Chapter Text
Junior year. Max had exactly one year to become impressive before anyone with a clipboard started taking notes. She was already spiraling, and it wasn't even 7 AM.
SATs. College apps. What if she'd already peaked? That stupid coping-skills workbook sat on her desk with its neon sticky notes yelling at her: Acknowledge the thought. Let it go.
Yeah, no.
But also: Esme. A whole stupidly perfect year with Esme. Walking her girlfriend to school. Being publicly, obnoxiously in love. She was gonna be so annoying. Restraining-order levels of annoying. She couldn't wait.
Her phone buzzed.
Esme:
ready?
Max:
born ready
okay that's a lie
moderately ready
semi-functional
Esme:
same
see you in one hour
One hour. Shit. Max shot out of bed and stared at the outfit she'd so confidently chosen last night. The high-waisted black-and-white floral skirt that made her ass look great. Big gold buttons. A simple black crop top and the thin bright yellow belt Esme had insisted on. "The yellow makes the gold intentional," Esme had said. "The skirt does the work." She pulled it on, added a chunky hot pink necklace and bracelets, left her hair down. Checked the mirror.
Okay. Hot. Chaotic but hot. She could work with that.
Forty minutes later, she and Marcus stood outside the Viard house. The black Victorian loomed behind its overgrown garden, every window dark except the porch light. Max bounced on her toes. Marcus looked like he was holding himself together with duct tape. The door opened.
Oh my god. Esme's hair was rose gold now, pulled into a half-up style. She was wearing a cropped navy and white knit top with the signature 'GG' pattern, short puff sleeves, a cream high-waisted mini skirt ending mid-thigh. Chelsea boots. Red nail polish.
"Hi, Marcus! Maxine!" Esme twisted the strap of her bag.
The whiplash. The girl who pinned me down and fucked me yesterday while holding my gaze the entire time is standing on a porch in suburban Massachusetts with rose gold hair and a preppy Gucci top saying "Maxine" like we're at a goddamn country club.
"Hi. You look—" Max blurted it out before her brain could catch up. "Your hair! Es, oh my god, your HAIR. Call 911. My gay heart stopped."
Esme touched her collar, cheek flushing.
"I'm in love with you and it's actually a problem. Like, I need to be sedated."
Then Max blinked, the math finally hitting her. "Wait. You left my house at, like, eight last night. How did you even pull this off?"
"Went to bed at 2 AM," Esme admitted with a small, tired smile.
"On a school night? You're insane."
"I couldn't go to sleep until it was right." Esme shrugged. "I was committed to the vision."
Marcus cleared his throat. "I like it," he said, offering Esme a quick nod. "But bell's soon."
Right. School. The place we have to physically transport our bodies to.
Esme grabbed her bag and locked the door. When she turned back, her hands were trembling.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." Esme adjusted her bag strap.
Max grabbed her hand. "You're gonna kill it. Better than that. You're gonna be amazing and everyone's gonna wish they were you."
Esme huffed a tiny laugh. "Max..."
"I'm serious! You're brilliant. You're hot." She gestured vaguely between them. "I mean, you picked me, so obviously you have terrible taste, but otherwise? Flawless."
Marcus made a noise. "Can we go before this gets worse?"
"It's already worse!"
They started walking. Late August air, summer-warm with fall lurking at the edges. Max's favorite time of year. Except Marcus was quiet. That rehab quiet. That I'm-not-spiraling-I-promise quiet.
Don't hover. He hates when you hover.
"So," Max said, aiming for casual. "Predictions for junior year? I'm failing Pre-Calc. Calling it now. Manifesting failure so I'm emotionally prepared."
"You haven't even started."
"Exactly! I'm being proactive about my inevitable academic collapse."
Marcus shrugged. "Trying to make it through the year."
Max's chest got weird. She bit back the thousand things she wanted to say. "You've got Printmaking with Esme. That'll be good."
"Yeah." Marcus glanced at Esme. "Looking forward to it."
They turned onto Main Street. More people now. Students, cars, the noise building. Esme scanned the crowd, face pale, and grabbed Max's hand, lacing their fingers tight.
"You good?"
"Yeah. A lot of people."
"We can slow down..."
"No. Don't stop." Esme took a breath. "I'm okay."
They kept walking.
Wellsbury High came into view. Red brick, concrete, and that same fake-cheerful blue sign that mocked her every year.
