by Asia Marquis
Max stares at Tiffany, in awe at her beauty once more. Her supple lips shine with lip gloss, her freckles a bit darker from getting some sun recently. His hand creeps up her leg to her stomach. “Have I told you how lovely you look pregnant?”
Tiffany's face flushes, her eyelashes batting rapidly. She turns away. “Don't flatter me, jackass.”
“I'm not, I swear.” His hand slides against the roundness of her stomach. “I mean it. You're beautiful.”
Tiffany snorts and rolls her eyes, but her face stays hot.
Days later, Max is out looking for work again. He's exhausted most of his online options, and almost all of his offline options too. He walks out of a restaurant that he tried to apply to as a waiter, only to be told that it's owned by his father. Leaning against a street lamp, a long sigh escapes him.
His cell phone jingles in his pants, vibrating against his legs. Digging the phone out, he eyes it suspiciously. It's his dad's ringtone, and his dad's contact information. “What in the hell,” he mumbles. His thumb hovers over the button to accept the call, but his stomach twists and his body freezes. The call goes to voicemail.
Max's muscles release and his hand drops. Just as he's about to put his phone back into his pocket, it rings again. “God damn it,” he growls, thumbing the line on and holding the black gadget to his ear. “Hello?”
“Max?” His dad sounds unsure, maybe self conscious. It fits poorly on Alexander Cooper's booming voice and surly temperament. The tone puts Max on edge.
“Yeah, Dad, it's me. What's up?” Even though he's irritated at his own anxiety, he's more worried about his dad than himself. There's a few moments of silence on the other line, and then a sigh. “Dad?”
“Look, can you come by the house? We need to talk.”
“Yeah. Is everything okay?”
“Just... come by. I'll have lunch set out. Will Tiffany be okay if you stay out for a few hours?”
Hearing his dad say Tiffany's name so calmly, Max clenches his jaw. Either his dad has forgiven Max, or something is seriously wrong. “No, she expects me to be out looking for a job all day. I'll be over right away.”
They hang up and Max jumps into his car, rushing to the house where he used to live. The gardener is out front playing with one of the dogs. Looking up, Max sees Alexander watching him through the upstairs window. He's in the room where Max's mom used to do her crafting.
Worry gnawing at him, Max bounds up to the door and pushes past the maid as she rushes to open it for him. “Sorry,” he calls back as he leaps up the stairs three at a time. Bursting through the white door with the worn and tattered door frame, Max faces his father.
Though Alexander's back is turned to him, the patriarch of the Cooper family's back bends in the silhouette of old age. The back of his head has a few grays not yet dyed that sparkle in the light that filters through the open attic window to the South.
“Dad?” Max ventures, stepping closer. Alexander turns and smiles, handing his son a glass with a golden liquid in it. The bottle on the table behind him holds one of Alexander's most expensive rums. Max takes it with a shaking hand.
“Hey, son. Long time no see. How's Tiffany?”
Max sips the rum. “She's good, actually. Getting big. We just learned that we're having a girl!”
“Any news from Charlotte?” Seeing the look of pain in Max's eyes, Alexander grimaces. “Sorry.”
“No, it's okay. And no, I haven't heard from her. She's still in India.” Both men lean against the walls on either side of the window that overlooks the driveway and front garden. The mail-woman walks by and hands the gardener a handful of letters, no doubt mostly bills and invitations to parties for one of the Cooper men.
“Oh, that reminds me, I have a stack of mail for you in my room. I'll give them to you before you leave.” Alexander's old eyes crinkle as he examines his oldest son. “You look so much like your mother. Remember when you were little, how you begged to have a pool added?”
Max chuckles. “Yep. You were totally against it, but once my room was built you added one outside my door. Mom didn't live long enough to enjoy it, but it still reminds me of her.” Remembering the woman that should have raised him brings a dull ache to Max's stomach, one he thought had died off long ago. When Mrs. Cooper died shortly after the birth of Jared, Max spent months in therapy for fear of abandonment and depression.
