Work Text:
Max’s parents were making it hard to focus.
They’d just gotten home from work, both tired and hungry and slightly irritated at the other, and over the course of about ten minutes, that irritation had devolved into something more like anger. Now they were fighting, and, like most fights, this one had focused in on Billy– Billy’s death, Billy’s funeral, Billy’s things, which still sat untouched in his bedroom after five months because Mom didn’t dare try to clean them up and Neil didn’t want to.
It was the day before Thanksgiving and Max’s first day home for break, and for the first time in her life, she actually wished she could return to school. She chewed at the inside of her cheek, beginning her third attempt to read El’s most recent letter.
Dear Max, the letter said, How are you? I am OK. Today Will brought a cookie from the kitchen to my room and then he helped me draw a cartoon of you for this letter. Do you still wear your hair in braids? Even if you dont you have braids in this picture. How is Lucas? I hope he is good. Mike told me he plays basket ball now? I watched basket ball on TV with Joyce and it looks like fun even though I dont really under stand the rules. Do you know how to play basket ball? Maybe when I see you next you and Lucas can teach me and I can also paint your nails because Joyce bought me purple nail polish and it is so much fun! I have been very exsited about my ward robe lately. Clothes are fun because you can put them on over each other and then they look like whole different clothes. Jewlry is fun also but it would be more fun if I could wear earings. Joyce has not taken me to get my ears pierced yet even though I told her I have felt much worse pain and it wouldnt even hurt. Are your ears pierced? I cant r
Outside, something light and aerodynamic hit the wall between the living room and Max’s bedroom with a clatter and a He was my son, Susan, he wasn’t your fucking kid…
Max raked a hand through her hair, which admittedly had not been brushed all day, wincing each time she was met with a tangle and reaching her other arm out in an attempt to maneuver the top drawer of her nightstand open without getting out of bed. Outside, Neil went on and on and on about how it was your fault, Susan, if you hadn’t insisted we move here...
Resisting the urge to scream, Max abandoned the hair effort and stumbled out of bed to dig through her drawer, hoping that somewhere among pencils and scrunchies and unread comic books, she would find her headphones and Walkman. Instead, she found two half-empty packs of gum and a dollar store birthday card that read “Happy Birthday, Teenager!” in sparkly purple cursive. Her Walkman, she remembered, was on the coffee table. She had left it there while Mom and Neil were at work.
At that point, she had two options. One: listen to Mom and Neil for the rest of eternity, or two: temporarily enter the front lines in order to retrieve her shit.
Neither one seemed particularly appealing, but in the end, she was at the door to her bedroom, rocking back and forth on her heels, her hand gripping the knob; Why are you afraid? It’s just stupid, shitty Neil. Just-got-home-from-work, in-a-bad-mood Neil.
She opened the door cautiously, turning the knob all the way before pushing in order to minimize noise.
When her parents saw her, they went silent immediately. Mom stood behind the couch, her red hair still tied up perfectly from work, her eyes darting furtively between her husband and daughter. Neil stood across from her, his breathing ragged. He turned to look at Max, frowning. “Are you leaving?” he asked. His face was a dark shade of pink.
Max shook her head. “I’m getting my headphones,” she said. As she put her Walkman in her jacket pocket, she noticed a crushed soda can on the carpet by the wall opposite Neil, solving the mystery of the earlier clattering noise. She snatched her headphones from the coffee table.
“Why?” Neil asked, like some kind of idiot.
She squinted at him, already sliding them over her ears. “To listen to music?”
After that, what happened was hard for Max to remember.
As she started to walk away, Neil must have stepped forward and grabbed the back collar of her jacket, saying something like come back here or don’t use that tone with me, and the tug at her neck, while not too strong, was so unexpected that it made her heart go cold with shock as her feet flew from under the rest of her body. Instinctively, her arms reached out to catch herself but, instead of the floor, met a sharp side of the table with a loud, terrible noise, like all of the sound that could have existed in the following seconds had been condensed into one, solid smack.
