by Kristi Ayers
When Max told me to bring my violin along, I thought we’d mess around on a few songs together with maybe Douglas as our only audience. We were about to have a mini concert without having practiced, and I was terrified. My smile hopefully looked confident as I mentally gave myself a pep talk.
After dinner, butterflies zig-zagged uncomfortably in my stomach at the thought of performing on such a whim. What could we possibly play together? I only knew of the song we both did at Adam’s, although, at the time, it was done separately. What if we sounded horrible together?
As I walked downstairs to the basement to retrieve my violin, Adam crossed my mind heavily. Did he go home to be with his mom? Was he also feeling suppressed pain like I was? Holidays were the worst, although I must admit that changing it up had helped more than I thought it would. I wasn’t in a corner crying, so there was that. Hopefully, the trip to my aunt’s house was doing the same for my parents.
“Hey.” Max’s voice was gentle. “Are you really okay with playing?” He glanced at the violin now in my hands.
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“I’m nervous. I play classical all the time with others because I have the music in front of me, or I’ve memorized it. But the songs on the radio are all by ear, and usually after many attempts.”
Meaningfully, he strode over to me with a soft, determined look in his eyes. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable, but I know in my gut that you’re going to be awesome.”
With that amount of confidence, how could I say no? “Okay. Let’s do this.”
We tossed around a few song ideas and settled on three that we both liked to sing or hum in the shower. That was how you knew if you truly liked the song, if it was shower-worthy. He said he’d sing the lyrics to two and then the third would be all instrumental. This was either going to be really, unbelievably epic or a great big flop. There basically wasn’t an in between.
After I ran a block of rosin down the hair of my bow and tested some notes, I was as ready as I’d ever be. We made our way to the living room that was aglow with a crackling fire in the hearth and everyone seated around two empty chairs. For us. This was about to happen.
I focused on everything except our audience and tried to picture myself alone in my old bedroom. Max counted a beat by snapping his fingers, leading us into the first song. It was the one we did separately at Adam’s house. His sisters immediately recognized it. I could see his parents in my peripheral vision bobbing their heads to the beat, showing approval. Max’s sisters started to sing along with him, while the youngest, Markie, imitated his guitar playing. Their enjoyment gave me confidence to let my body feel the music and absorb Max’s talent walking hand in hand beside my own. I had to admit, it seemed like we were pulling this off without any hitches. And what was mind-blowing to me, I never knew I was missing something. My music, having never played with anyone in this capacity before, sounded so much fuller with a guitar and vocals.
Max’s rich voice did things in my chest, a soft, tickling rumble. At one point, his eyes captured my gaze, as if to say we sound amazing. The butterflies in my stomach now felt light and fluttery.
The next song was something from his parents’ generation. We dove right into it, eliciting an exuberant Alice to clap and let out a small squeal of excitement. Both Max and I smiled and got into the beat, moving our bodies to the rhythm. Even the girls and Douglas seemed to be into it, singing along and clapping with the tempo. This was the most fun I’d had in a long time, and I soaked everything into my memory vault; the warmth of the fire, the amped energy off our little audience, and the reverberating energy in my chest.
The last song, an iconic love song, was played solely instrumental. He carried the rhythm while I played the lead. The notes swirled and melded together in harmony, deeply moving the both of us. I caught his gaze at one moment and knew he was feeling the emotion of the words behind the notes.
Playing solo would never feel the same again because I’d know in the back of my mind that Max brought vivid color to my standard textbook sound.
Later that night, as I lay snuggled beneath the fresh-scented turkey sheets on the pull-out couch and unable to sleep after such a soul-moving experience, I heard soft padding coming down the stairs into the basement. I stilled, wondering who it could be.
Silence.
Indecision?
Then I heard Max’s whispered voice. “Holland, you asleep?”
I turned and answered into the dark, “No, I'm awake.” I paused briefly. “You couldn't sleep either?”
He came further into the room. “Nope. Still wired, I guess.” His silhouette stood a few steps away from where I lay nestled on my side. “We were… Damn, we were utterly amazing together. I can’t get over it. Your violin… I’m at a loss for words. You. It was all you.”
I laughed. “Hardly. It was you. I just supplemented.”
“Bullshit. You carried it. You made me… you made me better. I fed off you. Your sound bled into me and it was intoxicating.”
Wow. I was fully awake now, and speechless.
He exhaled a long breath and sat down on the mattress beside me. “You. Make. Me. Better. Do you understand that?”
I shook my head microscopically, eyes wide, but he could see through the spillage of grey moonlight through the high windows across one side of the room.
“Holland,” he breathed as he brushed my hair behind my ear. My head lay on a pillow, eyes wide, absolutely fixated on his words, his emotion. “You… you give my voice a charge that it has never had before. I can’t explain it.” He shook his head, perplexed. And then he took on a look of determination. “You have to be a part of our band. Adam—he needs to let you join.” He put his hand against my cheek, his thumb caressing softly. Then he whispered as he gazed down at me, “We as a band need you, but I simply just need you.”