Here we go. Into the beige-and-brick Hellmouth.
The Berry Tree spot was in the main hallway, with the two armchairs that somehow always stayed unclaimed except by their group. Hunter and Brodie were already there, mid-argument.
"—because Dune is literally about worms and religious trauma, not a love story."
"It's BOTH. Paul and Chani are—"
"Brodie. Worms."
Sam sat on the floor, scrolling her phone. Norah was tucked against Jordan in one armchair, his arm around her shoulders.
No Press. Thank god. After the Ginny thing and how he treated Abby, he's lucky he's only banned from Berry Tree.
Norah looked up when Max and Esme approached. "First day! Vibe check?"
"Norah's acting like she's in a pharmaceutical commercial. It's freaking me out." Jordan said.
Max laughed. "I'm here to provide the panic. You're welcome."
She squeezed Esme's hand and pulled her into the circle. "But look who I dragged into the madness. Everyone remembers Esme."
"The famous French girlfriend," Hunter said. "Welcome back."
Esme gave a small smile. "Thanks."
Sam looked up. "Oh. You're here."
Max's grip on Esme's hand tightened. "Yeah, she's here. Problem?"
"Nope," Sam said.
Sam met Esme once at a party for five minutes and had decided to have Opinions.
Ginny appeared, looking frazzled. She spotted them and exhaled. "Thank god. Thought I was late."
"You're not late," Norah said. "You're exactly on time for chaos, which is basically our brand."
"I feel late."
And then, like a glitch in the atmosphere, Marcus. He and Ginny locked eyes across the hallway.
"Hey," Marcus said.
"Hey," Ginny whispered.
Marcus gave a curt nod and walked away. Ginny watched him go. Her mouth pressed into a thin line before she abruptly bent down, jerking her bag zipper. "It's nothing, I've got it."
The first period warning chime sounded. The group scattered toward classes, everyone suddenly fascinated by the floor tiles.
Max dropped Esme's hand and snatched Ginny's arm. "AP English first. We're late. Now." She steered Ginny toward Room 214, grabbing Esme's elbow with her free hand to pull her into pace.
Max, Esme, and Ginny walked into AP English. Max pulled Ginny into the seat beside her and Esme took the seat in front of Max. Max leaned forward. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
The teacher walked in. She had actual 'I care about teaching' energy, which was refreshing after Mr. Gitten's 'I've given up on life' vibe. She wrote her name on the board. Ms. Duvall.
"Welcome to AP English Language and Composition," she said. "I know some of you had Mr. Gitten last year. I'm not Mr. Gitten. We're going to do things differently."
Ginny sat back in her chair. Ms. Duvall started talking about the syllabus. James Baldwin, Audre Lorde, Roxane Gay, Maxine Hong Kingston, Toni Morrison, George Takei's They Called Us Enemy. Contemporary and diverse voices.
Holy shit. This is actually different.
"And yes," Ms. Duvall said, "we're reading The Great Gatsby. And we'll jump from that right into Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston. Because it's worth looking at what's going on in Harlem, right? Especially while Fitzgerald's out on Long Island writing about rich people's problems."
Ginny sat up straighter.
"Esme Delorme?" Ms. Duvall said, looking at her roster. "I see you're from Paris. Have you studied American literature before?"
"Some. We read The Crucible, mostly for the McCarthyism angle. And A Raisin in the Sun," Esme said. "We also did Dickinson and Plath. For the modernism."
"Excellent. Thank you, Esme."
Max turned around. "You're brilliant," she whispered. "You're so stupidly brilliant it's actually unfair to everyone else in this room."
Esme glanced back. The look said: Stop.
Hunter, sitting across the aisle, leaned over. "Yo, your girlfriend's smart."
"I know! She makes me look intellectually deficient by proximity."
When the bell rang, Max and Esme walked out together.
They split at the intersection of the hallways. Esme headed toward U.S. History, while Max turned toward the math wing.
Pre-Calc was forty minutes of static. Max stared at the whiteboard, her mind replaying the hallway moment between Ginny and Marcus.
When the bell rang for snack break, Max shot out of her seat. She found Esme at her locker, then spotted Marcus near the art wing, standing alone, one shoulder pressed to the wall.
"Hold on," Max said. "I need to check on my brother."