“Max, I have some bad news.” Alexander finishes his rum before setting it down. “I went to the doctor today.” He pauses, looking at the horizon. “I have pancreatic cancer.”
Max freezes. Dad? He can't have cancer. He still runs every day. He eats healthfully and is active, and he's so young. There's no way. “Is this some kind of joke?” Max asks, his nose scrunching in disgust.
“I'm afraid not. More bad news: I need to step down as CEO of the company. Now, I know this is-”
“Wait, hang on. How serious is this? Are you going to die?” Max asks. His free hand is clutching his chest tightly, trying to stifle his heart and keep it from breaking through his ribs.
“We all have to die some day, son.”
“But, how long do you have?”
Alexander walks to the far corner of the attic and drags over two old, dusty chairs. He pushes the cobwebs off of them and sits down in one. Max sits in the other. “Well, we don't know for sure, but my doctor says there's a good chance we caught it early enough to treat it. Every form of pancreatic cancer is serious, though, Max. I have to be realistic about this. Which is why I need to talk about the company.”
“Fuck the company! Tell me more about the cancer!”
“Max!” Alexander shouts, grabbing his son by the shoulders. “Control yourself!”
Max wants to fight his old man on this, but something in him forces him to sit back and nod. “Sorry, Dad.” His eyes are burning.
Alexander nods. “I need to step down as CEO immediately. The stress of running the company can make things so much worse, and I need to take time to heal and deal with my treatment. I know we haven't spoken in months, but I've been keeping an eye on you. You've been out looking for jobs almost every day, son, and you're doing your best to take care of Tiffany.”
Max is taken aback. His dad has been watching him? Making sure he's doing okay? That seems so out of character for the father that barely took part in his childhood.
“I'm the one who gave Jared the money to give you every month. If you had asked for more, you would have gotten it. But you didn't, and that means something. Now, I know that you're still a kid, and you still need to go to college. Still... there's no one else I'd rather have running the company I built, than my oldest son.”
Max stands up, shaking his head. “You have to be crazy,” he said. “Does pancreatic cancer make you crazy?” His breathing picks up, and he keeps shaking his head as he walks towards the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“I don't know. Outside. I need some air.”
Alexander follows his son down the stairs and through his bedroom to the pool. Max grunts and gasps for air as he takes off his shoes and pants, stripping down to his boxer shorts before stepping into the pool. He goes up to his shoulders, and then his head ducks under.
For a few moments he quietly holds his breath while Alexander watches him, but then bubbles holding fragments of a blood curdling scream come up, followed shortly by Max himself. He wipes the chlorinated water from his eyes and gasps for air in between sobs.
“Do you feel any better?”
Max looks up. He nods absently. To Alexander, he looks like the same young boy who clung to every maid he hired as a mother figure. The same boy who got into trouble for attention. His green eyes droop with a heavy sadness that Alexander has never been able to cure.
Max climbs out of the pool and sits on the side of it, his feet dangling in the water. Hiking up his pants, Alexander sits next to him.
“I'm counting on you, Max.”
“I know Dad. But are you sure I can do it?”
Alexander chuckles and sucks on his teeth. “You can never really be sure of anything, I guess.”
Both men sit on the side of the pool in silence, watching the birds fly by and clouds float over them. When the maid comes out and announces lunch, both men follow her. Their stomachs are rumbling and ravenous from the emotional outburst.
Over sandwiches and soup, Alexander and Max discuss Tiffany's pregnancy. Alexander even gives his son some tips on how to help make the pregnancy and birthing process easier.
“Where are you guys thinking of living?” Alexander asks after stuffing the last bit of a salami sandwich into his mouth.
Max thinks about it for a second. “You know, I don't know. Am I getting my allowance back?”
“Max, you're the CEO. You'll be making so much more than any allowance I might give you. You could live anyway. I was thinking, though, that you might be interested in moving back here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I know that Tiffany enjoys working, and you'll be busy, so you'll have a built in nanny who is also a doting grandfather. Plus, I miss the loud parties and annoying video games keeping me up all night.”