He leaned over, slowly, his hair falling forward some. In the moonlight, I saw his eyes glance between my lips and back up to my eyes. He was pausing, giving me a chance to say I didn’t want to do this, but instead, I kept completely still, wildly curious. My stomach burst into flutters, anticipating.
Slowly, he edged closer, our breaths mingling now. Our lips met—warm and soft and tentative at first, then I threaded my fingers through his hair, which made him press into me harder, more urgently. One of my hands slipped under his shirt, savoring the feel of his back.
He had on a T-shirt and athletic shorts, so unlike his usual wardrobe that it made me feel like I was seeing something intimate, which I guess was true because I’d only ever seen him in jeans and a T-shirt or hoodie.
His lips pressed more fervently. I could hear his breaths coming a little faster when he went to kiss under my ear, but always coming back to devour my lips. His tongue swept into my mouth and met with mine, which nearly made me come unhinged. I was losing control, but I didn’t care. I wanted to follow where he was taking me.
Abruptly, he ripped himself away, breathing heavy. “Wait. Are you sure you’re okay with this? I don’t want to take advantage—”
I grabbed him and pressed my mouth against his. My answer, loud and clear.
I was slipping, falling, drowning blissfully into the sensations that had been dormant for a few, very long years. His hand skimmed the top of my sleep shorts, sending goosebumps following the tingles all over my body. I shivered outwardly. The feel of his hair softly grazing against my face, teasing, tickling, was unraveling me. I moaned softly. He pulled back slightly and looked down into my face, earnestly studying for a moment, and then dove in again, all lips, hands, and nibbles of teeth.
The blanket had meandered down to my knees and I used my foot to push it all the way off. I wanted to feel all of him without any hindrance. He moved onto me more, our waists meeting, and I felt just how turned on he was at that moment. I could tell he was so close to going further with me from the way his body moved against mine. He wanted it. I wanted it.
But somet
hing happened inside his mind. He paused, lips an inch above mine, breathing heavy, but also suddenly somewhere else. He placed both hands to the side of my body and lifted himself off me, sliding to the side to perch on the edge of the bed. He was thinking, deeply weighing something; the angel and devil furiously feuding on his shoulders.
“Max,” I pleaded on a whisper.
He exhaled, his head dipping, but not to kiss me. “I just want you to want this. And being on a high from our musical experience may be—” He stopped and shook his head, closing his eyes tightly, almost as if he were in pain. “I need… I need to go to bed and let you sleep. See you in the morning, Holland.”
And then he was gone.
I couldn’t deny my heart was bruised, my ego jolted, and full of so many questions. I’d never been so confused. What did I do wrong?
~*~
The next day was Thanksgiving. I timidly went upstairs and found everyone awake and busy with various things. Everyone except Max. Alice was working on food for dinner, but she stopped to bring me a steaming, heavenly, and much needed cup of coffee.
“Good morning, Holland. Did you sleep well?”
I didn’t want to tell her I’d spent half the night obsessing over her son, so I said, “Yes, thank you.” I saw Douglas in the other room playing on his game, categorically dead to the world around him.
“Help yourself to the toast and jam on the table.” It looked like everyone else had already eaten and started their day. Alice went back to the food where her eldest two daughters were assisting and wearing matching turkey aprons. The two younger daughters were at the bar table with bottles of glue and a dangerous amount of glitter.
Markie beamed at me. “We’re making placemats for dinner tonight!” She had gold glitter all over her fingers and face.
I giggled. “That looks fun.”
“Come join us,” Mae offered and already placed a blank piece of construction paper at the seat beside her.
The little girl in me buzzed with nostalgia, so I took my coffee with me and proceeded to outline a turkey, pumpkin, and falling leaves with the glue. It took me directly back to the most enjoyable times of my youth. Mom still had all my creations stored away in a box, undoubtedly one big heap of cotton balls, yarn, and pipe cleaners between glittery construction papers by now.
After two more cups of coffee and a few more designs, including a cornucopia, we had a pile accumulating.
“Max, you’re back,” Alice said, and I immediately turned to look at him. “We’re going to have a light lunch, just some cheese, crackers, and a veggie plate.”
He stood leaning against the door frame and looked inconceivably amazing in a dark navy dress shirt, dark jeans, and boots. His hair was pulled back, except for an errant strand by his forehead that lay down his temple. His gaze, inscrutable, was focused on me, and for the life of me, I couldn’t read him. His features were relaxed, almost poker-faced. “I was able to run my errand. It will be ready in the morning.” Alice gave him a thumbs-up. He squinted and observed what I was working on, then glanced at his sisters, amused, only to return to me a moment later, his eyes softer now. “Ma, do you need any help with anything?”
“No, I think we are all set. You could try and get Douglas off his game, though. I’m sure he’s hungry by now.”
Markie noticed Max looking at me and piped up, worried. “Max, don’t take Holland away. We’re very busy right now.”
Mae agreed. “Yeah, and these placemats won’t make themselves.” That sounded like a line she got from an adult and I giggled softly.
Max looked between his sisters and finally smiled. “I won’t take her away yet, but you will have to share. She’s my…” He glanced at me and blinked away. “My friend, after all.” There was a hint of indecision on his face, as if he didn’t know what I was now that we’d kissed.