She jogged over. Marcus looked up, saw her, and his shoulders dropped.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." He glanced toward the Red area down the hall. "Silver's there."
Silver. Her ex-girlfriend, who'd been buying Marcus alcohol all spring with her fake ID. Who Max had broken up with backstage during Mousse, right after Sophie kissed her, right after everything exploded.
"You don't have to go over there," Max said.
"I know. I'm not. I've got a free period next. Gonna go to the art room."
"Want company?"
Marcus adjusted his grip on his backpack straps. "Max. I'm fine."
"I know. I'm—"
"I know." He squeezed her shoulder. "But I'm fine. Go to your next class."
Max hopped back to Esme. "You have a free period next, right?"
"Yeah."
"Marcus is going to the art room. Maybe..." Max hesitated. "Maybe you could hang out with him? So he's not alone?"
Esme looked toward the art wing, then back at Max. "You think he'd want that?"
"I think he'd be okay with it. He likes you."
"Okay." Esme touched Max's hand. "I'll go."
"Thank you." Max kissed her quickly. "See you in PE?"
"Yep."
They split off, and Max headed toward Chemistry, trying not to think about Esme and Marcus in the art room without her.
The rest of the morning was syllabus packets, seating charts, and teachers saying 'excited' in voices that meant homework. By the time the lunch bell rang, Max's leg was bouncing so hard the desk was shaking.
She met Esme outside the locker room. Esme was holding a hair tie between her teeth, twisting her hair up.
"Ready for volleyball?" Max asked.
Esme pulled the tie tight. "I still don't understand the rotation rules. I'm gonna try not to get hit in the face."
Max grinned. "I'll physically throw myself in front of the ball. I'm your human shield. No one touches the face."
Esme played with a strange, dancer-like grace, moving fluidly to the ball and hitting it with perfect precision, then looking totally startled every time it actually went over the net. It was awkwardly brilliant, and Max found it distracting in the best way.
And then lunch. They walked into the cafetorium together. It was loud, every sound carrying. Sunlight came through the tall windows onto the gray tables as forks clattered, someone laughed too loud, a tray slammed down in the back.
Esme stuck close to Max's side, her shoulder brushing Max's as they moved through the crowd. Max shoved her hair out of her face. "PE before lunch should be illegal. I'm still sweating through my bra."
She nudged her way past a table of freshmen guarding their fries like tiny dragons, then past the theater kids already talking over each other.
She scanned the room for Marcus. He wasn't there. Probably second lunch. Or hiding in the art room. She tapped a rhythm on her tray, trying not to text him u eating? for the third time today.
She spotted Abby and Tris near the food line. Okay. Be a good friend. Abby said she wanted you to try harder, so here you are. Trying.
"Hey!" Max called, pulling Esme with her toward the line. "You guys wanna sit with us?"
Tris looked at Abby.
"Yeah," Abby said. "Sure."
They grabbed food and joined Norah and Jordan sitting by the windows. Ginny showed up after that. Max sat across from Tris and Abby, Esme beside her.
"Oh! Tris, this is Esme. My girlfriend." Max beamed. "Esme, this is Tris. They're dating Abby."
"Hey," Esme said.
Tris nodded. "Hey."
Max's attention snagged across the cafeteria. New girl. Short curly hair, confident laugh, obviously queer.
Oh. Hot.
What the FUCK, Max? She looked away fast, finding Esme's wrist, but her brain had already logged it.
"Hey," Max said, turning to the table. "Anyone know who that is?"
Tris followed her gaze. "Zadie. She's new. Moved from New York. She's a senior."
"Oh," Max said. "Cool."
"So!" Max turned her full attention to Tris, cranking up the charm. "Senior year! You're basically royalty now."
"I'm just trying to graduate," Tris said evenly. "And we're trying to keep things stable. You know how it is."
They're clocking me. Every word lands wrong. Fuck fuck fuck. Say something. Anything. Make them laugh.
Max kicked off a story about last year's fall show. Voices raised, gestures flying. Norah snort-laughed. Jordan added commentary. Ginny grinned.
Tris didn't. They sat there, expression flat, watching Max. "Hey, Abs," Max said. "Remember freshman year when we had to do that rope climb in gym and you almost took out the ceiling fan?"
Abby glanced up. "That was a long time ago, Max."
Max turned to Esme. "Es was amazing in volleyball today."