Her headphones fell from her head and settled around her neck when she hit the ground, leaving her alone with the sound of Neil’s rough, terrible breathing. She grabbed them with shaking hands and put them back on.
In that moment, everything in the whole world, from the pain in her arms to her entire shitty life, was Neil’s fault. She hated his big work boots by the door, and his voice when he called her Maxine, and his stupid mustache, and the smell of chicken noodle soup he filled the house with every night, and she realized, with a feeling of absolute horror and self-loathing, that she wanted him gone. She wanted him to go away, just like Billy. The room began to spin in a whirl of dull browns, illuminated only by the sunlight, harsh and cold and white. Everything was different, now. He had never laid a hand on her before.
She stood up, walked to the door, slid on her shoes. Still unsteady, her hands managed to find the play button on her Walkman and switch the music on. She wondered, as she turned the knob and left the house, what Mom was thinking.
Outside, she took her jacket off and checked the backs of her arms for signs of injury. The album she was listening to was new– new to her, at least– and she was only halfway through, but she liked it a lot. It was strange in a beautiful way, with loud instrumentals and a voice that was clear and high but somehow still powerful, like the voice of a goddess or mythical creature.
Across the street, her neighbor paused whatever he had been doing to watch as she twisted her arms around for inspection, and she flashed him her deadliest glare. In her ears, the music was satisfyingly loud– you left town to live by the rifle, you left us to fight.
Neither of her arms looked too bad. They were red, and they would probably bruise a bit, and the right one had, like, one layer of skin scraped off in a tiny spot, but that was all. She put her jacket back on. James, her headphones said, are you selling your soul to a cold gun?
She walked back up the stairs to her house and paused her music to press an ear to the front door. As far as she could tell, it was quiet. She had ended the argument. She could make it to her room if she just moved fast enough…
And she would. Just later, she told herself, in twenty minutes, or thirty, after she rode around on her bike for a bit, blew off some steam, because she wasn’t scared– just angry. Angry and embarrassed. She rubbed her eyes, and stupidly, her fingers came away wet.
She couldn’t believe how easily she’d hit the ground.
It wasn’t long before she was all the way on the other side of town. She rode past what used to be the Byers, and the Sinclairs, and the Wheelers, and the Hendersons, and the Harringtons, and by that time, she was feeling kind of tired and a bit thirsty, so she biked down the Harrington driveway and rang the doorbell, not thinking about much other than the fact that the Harringtons definitely had bottled water in their fridge. After about thirty seconds, Steve answered the door. “Oh,” he said, clearly surprised to see her, “Mayfield, what’s up?” Like Max, he clearly wasn’t at his most put-together, but that fact didn’t seem to matter as much on him as it did on her. His hair was as perfect as ever, a bit wet but still effortlessly stylish, like a man climbing out of the pool in a swimsuit ad.
Max cringed at herself, which she took as a strong indicator that reality was beginning to set in. “I’m on a bike ride,” she said, “Do you have water? I mean–”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
Max nodded but remained in the doorway.
“Come in, Mayfield. I don’t bite.”
So then Max was sitting at Steve’s kitchen table, drinking from a glass that seemed a bit too fancy for the given situation, kicking her feet under the table and avoiding eye contact to the best of her ability.
Steve, who stood doing dishes a few feet away, looked her up and down for a second before saying, “So, are you on, like, some sort of exercise kick?”
Max shrugged, playing with the drawstring of her jacket. “Not really. I just like riding my bike,” she said. Now that she was no longer on the road, the evening’s events were coming into terrifying focus. Look at me, she remembered suddenly; that was what Neil had said before she fell to the floor. Look at me.
“Cool.” Steve nodded casually, pausing to rinse a plate under the faucet. He picked up a knife, washed it, another plate, washed it, and a cup before speaking again. “You know, Robin’s coming over tonight. We’re probably just gonna watch movies and talk and stuff. You can stay, too, if you want. I’ve got a guest room.”
