taking the bike?”
“You’re definitely not driving and I don’t know how to,” Clayton says.
“I’ll teach you one day,” I respond as he leads me to his beat up Toyota Corolla.
He opens the passenger door for me and I get in, buckling up as he rounds the car to slip into the driver's seat. I watch him as he readies himself. Connecting his phone to his little Bluetooth device, buckling, starting up the car. I focus on his every move so I don’t have to worry about the thoughts going through my head.
“What are they like?” I ask.
“My parents?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re kind, caring, understanding. They see the good in everyone, even those who don’t deserve it. You know those movies that have those happy-go-lucky families with a white picket fence who like to grill and invite neighbors because they’re friendly? That’s my parents.”
I smile at the thought because I don’t think Clayton realizes that he’s also describing himself.
“They sound fantastic.”
“They are. What are your parents like?”
Every time he has tried to ask me about this, I shut down and change the subject. I vowed that I wouldn’t think about Randall Levine and Iwant to keep that promise to myself, but how long can I keep avoiding this?
“My mom would move mountains for me if she could. She’s there for me whenever I need her, no matter the time of day. Her love is so fierce that sometimes it’s a little terrifying. She always goes in head first with everything despite the consequences,” I explain, feeling a smile reach my face. I love my mother.
“Sounds familiar,” Clayton concurred.
“You think I get that from her?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I’m glad, then.”
“What about your dad?”
“Randall Levine,” I scoff. “Do you remember the party when we kissed?”
“How could I forget?”
“After you left and I went to leave, he was about to come in. He’s told me so many times not to have parties in the dining hall, but if I do anything, it’s to piss that man off. On purpose. He brought me to his office and this was before he was leaving the school,” I say the words, telling him about that night while staring out the window. The further I get into the topic, the closer his hand gets to mine.
Our fingers lock and I squeeze his hand tight.
“He hit you?” Clayton questions, somehow knowing exactly how this story ends.
“He hit me. I was pissed off, he was pissed off. I left him there, looking like an idiot. Come morning, he wanted to take me out for breakfast. I was hungover, so I let it slide.”
