Faking It (Losing It, #2)(26)

Don’t go there either, brain. Focus.

I slipped off my coat, too, and then realized I had no idea where to put it. Did Max have a coat closet? Her parents weren’t wearing theirs. Where had they put them? Our whole story was going to come tumbling down because I didn’t know where to hang my coat. There were two doors that could be closets. Or they could be bathrooms or laundry rooms or who knows what.

“So, Mackenzie is getting dressed now?” Her mother’s brow furrowed, and I imagined her thinking the things Max had been afraid of.

“I think she might be taking a shower, actually. I told her not to worry about it, but I think she wants to look nice for you guys.”

Hopefully she wouldn’t come out in sweatpants or something.

“Do you think she wants to take pictures?” Mrs. Miller’s eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. Ah, well, that seemed to distract her pretty well.

“I think so. It is our first Thanksgiving together, after all. I think it’s something we should commemorate.”

I took a chance and opened one of the doors in the living room. BINGO! Coat closet. Day = saved.

I was sliding my coat on a hanger when Mrs. M attacked me from behind. Her arms went around my middle and squeezed so hard, I thought she was trying to give me the Heimlich.

“I am just so happy you came into Mackenzie’s life. Even after only a few weeks, you’ve had such a wonderful influence on her. She never lets me take pictures of her.”

Well, damn.

Max was going to be furious.

I smiled and said, “Oh, I don’t think I’ve changed her. She was amazing before me, and is amazing now.”

“Mick? Are you listening to this wonderful boy? You could afford to take some lessons from him!”

Mick heaved himself up off the couch and came into the kitchen. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, son.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Mrs. M swatted her husband on the arm.

“Don’t you dare listen to him, Cade.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I sighed. I had a feeling this would be happening a lot today.

I watched Mrs. M putter around the kitchen. I offered to help a few times, but she always waved me off. When she wasn’t cooking, she was decorating Max’s empty apartment. She’d brought throw pillows and afghans and picture frames. I was beginning to understand that Max was the complete opposite of her parents . . . probably because she fingernails scrape screamowlmywanted to be the complete opposite of her parents.

“Where are you from, Cade?”

“Texas, ma’am.”

“Oh, where at? We live in Oklahoma!”

“I grew up in Fort Worth.”

“And your parents are still there?”

I fidgeted, scratching at the back of my neck.

“My grandmother, actually. My mother died, and my dad isn’t really in the picture.”

She stopped, her hand still shoved up inside the turkey, and looked at me.

“Oh, honey. Bless your heart.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I was young. I don’t really even remember her. Besides, I have my grandmother. That’s enough.”

She used her turkey-free hand to gesture me closer. “Come here.”

I took a few steps, and she kept waving me closer until I was right beside her. Then with one hand still intimately exploring the inside of a turkey, she wrapped her other arm around me in a hug.

She said, “It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember your mother. I’m still so sorry for the things you had to face. It must have been difficult.”

It was weird, but the awkward turkey hug did make me feel better. I got why Max was so weird about her parents, but I would have given anything to have parents that would show up unannounced and intrude upon my life. Grams was too old to do anything like that, though I’m sure she would if she could.

“Um . . . what is happening right now?”

Mrs. M released me and I stepped away from her and the turkey. Max stood at the end of the hallway. I guess she decided against the shower. Her choppy red hair was styled calmer than I had ever seen it. She was wearing a turtleneck sweater that covered her multitude of tattoos. She was wearing less makeup, too. She looked like herself, still, but at maybe 25 percent of her normal vibrancy.

I missed the real her.

“Oh, nothing, dear,” Max’s mom said. “Cade just told me about his parents.”

“Right. His parents,” Max said. She shot me a wide-eyed look.

So, I changed the subject. “Mrs. Miller, tell me what Max was like as a child.”

Max groaned. Her mother practically cheered.

“I just happen to have baby pictures with me! I keep a photo album with me at all times.” Max stalked into the kitchen and threw herself down on the stool beside me.

“Yay. Baby pictures. What a great idea, sweetheart.” She laced her fingers with mine, and then lightly dug her fingernails into the back of my hand in warning. All I could think about was what it would feel like to have her fingernails dig into my skin under different circumstances.

I pulled her hand up to my mouth, and kissed the back. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath. I smiled evilly and said, “Oh, honey, you can’t blame me for wanting to see your baby pictures.”