At the kitchen counter, peeling potatoes, Michelle coughed: “Girlfriend.” Madison giggled beside her.
Max leveled a glare their way before turning to go extricate Douglas from his game, but not before offering a quick, tender glance at my placemat, and then up to my eyes.
The rest of the day, I found myself in Max’s vicinity, but it was always also with someone else. We were never alone, and I wanted to talk. Even when I went downstairs hoping he’d follow, he never would.
Before dinner, I took some time to change into something a little more dressed up and curled my hair. This time, I wanted to be alone to ruminate for a few minutes, just to think about everything. Something changed between us and it felt like we were in a weird limbo. We needed to talk in private, and soon, before I lost my mind.
One last look in the mirror at my hair, which cascaded in loose ringlets down the back of my burgundy dress, then I made my way up the basement stairs to the dining room. The chandelier above the table had been dimmed and tall wax candles that ran the length of the table had been lit. Suddenly, I felt awkward, like a romantic vibe had been purposely set, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed.
Max came around the corner and stopped short, taking in everything with the same face I likely shared. He looked at his mom with a curious, raised eyebrow. She gave him a smile and motioned for everyone to take their seats.
It was easy to figure out our assigned seats from the glittery names on folded cards behind each plate. Mine was directly by Max’s. I looked at him and swallowed. This felt like a pre-orchestrated date planned by his mom and sisters, which would have been cute if we hadn’t messed things up last night. Maybe we went too fast. I had no idea about his past relationships. Maybe a girl hurt him so badly that he was scared to jump into anything new. I could feel his eyes on me when we sat down, like he was noticing my dress for the first time, but when I glanced at him, he busied himself arranging his napkin and silverware.
Michael maneuvered his wheelchair to the spot without a chair and smiled lovingly at his family, spending a moment focused on each one. “Tonight,” Michael began, “we are thankful for our family as well as our guests.” He smiled at me and then Douglas, who was sitting on the other side of Max. “Having a table full of people warms my soul, almost nearly as much as my antiques.” Everyone chuckled, knowing he was only kidding. “My hope is for everyone to be blessed with everything they desire in life, and to live life to the fullest extent possible.”
Alice raised her glass of Pinot Noir. “I second that. Well said, darling.”
Markie piped up, “I wanna make a toast!” Her ten-year-old face turned reverent as she cleared her throat and sat up straighter, and then held up her cup of water. “Here’s to my new sister, Holland. May we spend every holiday together!”
A bubble of nervous giggles erupted from me, but no one heard because they were all lightly chuckling at how sincere and cute Markie was and raised their glasses. A murmur of multiple “cheers” was said as they glanced at me and Max. Not awkward at all…
Max and I raised our glasses, hesitating but not wanting to correct her. He leaned over to me. “She’s always been dramatic.”
Was he writing it off as typical theatrics from his sister or did he really not want me to ever come back to his family’s home? This was so uncomfortable.
We dug into the food then, a soft chatter starting between people as they filled their plates with all the obligatory Thanksgiving food. I thought about Mom and Dad and hoped they were having a nice time with my aunt. Through texts, it seemed like they were, but if they were like me, they were also missing our usual family dinner together. When it went from four to three in our family, it was almost an insurmountable adjustment, but we did it.
“Hey, you okay?” Max asked in a low, concerned voice and touched the outside of my thigh discreetly so he wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention.
Pulled from my thoughts, I nodded. “Yeah.” He looked worried but let it go when his sisters started arguing over something. Alice promptly scolded them and then took a sip of wine, the incident forgotten.
That night as I lay on the pull-out
couch bed, I hoped Max would come down the stairs again. I listened for any creak of the wood, but there was nothing. He demonstrated such mixed signals throughout the day that I couldn’t read what he was thinking. Sometimes he gave me a tender look and appeared worried that I was okay; other times, he seemed to avoid any interaction at all. The evening board games we played as a group felt stilted, like he was just going through the motions. Eventually, I fell asleep with my heart oozing onto the floor into a puddle of masticated dejection.
Maybe he didn’t want me after all.
Chapter 12
Max
Douglas’s medium-volume snoring wasn’t what kept me up that night. It was the desire—the unforgiving, incessant, tugging need—to race down those stairs and kiss Holland again. It was all I thought about since the moment it happened. Between the soul-punching sound we created with our music and the subsequent incredible high I felt, it was surprising I didn’t go much much further with her. But Adam and their shared history was continually nagging in the back of my mind. I didn’t want to start something that was only going to end because of Adam.
It was true that she made me better as a musician. When we were one-fourth into our first song, I inhaled, expanding my lungs to sing the most heartfelt lyrics I’d ever sung. The passion with which she played her violin did something deep inside me; I felt it in my DNA. Music was her soul, and that was a huge factor why I was obsessively drawn to go to her. I felt the unrelenting need to be with her, touch her, absorb whatever she emitted that was so intoxicating.
I tossed, turned, punched my pillow, and jabbed my fingers through my hair before the decision was made to just…not. Not give in to the pull. Not move us forward into something.
Not until I was sure Adam wouldn’t ruin it.