Max froze, her drawstring still wrapped tight around her finger. “Do your parents mind?” Max asked.
“They might,” Steve said, “If they weren’t in Michigan right now.”
“They don’t want to be with their son for Thanksgiving?”
Steve shrugged. “I’m a grown up. They’ll be home by four tomorrow. Or five. Probably five.”
“And you don’t mind,” Max said, frowning slightly.
Steve ran a hand through his hair, allowing his mouth to slant and his nose to scrunch up. “Nah. I’d rather hang out with you guys any day.”
Max didn’t have the energy to mask her appreciation. “Okay,” she said, pressing right where a bruise had started to form on the back of her arm. It ached. “Thanks.”
Just like that, Steve was smiling again. “Just let me call Robin and tell her. She likes you, so it’s no problem, really, she just hates it when I change plans and shit without letting her know,” he said.
The Harrington’s phone hung on a wall between the kitchen and living room, right next to an array of family photos in polished wooden frames. Steve dialed Robin’s number on it by memory, and she picked up after only a few seconds.
“Hey, Rob,” he said, twisting the phone cord around his index finger, “Yeah, yeah, I know. You still good for tonight?”
The phone responded in a garbled Robin voice.
“Look, I’ve got Mayfield here. She’s staying the night, too. Yeah, she just showed up.”
Max appreciated that Steve didn’t ask if that would be okay with Robin. It made her feel wanted, like there was no chance she would be sent away. Steve turned, leaning back awkwardly to look Max up and down. “Just, like, some jeans and a jacket– one of the shiny ones,” he said. “Yeah, a windbreaker. Why?”
The phone murmured again.
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, that would be great, actually.” Steve moved the phone away from his face to address Max. “She’s gonna pack some pajamas for you.”
Robin added a few more short words.
“And a toothbrush,” Steve said.
Max gave him a thumbs-up sign as he and Robin spoke a bit longer.
Once they hung up, Steve glanced at the clock with his hands on his hips. “Alright, I’m going to pick her up in about ten minutes. You can come if you want, or you can stay here and, I don’t know, watch T.V.? It’s Wednesday, though, so there probably won’t be much on. Maybe some Thanksgiving shit? Is there a Charlie Brown special for Thanksgiving?”
Max nodded. There was, in fact, a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special. She used to watch it with her dad. “I think I’ll go with you,” she said, “If you don’t mind.”
Steve grinned. “Great, I was hoping you’d say that. Do you like Burger King?”
“Sure,” Max said. When half of your family's income gets dumped at a funeral home, liking fast food is an essential element of survival. “I just don’t have any– like, I can’t–”
Steve waved her off, grabbing some money from the kitchen counter. “Buy the whole menu if you feel like it,” he said, “What else do I have a job for?”
When they picked up Robin, she was wearing a patterned button-up shirt and a brown leather jacket. Her hair, though too short for a ponytail, was pulled back in a semblance of one. She heaved a massive backpack into Steve’s car, along with a pillow, which she said she needed because Steve’s pillows are limp and uncomfortable, and when she was finally settled into the front seat, she turned, smiling, to Max. “What are you listening to?” she asked.
“Kate Bush. The Kick Inside, ” Max said, taking her headphones off of one ear.
Robin nodded, impressed. “You’re cool. Why are you hanging out with Steve?”
“Why do I hang out with you, ” Steve muttered, his eyes still on the road, and Robin grinned.
“Have you listened to her new album?”
Max shook her head. She hadn’t even known there was a new Kate Bush album. She only knew this one existed because she found it in a box of tapes at the thrift store downtown.
Robin’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god,” she said, “you have to listen to it. You’ll like it. Probably. I mean, if you like this one. It’s a little different, though, because this one is like, seven, eight, nine years old? And the new one is, you know, new. What’s your favorite song?”
Max shrugged, a bit stunned by the sheer number of words that had just left Robin’s mouth. “I– I’m not sure. I haven’t even listened to all of them.”