Esme glanced at her, then at the table. "The sport is okay. The fact that they grade you on whether your shirt is tucked in is insane."
Tris's expression changed slightly. "Right? It's so stupid."
Oh my god, a connection. Finally. Max opened her mouth to ask Tris about other stupid PE rules. Tris stared at her, taking a methodical bite of their apple. Max lost the thread completely. She turned to Norah instead, launching into some story about Hunter and a dodgeball incident, voices and gestures and full commitment.
Tris angled away from Max in their seat.
Max could feel the sweat under her bra. The more she performed, the quieter Abby became and the more closed-off Tris looked. Esme sat beside her, pushing food around her plate, watching everything.
When lunch ended, Tris stood. "I gotta go," they said, looking at Abby. "See you later?"
"Yeah," Abby said.
Tris left. Abby gave Max a small smile, then grabbed her tray and left too.
Max slumped back. Cool. Nailed it. Crushed that social interaction. Someone bury me, right now, under the linoleum.
Norah leaned back in her chair. "Well, that was awkward."
"What?" Max asked.
"Tris looked like they wanted to be literally anywhere else."
"I was trying to be friendly!"
"I know." Norah shrugged. "But I don't think Tris was feeling it."
Ginny stood, grabbed her tray. "See you guys later."
Norah followed.
Max sat there with Esme, staring at the empty seats across from them. "Tris hates me."
Esme stroked Max's arm. "I don't think they hate you."
Max grimaced. "They're definitely judging me though."
"I mean, yeah. Probably." Esme paused. "Abby probably told them stuff."
Max nodded, though the movement was stiff. "Yeah. Makes sense."
Esme studied her face. "You okay?"
"No." Max started gesturing with her hands. "I'm trying so hard. And every time I open my mouth it's like I'm making it worse."
"You were trying really hard at lunch," Esme said carefully.
"So?"
"Maybe too hard? You were..." Esme searched for the word. "You were vibrating, Max."
"Because I was panicking," Max said.
"I know. But you were drowning them. You didn't let anyone else breathe. Not for one second."
"I'm sorry," Esme said. "I don't know how to say it better."
"No, you're right." Max looked down. "I do that. I know I do that."
Esme touched her hand. "You don't do it with me. Or Marcus."
"Yeah, because you guys actually like me." Max swallowed. "I guess I'm waiting for everyone to change their mind."
"Hey, stop." Esme turned to face her fully, taking both of Max's hands. "Maybe that's why lunch was weird. You were so worried about messing up that you..." Esme trailed off.
"Fucked up anyway." Max looked away. Why do I always fuck this up?
"I didn't say that."
"You were thinking it."
"Max." Esme squeezed her hands. "I'm not trying to be a bitch."
Max looked at her. "Yeah. I know."
Fuck. Did I do this all the time? Is this what I'm like?
Esme touched her face. "You don't have to win everyone over, Max. Some people are just... audience members."
The bell sounded. Max stood, stretched her arms overhead. "Back to the grind."
"At least you have theater last period," Esme said. "That'll help."
"Yeah." She exhaled. "The only thing keeping me upright, actually."
Esme leaned in to embrace her. "See you after school?"
"Yeah. I'll meet you at your locker."
They headed out in different directions.
By the time Max walked back into the cafetorium, she was barely upright. Her brain was running on static, looping through lunch. It was the exact same room she'd humiliated herself in an hour ago, but it felt like a completely different space. Mr. Daniels was setting up at center stage, talking to himself and arranging a stack of scripts. Oxygen rushed back into her lungs.
Bracia was sitting near the front. She spotted Max and waved her over. Max dropped into the seat beside her and pulled her into a hug. "Oh my god, I missed you."
"Missed you too. How was your summer?"
"Insane. So much happened."
"I heard rumors." Bracia grinned. "That you're dating a hot French girl who makes art and is way too cool for you."
Max gasped, putting a hand to her chest. "I'm a catch, Bracia! But yes, she is devastatingly out of my league and I'm hoping she doesn't notice."
"I wanna meet her."
"You will. She's..." Max smiled like an idiot. "She's amazing, Brace. Illegally amazing."
"You're glowing. It's disgusting."
"I know!"
The energy changed as students settled, the buzz of theater kids reuniting after summer.
Mr. Daniels clapped his hands. "Alright, people! Welcome back. Welcome to junior year. Let's make it count."
