Page 23 of Headstrong Like Us
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Quicksilver& Tattoos—that’s what the production team titled Episode 1 of the new season. Eh, it’s fine. Could be better; they could’ve gone with Wolf Scout & Yale Asshole.
Maximoff would’ve liked that more.
Everyone hangs out in the loft of Superheroes & Scones with plates of breakfast foods, eyes pinned to the mounted televisions. I remember the interviews I had and film dates. It was fun spending that time with Maximoff, and it actually felt good to share my side of the story that the media has warped.
My friends don’t get that same chance.
Most of the footage is from May before the car crash. When we just started to date in public. Maximoff’s dad and uncle are running through a wooded state park for exercise.
They slow.
And Lo stakes a sharp look up at the sky. “There’s something wrong with me.”
His words suction oxygen out of the loft.
“What do you fucking mean?” Ryke asks, wiping sweat off his forehead.
“He’s in love with him,” Lo retorts. “Farrow is in love with my son.”
It sucker-punches my gut. That he could tell at that point in time. Hell, that he’d even acknowledge this out loud. Lounging next to me on a beanbag, Maximoff slides his hand in mine.
“You know Moffy is really fucking in love with him too?”
“I had no clue,” he says dryly.
Ryke outstretches his arms. “Then what’s the fucking problem, Lo? There’s nothing wrong with you—”
“There is.I’m telling you there is,” Lo sneers with a frustrated groan. “You know what I thought when I realized my son and his boyfriend love each other? I thought,thank God. Because when I fuck up again, Moffy will have Farrow.It took me a fullfivegoddamn minutes to even think,wow, I’m happy that my son found love.You know what that makes me?”
Human.
Maximoff stands up, our hands breaking apart. He’s brick-walled. I rise to my feet, and I follow him down the spiraled staircase to the first floor. No one in the loft is speaking, so I hear the TV clearly behind us.
“You’re not a selfish bastard, Lo.”
Maximoff has a powerful stride, but I’m step-for-step with him. We reach the bar counter, buffet trays half-emptied and lids crooked on the bacon and eggs.
“You want to talk about it?” I perch a knee on a stool while he goes behind the counter and pours a glass of orange juice.
He takes a strong swing before setting the glass down. And then he asks, “Is there something wrong with me?”
It almost pummels me back. “I don’t follow.”
Maximoff stares up at the ceiling, and I see his dad in him. But he’s not glaring like he’s in emotional turmoil. He carries this raw strength that says,I can survive anything.
His eyes meet mine. “Should I be angry at my dad? Because I’m not even close to anger. I just keep thinking about how I want to tell him,it’s okay. You’re right, I have Farrow, and there are two of us if the world caves in.”
I slide my hand over his on the counter. “Nothing’s wrong with you. You sound like a guy who has a great dad, and you love him.” I pause though, our eyes not detaching. I run my tongue over my lip piercing in the silence.
His brows furrow. “Just say it, Farrow.”
“Your dad is an addict. It makes sense that when he feels less of a responsibility towards his son, it gives him an out to drink.” I straighten up. “I’m just saying that it might not be smart to tell him that we’re able to take care of everything, even if we can.”
Maximoff stares off, contemplating this. “Yeah, maybe.”
I let go of his hand to comb my fingers through my hair. The movement draws his attention back to me, and I tell him, “The docuseries is strange in that we’re able to see parts of your family that normally we wouldn’t even know about. Shit, that footage wasmonthsago.”