“Oh. Well, you’ll have to tell me when you have. I’m not super familiar with it either, to be honest. I’ve only listened to it all the way through, like, once, and that was at a football game, so I couldn’t really hear. I have to go to them for band, and they’re, like, super loud, which isn’t my thing, so my friend Vickie started letting me borrow her headphones and listen to her music when we’re not playing, which doesn’t help that much, to be honest, but it’s cool because her music taste is, like, great. You’d like her.” Robin paused, possibly to take a breath. “Sorry, am I talking too much? You’re making a face like I’m being annoying.”
Max shook her head. “No, sorry, it’s cool. I’m just not super smiley lately, I guess.”
“Oh, yeah, shit. Right. I forgot about–”
“Robin,” Steve said, “Why don’t we talk about something else?”
Robin squeezed her eyes shut, cringing at herself. “Yeah. That’d be great, actually.” She mouthed sorry one more time and turned back around in her seat.
Max decided she liked her.
The three of them rode in silence for about half of a Kate Bush song before Robin jolted upright in her seat as if she had been startled and started talking again. “Steve,” she said, “I almost forgot to tell you, we need to watch this movie I found the other day because holy shit . Holy shit. I watched it alone and it literally made my arm hairs stand up like this.” She took her left hand and held it completely flat, palm to one side and pointing upward, exemplifying her arm hair movement.
“What’s it called?” Steve asked, his eyes on the road.
Robin paused, squeezing her eyes shut. “...I don’t remember. It’s fine, though, I’ll recognize the cover. I’m more of a visually-oriented person. Just please, please say you’ll watch it with me because I’m dying to watch it again and it’s so much more fun with another person because I get to watch the movie and their reaction to the movie, and you’re going to have a reaction–”
Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “No. No fucking way. Is something going to jump out at me?” He said, taking one hand off the wheel to point at Robin, “Because you know I don’t do that shit.”
Robin shook her head quickly, her hair whirling around like a dirty-blonde tornado. “No, there are no jumpscares, I promise . Those are, like, way too cheap for this type of movie. It’s a different type of horror. More psychological.”
“Like Eraserhead ? Because that was just fucking weird . ”
Robin nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, kind of like Eraserhead. ”
Steve looked at Max in the rearview mirror as he rolled his eyes, a slight smile on his face. “Fine. But if even one thing jumps out at me, you’ll be sleeping with one eye open for a month. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”
“Yeah,” Robin said, her voice softer, “I know.”
In the back seat, Max frowned, considering this information. Steve was tough. Tough and normal. He played basketball. He was prom king two years in a row. He dressed like a picture from a fucking golf magazine, but because of what happened to him, he couldn’t watch scary movies anymore. It made her feel something, she realized as she met Steve’s eyes in the mirror once again, to see that even someone as seemingly put-together as he was couldn’t make it past what they’d seen unscathed. Not something good, exactly, but something that started to take away the bad.
I get it, she thought. I get it, because last week the lights at school flickered, and I felt like I was going to die. I felt like I was dying, and now, whenever my stepdad speaks, I don’t hear his voice. I hear Billy’s.
Saying this, she decided, was not necessary. Knowing it was enough.
Steve’s eyes left the mirror as he slowed to a stop outside the Burger King. “Alright,” he said, “Mayfield, order whatever you want. Robin–”
Robin reached inside her large bag, pulled out a smaller one, and then unzipped that one to retrieve her wallet, which she held up for Steve to see. “I brought my money this time, so shut up,” she said before turning to Max, who was staring at the bag situation.
“Why–” she said, unsure of how to continue.
“This,” Robin said as she put her wallet into her jacket pocket, “is how I keep my shit in order. It’s, like, the matryoshka doll of bags. People at school love it, because I always have anything anyone could ever need.”
“Mostly,” Steve interjected.
“Mostly,” Robin agreed as she opened the car door and stepped outside.
