Page 54 of Taboo
Time slips away, the only sounds are the scratching of pencil on paper, Jason’s earnest voice, and my quiet praise. The dragontakes shape under his hand, rough but energetic. My heart fills with a sweet pain as I watch him, his focus so intense, so like Max.
The thought of Max makes me lean back, pencil in hand, my mind drifting. These days with him—sleeping tangled together, waking to his voice, his touch—feels like a beautiful dream I never want to wake from. But it’s ending soon, now closer than ever, and I cannot stop thinking about how hard the crash is going to be. I’ll have to leave immediately. I cannot stay here and pretend. Sara is not stupid. She’ll see right through me. Anyway, that was the deal I made with myself. Two weeks and then it’s over.
But the idea of losing him, of going back to a life without this color, this fire, cracks something inside me. I dread it with all of my soul. A wild, desperate thought surfaces: what if I got pregnant? If I did, I would get a piece of Max, a child with his eyes, his strength, to carry with me always, no matter what. I’d never break his family, never take him from Jason, from Sara, and I’d never tell anyone who the father was. There’s no one else I’d want a child with, no one who’s ever made me feel this way about them. The thought of having his child grips me with a fierce and reckless purpose.
“Aunt Amelia?” Jason’s voice pulls me back, His eyes are curious. “Are you okay? You look sad.”
I smile quickly, pushing the thought down. “Sad, I’m not sad. I’m very happy, little angel.”
“So what were you thinking of?”
“Of your painting. About what a great talent you have. It's really looking awesome.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks, Aunt Amelia.” He grins happily and dives back into his sketch, and I watch him, my heart swelling with love for thiswonderful child that Max and Sara made. I wonder if somehow Max and I have one baking inside me...
Chapter
Thirty-Six
MAX
The house is silent when I step through the door, the quiet pressing against my chest like a warning. The stillness unnerves me.
This is what it will be like when Amelia is gone for good.
It’s just past six. I went out to have a drink with a business associate who had flown in from Japan for the express purpose of meeting with me, so I couldn’t cancel on him. I clutch the bag of Chinese takeout, the scent of soy sauce and Jason’s favorite, sweet and sour chicken, wafts up into my nostrils.
My shoes echo on the hardwood as I walk up the stairs, drawn to the studio, a pull I can’t explain but feel in my bones.
The door’s ajar, golden light spilling out, and I push it open, and my breathing deepens at the sight before me. The sight stops my heart, a fierce swell of love so intense it hurts. I watch it as if I have come upon the cup of plenty. There is no more after this. This is it. This is what men died for.
Amelia and Jason are lying on the rug, curled together, asleep, surrounded by a chaos of pencils, paint tubes, crayons,and the leftovers of their lunch. Paint smudges Amelia’s cheek, a streak of emerald green, and Jason’s small hand clutches a crayon, his dark curls fanned out on her arm.
On the easel, Amelia’s dragon glows—emerald scales shimmering, wings spread wide, eyes fierce with life. It’s breathtaking, a masterpiece that pulses with her soul, her fire. Beside it, on the floor, Jason’s crayon drawings mimic her work—childish but bold, dragons in red and blue, their lines wobbly but proud.
Pride and awe mix with a desperate ache. How the fuck can she be my half-sister? The thought hits hard, a question I’ve wrestled with for years, because this love, this need, feels too raw, too real for blood to define. At this point, do I even care? I don’t know anymore.
I set the takeout bag on the table and kneel beside them, my hand hovering over Amelia’s hair, blonde strands tangled with Jason’s curls. My chest tightens, love and guilt colliding. In all my years with Sara, I’ve never rushed to come home, never felt this pull to be here. Every moment away from Amelia feels like torture, a theft of time I can’t get back.
I find it impossible to wake them up. I just watch them, my heart swelling, the quiet rhythm of their breaths grounding me, until my presence is sensed. Amelia stirs, her eyes fluttering open, green and hazy. She sees me, and a slow smile spreads over her lips. It is warm and radiant. She is my whole world, and I’m her whole world. Love floods me, and I lean in, and kiss her softly, my lips brushing hers, tasting her sweetness.
“You’re home,” she murmurs, voice husky with sleep, her warm hand reaching for mine.
The touch sparks through me, and just like that, I want to take her and carry her away and make love to her until she screams, but my eyes flick to Jason, still asleep, a green crayon loosely held in his grip.
“I brought dinner,” I say, voice rough, nodding at the bag. “Chinese. I thought we could eat together.”
“Here?” she asks, voice teasing, sitting up, careful not to wake Jason. “Not downstairs?”
“Here feels right,” I say, grinning, my hand still in hers, thumb brushing her knuckles. “This place—it’s yours, it’s ours.” Her eyes soften, and she nods, rising to unpack the food. The scent of fried rice and sesame chicken soon fills the room, mingling with the turpentine, and we set out plates, the clink of ceramic soft in the quiet. Jason stirs eventually, then comes awake, his gray eyes—my eyes—bright with surprise.
“Daddy!” he says, scrambling up. “You’re home early!” His excitement hits me, a warmth I haven’t felt from him in years. Unable to help myself, I pull him into a big bear hug. I suddenly realize as I hold his small, warm body that we haven’t hugged in ages. Why? Because I’ve been too busy? Only seeing him over the dining table? With great regret and sadness, I grasp that unconsciously, over time, I have slowly left almost all the parenting to Sara.
“I couldn’t stay away,” I say, voice low, meeting Amelia’s eyes over his head.