Max thinks it over. It's been a struggle keeping up with the expenses, paying for baby toys and cribs. To suddenly be able to afford everything again is like a dream, and it's hard to imagine it's all real. “I'd have to talk to Tiffany.”
“Of course! Go to her now, call me later tonight. I have to make some calls and get my lawyers over here.”
Max stands up and shakes his dad's hand. He feels tired; the weight of his shoulders heavier than it's ever been, but for the first time in his life, he feels like he can bear it.
Tiffany's favorite way to de-stress lately has been to take long baths and read romance novels. Her tummy pokes up over the water, and so do her swollen breasts, but the warm water and soothing sound of meditation music playing on a small radio on the sink melts her worries away.
Today has been one of the few days where almost nothing has gone wrong. A flutter in her stomach gets her attention, and when she places her hand on her skin she feels her daughter kicking and giggles. “One day, you'll be in my arms,” she says with a peaceful smile on her face.
Tiffany hears the front door to the apartment open. “Tiffany!” Max shouts.
“I'm in here!”
He opens the bathroom door and she screams, pulling the shower curtain across to hide her body, but it's too late. Max caught a glimpse of her breasts and stands staring at her for a moment with his cheeks red.
“Max!” Tiffany whines. “What do you want?”
“He wants us to move in!” Max jumps with glee and goes to the side of the tub, getting down on his knees. “Dad wants you to move in with us, and he wants me to be the CEO for his company!”
Tiffany raises an eyebrow. “Doesn't that require the permission of the shareholders?”
Max shrugs.
“Isn't that something the CEO should know?”
Irritated, Max hits his hand on the tub. “I'm offering you a better life! Why are you acting like this?”
Seeing the hurt in his eyes, Tiffany sighs. “I'm not trying to be negative, I'm trying to be realistic. I am happy for you, but I don't understand–”
“Dad said he was going to help me.”
“Why is he giving you the position?”
Max pauses, his face going white. “I had forgotten.” Slumping against the wall, he swallows hard. “He has pancreatic cancer, and the stress from work could make it worse.”
Tiffany gasps, a hand going up to cover her mouth. Knowing that she's worried for his dad makes her even sexier, nude with her red hair up in a lazy bun. Her eyes start to water.
“He might be okay, he says, but I think it would be good for him if we take him up on his offer. To move in, I mean.”
“I'm not sure, Max.” Tiffany shakes her head, looking up. “You don't need me there. We're not a couple or anything. You can move back and just...”
“Just send you child support?” His voice cracks. Powerful emotions swirl in his green eyes, the same abandonment and pain she's seen him deal with thousands of times before. “I thought we were having fun. I thought you liked me.”
What? Is Max trying to say he likes her too? Is this some kind of cryptic way to confess his feelings? She has to admit that Max has been treating her as more than just a friend, and the charged looks he gives her sometimes leaves her unable to do anything but blush. Still, she was under the impression they would never be anything more than two people who had a child.
A sudden urge to reach out and kiss Max overwhelms her. Max looks up at her and sees the strange look in her eyes. “Tiffany, please move in with me. I'll give you a separate room if you hate me that much.”
“I don't hate you, Max.” Her voice is deep, lusty. Tears well up in her eyes. If he's tricking her, she'll kick his ass, but she never stopped loving him. Not once.
Max watches as the tears fall down her cheeks. Reaching out, he wipes a tear away. Her skin is so smooth, so perfect, without any blemishes. Unable to control himself anymore, he moves his hand to the back of her neck and kisses her, hard. His lips press against hers in ways she's only dreamed of.
Her bones ache to be touched by him, more than this. She presses into him, drawing his kisses deeper. They both shift so that both of Max's hands are cradling her head in the deepest, most passionate kiss she has ever had.
They break away so that Tiffany can catch a gasp of air, but she throws herself at him, tossing her arms around her neck. Her wet breasts press against his t-shirt, soaking him as her nipples stiffen. They pull away again, and the words pour out of Tiffany's mouth like sweet wine, “I love you, Maxim Cooper. I always have, and I always will.”