Max tried to leave the car with her headphones still on, but Steve shook his head. “No music at the dinner table.”
“Dingus,” Robin said, and Max smiled slightly as she hit pause and put her Walkman away.
That night, there were only three people in the Burger King: an old woman, her equally-old husband, and the man behind the counter, who couldn’t have been older than thirty but already had a rather unfortunate bald spot on the top of his head. When he said, “What can I get for you?”, his voice was startlingly deep, and upon hearing it, Steve and Robin made eye contact, each pressing their lips into thin lines to keep from laughing.
Realizing that neither of them would be able to speak, Max cleared her throat. “I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries,” she said, and then, after glancing back at Steve for confirmation, ”And a chocolate shake, please.”
“Okay. Is that everything for you?”
Max shook her head, gesturing back at Steve. “He’ll be on the same order.”
“I’ll have a chicken sandwich and fries,” Steve said, his smile a bit too wide for someone ordering fast food. It was clear that all of his mental energy was going into avoiding further eye contact with Robin.
“‘Kay. Is that all?”
Steve nodded. “Yup.”
After he paid, Robin ordered the same thing as Max, but with no pickles and a vanilla shake rather than chocolate. Then, the three of them made their way to a corner booth, where Steve and Robin burst into laughter the moment they were seated.
Max rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”
“He sounded like Batman,” Robin whispered, and Steve’s laughter, which had just begun to die down, started up again.
“Those old people are staring at us,” Max said, though she couldn’t help but laugh, too.
On the way back, Robin sat scrunched up in a ball with her feet on the car seat, drinking the last few sips of her shake and bobbing her head to the music coming out of Steve’s radio. “Do you think that old lady thought we were dating?” she asked suddenly, “She was looking at us, like, Oh to be young and in love. ” She swooned, placing both hands on her heart.
“Probably,” Steve said, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel, “Who doesn’t?”
Max snorted, both in amusement and surprise. “People think that?”
Robin nodded, turning towards Max and resting one arm on the back of her seat. “A lot of people are under the impression that me and Steve are going to get married one day and settle down in a nice neighborhood where we will have a golden retriever and two point five Steve-Robin babies.”
Max blinked. “Oh.” This was not how she viewed Steve and Robin, not even a little bit. Even when Robin would lay her head on Steve’s shoulder or wrap her arms around him, there was something uniquely non-romantic about the gesture. Their relationship, she thought, was like that of two sisters very close in age, or a pair of little kids playing together at recess. One time that year, as she washed her hands in the bathroom, Max had even heard a pair of girls theorize that Robin, who had gone from simply unknown to mysterious since the beginning of her friendship with Steve, didn't swing that way at all. To Max, this was very interesting; she had never met a lesbian before– not even in California.
“We’re not, to be clear,” Steve said, rolling his eyes at Robin, who only grinned.
“You never know,” she said, “Maybe one day I’ll get desperate.”
The rest of the night was nice. Steve and Robin got into an argument about Indiana Jones (“You only like him because he kinda looks like you.” “He doesn’t look like me; his hair is always in a hat!”), the three of them ate Oreos while making fun of a made-for-television movie that Max had never heard of but Steve and Robin had apparently watched together last month (“you have to see this, it’s the most amazing thing ever made.”), and Robin lent Max a pair of red pajama pants that ended slightly above her ankles (“I overestimated how small you are!”). After that, Steve helped Max find the guest room, which was large and clean and empty of nearly any decoration, like a room out of a hotel.
“Alright,” He said, leaning in the doorway, “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I’m good,” Max said, crawling under the covers. They were soft.
“Cool. Lights on or off?”
“Off.”
Steve nodded, flipping the light switch. “Okay,” he said, “See you in the morning, Mayfield.” He turned to go, silhouetted by the light from the hall.
In the dark, Max sat up. “Wait,” she said quietly.
Steve turned the lights back on. “Yeah?”
“Could I call my mom? Before bed.”