Someone cheered. Max grinned.
"Fall show auditions are next week," he continued. "We're doing Heathers: Teen Edition. And yes, before you ask, it's the sanitized one. You can all calm down. If you don't know it, learn it. If you do know it, you know exactly what roles you want. Winter show TBD-we'll vote in October. And for those of you interested in the spring showcase..." He looked around the room. "I'm looking for original student work. Plays, musicals, one-acts. If you're writing something, let me know by October."
Max's heart jumped. She could do that. But she hadn't written anything yet apart from fragments and ideas here and there. She'd think about it later.
Heathers. Veronica. That was the role, the one Max wanted so badly it physically hurt to think about not getting it.
The rest of class was icebreakers and syllabus talk and vocal warm-ups that made Max remember why she loved this.
When class ended at 2:45, Max grabbed her bag and headed out, still buzzing but also exhausted.
After class, Esme was at her locker, shoving books into her bag. "Hey! How was the rest of your day?"
"It was... I'm still catching up." Esme closed her locker, turned to face her.
"Wanna get out of here?"
"God, yes."
They headed toward the exit. Outside, the late August air was still warm. Max spotted Marcus near the bike racks, sketchbook under his arm. He turned, waited for them to catch up.
"You walking home?" Max asked.
"Yeah."
"Did you draw anything today?"
Marcus held out his sketchbook. "Just messing around."
A pencil sketch of Ginny. Rough lines. She was curled in on herself, looking away from something outside the frame.
Max stared at it, then handed it back. What was there to say? Hey, your drawing of the girl you love is devastating, want to get ice cream and talk about our feelings? Hard pass, even for her.
"You're not messing around," she said.
Marcus shrugged.
"You miss her."
He didn't respond. They walked together, the three of them, not saying much. Max kept glancing at Esme, trying to read her face. She looked drained. They both did.
When they reached the Viards' house, Esme paused at the gate.
"You want to come in?" she asked Max.
Max glanced at Marcus. "I should probably—"
"Go," Marcus said. "I've got this."
"You sure?"
"Max. I'm sure."
"Okay. Text me later?"
"Yeah."
She watched him walk away, her lungs doing that thing again. He'd looked okay last time, too, right up until the moment he wasn't.
Max didn't know how to do this anymore. Be the happy one when she didn't always feel happy. Be Max Baker, Professional Chaos Enthusiast, when most days she didn't know if that's who she actually was or who everyone expected.
Esme squeezed her hand. "He's doing better."
"Yeah, I know."
"Come on."
Inside, the house was silent. Juliette was in the kitchen, arranging flowers. She smiled when they walked in.
"How was the first day?" Juliette asked.
"Long," Esme said.
"That good, huh?"
Esme took off her shoes, dropped her bag on the floor and headed upstairs. Max followed. In her room, Esme collapsed onto the bed face-first. Max sat beside her, resting a hand on Esme's back to rub small circles.
"Talk to me," Max said.
"I'm tired," Esme mumbled into the comforter.
She turned her head, hair spilling across the pillows. "It's so different. In Paris, we had longer classes, more time to think. Here, it's constant. Fifty minutes, switch. Fifty minutes, switch. I barely have time to process one thing before I'm supposed to move on to the next."
"That's how American school is."
"I know. But it's exhausting." Esme sat up. "And the day is so short. We're done by three. In Paris, I wouldn't get home until 6:30, sometimes seven. Here, I have the whole afternoon, and I don't know what to do with it."
Max's eyebrows shot up. "Wait. You were in school until 6:30?"
"Sometimes later. Eight to six was normal. Plus commute."
"ESME. That's TEN HOURS. That's insane."
"It's normal in France."
"It's INSANE IN FRANCE."
"We had longer classes. Philosophy might be four hours, but only on Mondays."
Max shook her head. "Okay, but still. That's so much. But hey, there are after-school things here. Clubs, theater—"
"Maybe... I need time to adjust."
Max reached for her hand. "You will. I promise."
Esme leaned into her. "How was your day?"
"Theater was amazing. Seeing Bracia again. But..." Max trailed off. "What you said at lunch. About me... doing too much. You're right. I do that. I don't know how to stop."
"I don't want you to stop." Esme turned to face her. "I love that you're the way you are. But maybe... not all the time."
Max was quiet. "I'll try."