The astonishment on his face melts into a smile, and tears fall down his face now. Knowing that someone he's grown to love as much as he loves Tiffany could return the emotion warms him. Charlotte never said those words to him, never dared to show any warm emotions for him. The frantic desire for acceptance, the need for immediate love gives away to something slower. Max, his whole body hot, pulls the mother of his child closer for one last kiss before he stands up.
He aches to touch her more, to explore her body and kiss her breasts and her stomach and every inch of her. She aches to be given the love she's desired for so long. Still, he pulls away from her grasp. “I promised to tell Dad if you said yes. I'll be right back.”
He leaves the room, and Tiffany leans back into the warm water. Her book is soaked and floating on top of the bath, but she doesn't care. Her heart is fluttering, her lips tingling. Everything feels good. The whole world feels good.
She hears her love talking on the phone and picks up her book, trying to shake the water from it. Reaching for the soap, she quickly washes under her arms and then her intimate parts.
When she looks down, she lets loose a blood curdling scream. Max runs into the room, nearly slipping on the water he dripped when he left. “What's wrong?”
She just screams again, trying to get out of the tub and away from the water. Max looks inside the tub and sees something that makes his blood go cold.
The water is red.
12
The emergency room has, for a moment, found a peaceful silence. Alis Monroe, the nurse behind the receptionist desk takes a moment to smell the daisies her boyfriend brought in earlier in the day and rearrange the files of the last three people to come in.
The second she closes her filing cabinet, the peace is gone as Max and Tiffany rush in. Max's green eyes look wild, and they're both breathing heavily as he holds Tiffany up. “Help! She's bleeding!”
Seeing that the woman is very pregnant, Alis leaps up and grabs them both, leading them down the hallway. She yells to get a doctor to room 409 as soon as possible, then turns to Tiffany. “Is there any pain? Contractions?”
Tiffany shakes her head with a gulp of air. “No- no, nothing at all.”
“Did you fall on anyt
hing?”
“No.”
“Has she been taking any aspirin or pain meds in the last few days, sir?” Alis looks at both of them quickly to judge whether or not domestic violence was likely. The man seemed as worried as the woman, and there were no bruises visible on her.
“No- I don't think so. Tiffany?”
Tiffany just shakes her head again before she lays back on the examining table at the behest of Alis, who turns to Max. “Doctor Apfel will be in soon. Stay calm, help her breathe. We're going to take care of you. That there's no pain lowers the chance of it being a miscarriage this late into the pregnancy.”
Knowing that miscarriage is less likely does put Max at ease, but just hearing the word after trying his hardest to think about anything but miscarriage makes his stomach twist. He bites his bottom lip before taking Tiffany's hands. I have to be here for her. She needs me now. He wants nothing more than to scream his head off and call a therapist, but right now isn't about him.
“Breathe slowly with me, Tiffany. You heard the nurse, everything might be just fine.” They breathe slowly together. Checking the door every few seconds, Max grows impatient. When is Dr. Apfel going to get here? Doesn't she know we have an emergency?
As if he had called her, the gray haired doctor bursts in. She takes blood and then takes Tiffany to do a sonogram. The doctor tries to tell Max to stay in the waiting room, but he refuses. “I'm not letting go of her hands until I know she's alright.”
Dr. Apfel nods. “I have to do this quick, though. Every second is important here.” Lifting up the t shirt that Tiffany threw on before they ran out the door, she slathers the cold jelly on her stomach and the screen comes to life.
“The good news is, she's still alive.” Tiffany lets out a sob and covers her eyes.
Max holds Tiffany's hands until Dr. Apfel returns to the examining room. Then he stands up. “What is it? Is Tiffany going to be okay? Is the baby okay? Do we need to induce labor? Are we going to have a premature baby?” A million questions pour from Max's mouth until Dr. Apfel holds up a slender hand. She then turns to Tiffany.