She felt stupid asking, but Steve just let his hand fly into the air like he was the dumb one. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he said, “Knock yourself out. You know where the phone is downstairs?”
“Yeah.”
“Want me to go with you?”
“No thanks,” Max said, “I’m pretty sure I can make it to the kitchen by myself.”
Steve nodded, tapping at the door frame with his knuckles. “Okay. Night, Mayfield.”
Max watched him as he walked away. “Night, Steven,” she said.
“That’s not even my full name!” Steve replied, already halfway down the hall.
Mom picked up immediately. When she said hello, her voice was quiet– a bit raspy, but also strangely measured, like when girls at school cry in the bathroom and then try to act normal when they go back to class.
“Hey, Mom,” Max said, “It’s Max.”
“Oh! Hi, sweetie,” Mom said, the relief palpable in her voice.
“I just wanted to let you know I’m staying at a friend’s place tonight,” Max said, holding the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she picked at her fingernails.
“Okay. That’s great, honey. I’m glad you have such good friends.”
“Yeah.”
In the silence that followed, Max looked around Steve’s kitchen and did what Ms. Kelly told her to do when she felt anxious: Adknowledge five things you can see, four things you can feel, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. She liked the strategy because it was so easy. She could see Steve’s wooden kitchen table, his oven, his microwave, his dishwasher, and the little picture of him as a child hanging near the phone. She could feel the phone cord as she twirled it around in her fingers, the hair resting on the back of her neck, the carpet under her feet, and the phone’s plastic pressing into her face. She could hear her mom’s breathing, slow and heavy, through the line, the buzz of Steve’s refrigerator, and a car driving by outside. She could smell Robin’s detergent in her clothes and the too-clean scent that was unique to the Harrington house, like a mix of wood and women’s perfume and plain hand soap. She could taste Steve’s toothpaste in her mouth.
“Mom,” She said after about twenty seconds of silence, “Are you okay?”
There was a great deal of shuffling on the other end before Mom replied. “Yes, baby,” she said, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad we’re both okay.”
Max closed her eyes. “Me too.”
“I love you.”
“Love you, Mom. See you tomorrow.”
Max didn’t open her eyes again until she was sure her mom had nothing else to say. When it was clear she didn’t, she took the phone from her shoulder and hung it back up on the wall.
After that, she stood between Steve’s kitchen and living room for a long, long time. Something didn’t feel right. There’s something else, her mind said, there’s something else you need to do.
Slowly, she picked the phone back up and, by instinct alone, dialed the only other number she knew by heart.
It rang three times before a woman’s voice, slow and tired, said “Hello?”
Max bit her lip as hard as she could, suddenly embarrassed to have called so late at night. “Hi, Mrs. Sinclair,” she said, caught off-guard. For some reason, she hadn’t been prepared for anyone but Lucas to pick up the phone. “I– is Lucas available? It’s Max.”
“Oh! Great to hear from you, sweetie. We’ve missed you around here.”
“Yeah, I– I’ve missed you guys, too.”
Mrs. Sinclair was silent for a moment, and Max could feel her thinking through the phone. “It’s pretty late to be calling,” she said, “Is everything alright?”
Max cringed. “Yeah. Yeah, I just, I don’t know, I felt like talking to him.”
“Well, Lucas is asleep right now– big day tomorrow, you know, all the cousins coming for Thanksgiving– but you’re certainly welcome to call in the morning.”
“Oh. Okay,” Max said, though she knew that by tomorrow, she would no longer want to call.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“No. I– no.”
“Alright then. You’d better get some sleep, too, hon.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I will. ‘Night, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“Goodnight, Max.”
As she walked past Steve’s room on the way back to bed, Max heard him speaking softly to Robin.
The only words she could make out were “I can never do enough for them.”
For the first Thanksgiving in years, Max woke up completely on her own– no alarm, no truck revving up in her driveway, no stepbrother storming into her room, all red-faced and sweaty and did you steal my keys, shithead?