Esme moved closer, touching her arm. "Hey, stop. You're in your head."
"I'm not—"
"You are." Esme's thumb brushed across her cheek. "You think you fucked up everything today."
Max held her breath. "Didn't I?"
"No." Esme moved to straddle Max's lap, hands framing Max's face. "You were being you."
"That's the problem..."
"Shut up." Esme kissed her, fingers tangling in Max's hair. Her mouth moved to Max's neck. "Fuck everything else. It's just us right now."
Max pulled Esme closer, needing to feel her. Esme slipped her hands under Max's shirt, and Max leaned into her before Esme pulled back to look at her.
"Stop thinking."
Max exhaled. "I don't know how."
Esme kissed her again, slower this time, and Max shivered as her shirt went up and over her head. Esme's mouth followed the line of her collarbone, her shoulder, lingering just enough to make Max pull at her top. "Take this off."
Esme lifted her arms without breaking eye contact. Max had a split-second thought about the $1800 sweater about to hit the floor before her brain decided that was a problem for Future Max. She tossed it toward the chair. Missed.
Hands at her waist, Esme hooked her fingers into the skirt.
"Please," Max said, quieter now.
It was gone in a second. Esme's thumbs pressed into her hips, the cool brush of her bracelet against Max's side making her breath hitch.
"You're here," Esme murmured. "With me."
Max nodded and pulled her closer, fingers in her hair. The kiss cut through the noise in her head.
"Es—"
Max didn't finish. She kicked off the rest of her clothes, impatient, a little clumsy about it.
Esme stared. She huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "You look like a Caravaggio."
Max blinked. "Did you just art-history me? While I'm naked?"
"I panicked," she said, already grinning. "I didn't know what to say."
"You're such a nerd."
"Yeah, well—" The rest of it got lost in another kiss, softer this time, the smile fading as she pulled back. "...I meant it."
Heat climbed up Max's throat. She opened her mouth to say something, but Esme's hand covered it. "Hey. No. Stay here."
Her mouth traced down Max's neck. Collarbone. Sternum. She paused there, tongue circling one nipple until Max's hips jerked, then moved to the other.
Her mouth trailed down her ribs to the dip of her waist and paused at her hip, and Max's back arched before Esme had even touched her properly.
"Please," she tried again, muffled this time.
"Shh."
The word brushed her skin more than she heard it.
Then Esme's fingers slid inside her, finally, and Max's mouth fell open against her palm, the sound that came out trapped. Her body reacted, hips lifting, chasing the movement.
"There. Stay right there," Esme said, her own breath uneven now.
Her fingers moved deeper, found the rhythm that made Max's breath stutter and pulled those small, helpless sounds out of her despite the hand over her mouth.
Esme curled her fingers, pressing in, and Max lost it. Her whole body tensed, then broke, the sound of it swallowed against Esme's skin as she came apart under her. Esme kissed her through it, a soft noise escaping her own throat like she'd felt it too.
After, she leaned down to kiss her. Max barely managed to kiss back, still catching her breath, face tucked against Esme's neck.
"Better?" Esme asked.
Max made a soft, wordless noise that was answer enough.
"Good."
"The hand thing..." Max started.
"Was that... okay?"
Max let out a short breath that turned into a laugh. "Yeah. That was—yeah. We're doing that again."
"Okay. Good."
Max sank into her again, breathing in the faint orange blossom scent on her skin.
A little while later, they were still curled up on Esme's bed.
"So... what did you and Marcus do during your free?" Max asked.
Esme glanced over. "We sat next to each other."
Max blinked. "In silence?"
"Yeah." Esme tucked her legs under her. "He sketched. I journaled. It was peaceful."
"You were quiet the whole time?"
Esme tilted her head. "Not completely." She lifted her hands and signed, a little clumsy cool drawing.
"He signed with you?"
"He didn't even think about it," Esme said. "Just... did it."
"Yeah." Max smiled. "That's how we are with Dad. Even when he's not looking. Sometimes even when it's just us."
"It was really nice. Not having to fill the silence."
Max nodded. "He likes you."
"I like him too. He's not trying to impress anyone."
"Yeah. That's Marcus."
Esme turned toward her, hands lifting again. Thank you for today.
Max smiled and signed back. Don't mention it.
Then, I'm still the favorite sibling, though.
Esme groaned. "Obviously."