Page 123 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
A pair of arms slides around my waist from behind. “Admiring your own work again?” Max’s voice is low, rough from sleep.
“Technically, it’s our work,” I say, leaning back into him. “I’m just appreciating art.”
He chuckles against my shoulder, pressing a slow kiss to the side of my head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it,” I remind him.
He doesn’t argue.
The Christmas photo my mom took last year sits on the nightstand. She caught us in the middle of laughing—me with my head thrown back, Max looking at me like I hung the damn stars. It isn’t the same one I gave him. This one my mom sent us with a note that saidFor your shared space.
He follows my gaze. “You’re thinking about your mom, aren’t you?”
“She’s probably already baked eight pies,” I say. “And texted everyone we’ve ever met to brag that I’m bringing my boyfriend home for Thanksgiving.”
“Boyfriend,” he echoes quietly, like he still likes the sound of it.
I turn in his arms, smiling up at him. “Don’t pretend you’re not her favorite now.”
“Only because I helped her garden last Spring,” he says.
“That’s love, Calder.”
Before he can respond, his phone buzzes on the desk. A FaceTime notification flashes across the screen. Mom.
I see the way he freezes. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but I feel it. His breath catches, fingers tightening slightly on my waist.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
He just stares at the screen, like it’s a ghost. “She hasn’t called me since…” He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. I knowwhat he means. Since the night his dad kicked him out. Since everything changed for him.
The phone keeps ringing. He hesitates, then swipes to answer.
His mom’s face fills the screen—eyes already wet as if she had already been crying. “Max,” she says, voice trembling. “Hi, sweetheart.”
He blinks, like the word doesn’t fit anymore. “Mom?”
“I left him,” she blurts out, the words tumbling out like she’s been holding them in for years. “I left your father. I should’ve done it sooner. I should’ve been stronger. I just…I needed to see your face. To tell you I’m sorry. For what happened. For not stopping it.”
Max sits down slowly on the edge of the bed, still holding the phone like it might shatter. His throat works, but no words come out at first.
“You don’t have to?—”
“Yes, I do,” she interrupts gently. “You didn’t deserve that night, or any of the years before it. You deserved to feel safe in your own home. To be loved exactly as you are.” Her voice cracks. “And I want to know if you’re okay. If you’re happy.”
His jaw tightens. For a second, he looks like the kid he must have been back then—trying not to break. “I am,” he says quietly, voice rough. “I’ve got…a good life now. People who care about me.”
She nods, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’m glad, honey. I really am. I just hope one day you can forgive me.”
Max swallows hard, blinking back tears of his own, as he nods.
She smiles sadly. “I really am sorry, for everything. I wasn’t a very good mom to you.”
“Yeah,” he breathes. “But I stopped being angry a long time ago.”
She lets out a quiet, shaky laugh, the kind that sounds more like an exhale of years she’s been holding in. “You always were too gentle for your own good,” she says.
Max’s lips twitch—something between a smile and a wince. “Didn’t always feel that way,” he murmurs.