After a few minutes spent alone in Steve’s guest room, she yawned and stepped out of bed, tiptoeing down the stairs to the kitchen, where she had heard the quiet clinking of dishes. Surely enough, Steve was awake, tending to the stove in his pajamas next to a big bowl of batter and a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips. “Hey,” he said, noticing her standing there, her arms wrapped around herself, “Did you sleep well? Sorry if you heard me and Robin; we were talking kinda late, but we tried to be quiet.”
Max shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Cool. Want a pancake?”
She nodded. Yes, she decided, she would like a pancake.
When Steve handed her a stack of them, her mouth twitched at the corners. The chocolate chips on the top one were arranged to form a little wobbly smiley face. She looked at the pancake, then at Steve, then at the pancake again.
“What?” he said, running a hand through his hair, “That’s how my mom makes them.”
Without even meaning to, Max laughed. It was almost impossible to believe that the guy standing before her in plaid pajama pants was also Hawkins High’s star basketball player. He was no less of a loser than Dustin or Lucas. “Nothing,” she said, uncapping the bottle of maple syrup Steve had set out and pouring it over her breakfast in thin stripes. “You’re just a nerd.”
“Watch it, Mayfield,” Steve said, pointing at Max with his spatula as he rushed back to the stove and flipped another pancake, “Or I’ll never invite you over again.”
Max rolled her eyes. “How would I manage?”
At that moment, Robin came trudging down the stairs in an oversized grey t-shirt and shorts, her hair ruffled up in the back and her under eyes smudged with old makeup. Leaning against the entryway to the kitchen, she smoothed her hair down and smiled lazily. “Morning, dingi,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse.
Steve didn’t look away from his cooking. “Dingi,” he said, “That’s a new one. What is that, like, the plural of dingus?”
“Yup.” Robin nodded, walking over to take a peek at the contents of Steve’s frying pan. “Are those blueberry?”
“Yeah. I’ve also got some plain and chocolate chip ones sitting over there,” he said, pointing at two other plates of pancakes on the table.
Robin’s tired smile grew exponentially. “You’re amazing. Seriously, I could kiss you.”
Steve laughed. “Brush your teeth first.”
“After breakfast,” Robin said, grabbing a fork, stabbing three chocolate chip pancakes with it, and transferring them to her plate.
After they finished eating, Max and Robin went back to their rooms to change out of their pajamas. Robin put on a dark sweater covered in little zig-zags, and Max put on her clothes from yesterday. Then, as promised, they both brushed their teeth in front of Steve’s parents’ pristine bathroom mirror.
By the time they reappeared fully dressed downstairs, Steve was almost finished cleaning up the kitchen. On the counter beside him was a plastic container filled with leftover pancakes, which he gestured to when he saw them walk in. “Mayfield,” he said casually, “You want these? I made way too many.”
Max waved him off, shrinking into herself. “I don’t want to take–”
Steve shook his head. “No one around my house is going to eat them, I’m serious. My mom doesn't eat anything with butter in it.”
Max smiled apprehensively, reaching out to take Steve’s tupperware. “Okay. Thanks.”
Steve shrugged. “Just remember to bring back the container, or my mom will go ballistic. Can you bike home carrying that?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a basket.”
“Awesome. Those are fucking amazing microwaved, so.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “You know,” he said, “I might as well just drive you home. We can fit your bike in my trunk. You live kinda near Robin and she doesn’t have her license, so I have to take her anyway–”
“Jesus, Steve,” Robin interrupted, flinging her bag over one shoulder, “You sound like my mom. If you’re taking us, let’s go.”
Steve put his hands up in surrender, then went to grab his keys. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, “You know, patience is a virtue and also something you should work on.”
Robin stifled a laugh, turning to Max as the two of them followed him out of the kitchen. “He literally cannot go one hour without saying something catholic-y.”
Robin’s house was not all that close to Max’s, but she didn’t say anything about it. She just sat quietly in the back seat as they dropped Robin off with a wave and a “Bye, dingi!” and then climbed into the front, tupperware in hand, when Robin was gone. The whole time, Kate Bush sang into her ears– night after night in the quiet house, plaiting her hair by the fire, woman…
When they pulled up to her house, Neil’s truck was not in the driveway.
“Alright,” Steve said, putting the car in park, “This is you, right?”
Max nodded, hitting pause on her Walkman.
“I’ll help you get your bike out of the trunk. It’s kinda jammed in there.” He sat frozen for a second and then stepped quietly out of the car. Max took a deep breath, forcing herself to follow. Outside, the air was cool on her skin.
Steve maneuvered her bike out of his trunk without much trouble, but once he was done, he did not get back in the car. Instead, he stared above her head and down her driveway, his face unreadable in a way she had not thought Steve Harrington’s face was able to be. After a few seconds of this, he shook his head, turning back to her. “Look,” he said, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows, “Is everything…” He paused, finding his words. “Are you, like, are you safe? In there?”
Max reached into her pocket and fumbled with the cord to her headphones, unable to meet Steve’s eyes. When she spoke, all she could say was, “My stepdad isn’t home.”
In her peripheral vision, Steve nodded. “Okay.” He turned but only made it one step in the direction he was going before stopping again. “Okay. But if someone hurts you, tell me,” he said, “Come to my house. Because that’s not– it’s not right. And me and Robin, we’ll get you shitty food at Burger King every night if it means you’re gonna be okay.”
Max nodded slowly, her eyes beginning to sting. Still, she did not look up from the ground. “Thanks,” she said, her voice much smaller and weaker than she ever allowed it to be.
“Hey, ” Steve said, “Don’t thank me. You’re a good kid, I’m ser–”
At that, her arms were around him, loosely at first and then tighter when he reached forward to ruffle her hair. She still held the plastic container of pancakes precariously in one hand. “Thank you,” she said again as she pulled away, “For the pancakes, and stuff.”
Steve laughed. “That you can thank me for. Those are delicious.”
Max rolled her eyes, grabbing her bike, which rested on the side of the car. “They’re okay, I guess,” she said, starting down the driveway. “See ya, Steven.”
“Bye, Max,” Steve said. He didn’t leave until she made it in the door.
Usually, when greeted with the absence of Neil’s truck, Max was flooded with relief; it meant no thrown objects, no worrying financial talk, no bitch and idiot and Susan please listen to me I’m begging you will you please–
This time, though, everything felt different. This time, she couldn’t help but sense an element of finality to Neil’s absence. It was there in the stillness of the grass, and the quiet creak of the door, and the inside air, stagnant and cold and buzzing with muted laughter from the television, which projected a dull, bleary light around the living room. It was only when Max noticed this light that she saw Mom, no more than a collection of shapes on the couch, her face invisible and turned away from the two beers and half-eaten microwave dinner on the coffee table.
This time, all Max could think was, What are we going to do?
She poked the microwave dinner with her finger. It was cold and dry and no good to eat anymore, so she threw it and the cans away. Then, she grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet and draped it over the shape that was Mom. Even as she walked down the hall to her room, the shape did not move.
On her bed, the letter from El still sat face-up, untouched since yesterday evening. She picked it up gingerly, sitting down on the mattress to read. There were only a few sentences left.
Anyway that is all there is to say about me right now. Are you feeling happier? If you are not feeling happy you should tell someone about it because that helps. You can tell me if you want to.
Love, El
Max bounced her knee up and down as she sat, reaching back into the envelope and pulling out a second, smaller piece of paper. On it was, as promised, a cartoon drawing of herself, complete with freckles and bright orange hair. She set it on her nightstand, carefully propping it up against the wall. Then, she retrieved her own spiral notebook, ripping out a page of college-ruled paper and thinking for a moment before beginning to write.
Dear El, she said, Things have been shitty, but I’m going to be okay.
Those words, she realized, though written like one, were not a statement.
They were a wish.