The Connection

The envelope is menacing.

And that’s dumb, because an envelope should just be an envelope. It should carry unwanted credit card offers and utility bills and those once a year Christmas cards from distant relatives, complete with a scripture verse and a school photo or two. Or if it was from any of Mr. Reeves’ family, a carefully arranged family photo card. All matching Christmas sweaters and icy backgrounds and tight smiles, because doctors, surgeons and other Very Important People are only needed where it’s freezing all the time. Simple things and things that just were. Not things that could change someone’s future. Not things that held Avery’s entire future in careful folds of university stationary.

It was creamy white, made with heavy paper and a stamp from Lincoln, Illinois. In fact, he heard his dad complaining, snappish and peeved as Avery walked into the house, Quinn is tow.

”They couldn’t have run it by my office, could they? All the humanities are struggling and they spend their money on sending acceptance letters down the road? Unbelievable.”
“Will, honey, there’s probably a rule about that…”

He’s sitting on one of the rarely used island stools. His mother and father are looking excited and pleased, pushing their panicking son to open the letter with pointed eyes and strained encouragements. Quinn is sitting on the counter, legs swinging idly, chewing on an apple and looking at Avery like he’s an idiot for being so scared. Avery only has eyes for the other member of his family. Sitting next to him; who followed him home in a vintage muscle car, for the standard Reeves’ Family dinners that he’s been easily inducted into.

Avery glances at Max. The quarterback is looking back at him, open green eyes and a half smile of encouragement. This means so much to them… well, more so to Avery.

He’s already been accepted to a state school and a private one… both a state over in Ohio. He didn’t even want to apply there. He wanted to only apply at Milton and a community college a few towns over; but Max wasn’t having any of it. He couldn’t, wouldn’t even think of allowing Avery to, ‘waste that huge ass brain,’ on only choosing schools close to Max.

”’M not even worth it, Av! You could have the fuckin’ world!

“I have the fucking world, you asshole! You! And don’t talk about yourself like that!”

“Avery, I swear to god. You’re so fuckin’ smart, use it! Don’t worry ‘bout me!”

They had a fight; a pretty big one, Avery half crying and Max gritting his teeth and sticking out his jaw in a way that made Avery want to punch him. Avery actually walked out of Archie’s, brushing past a thoroughly confused waitress and a gallery of elderly patrons, all looking at him with upturned noses and scowls. He was so mad at Max that he started walking down the busy street. He made it nearly six blocks before Max caught up to him and followed at a slow pace (cars honking behind him), waiting for Avery to, ‘get in the fuckin’ car and talk to me, goddamn it!’

Max finally convinced him to apply to the two out of state schools; but Avery maintained that he would apply to Milton. Max flat out refused to let Avery go to community college, and they almost fought about that, too.

This envelope holds Avery academic future; Avery’s future with Max, too. Whether they get an apartment together or just Max, as Avery has a technical address on campus and spends most of his time at Max’s sure to be tiny apartment. It decided whether they still get to go on dates to Archie’s and ride around aimlessly in the Chevelle, or they’ll sustain on text messages and phone calls and blurry, lagging Skype calls.

It means everything.

Max grabs his hand, lying idle and petrified on the spotless island top, and gives it a solid, sure squeeze. Avery cast his eyes upward, ignoring the burning gazes of his parents and Quinn, focusing on kind, soft green eyes; open and calm. Everything Avery needs. Max quirks a half smile, and Avery can feel a tug somewhere in his lower stomach; and he doesn’t know if it’s a side-effect of the Connection, but he can feel Max’s nervousness underneath the supportive, accepting-no-matter-what surface.

“Just get it over with.” Max says, bluntly. And that somehow grounds Avery more. Max won’t lie; won’t fake a smile or tell him that everything will be okay and nothing will change if he doesn’t get accepted.

He’ll plan. He’ll get a better phone with a camera that isn’t scratched to hell, maybe even a laptop for Skype calls. He’ll probably get a deplorable apartment, the cheapest he can find (roaches and mildew be damned), so he’ll have enough money to see Avery on the weekends. He’ll mail packages along with his mother; filled with art supplies, Milky Ways and wild berry Skittles. He’ll work it out, so that he and Avery can still be together even hours apart.

Avery nods, takes a deep breath and grabs the envelope before he can change his mind. He tears into it with the same mentality; if he hesitates he’ll stop and then it’ll take another fifteen minutes before he’ll try again.

His hands shake around the letter, and as far as he gets is, Dear Avery…. Congratulations! We are pleased…, before he tosses the letter on the island (missing; the paper fluttering to the floor) and launches himself onto Max. The stool he was sitting on topples with a thunderous clamoring and his mother is somewhere behind him screeching, ”What? Avery, what does it say!”

Max responds after a moment of shock-still panic. He stands, grabbing Avery tightly around the waist and lifting his feet off the ground. Avery’s face is buried in Max’s neck; his glasses pinching and his nostrils filled with the scent of sweat, motor oil, cloves, and Max. Max is holding him too tightly, his arms a vice around his ribs and his free hand bunching Avery’s cardigan in a death grip.

His mother is crying and Quinn is laughing and calling Avery a ‘little bitch.’ Mr. Reeves is chiding Quinn for her language, but smiling; a rare soft around the edges thing, like the ones he gives his mother and Quinn. Avery is near tears and Max is laughing at him, the booming, deep sound that Avery lives for; kissing his cheek and refusing to let him on to the floor. When Max finally does lower him, his mother and Quinn are right there to take up Max’s space. They both squeeze Avery within an inch of his life, maybe more so than Max.

At last, his father comes over. Mr. Reeves has a shine of something other than distain or annoyance in his brown eyes; it almost looks like pride. He claps Avery on the shoulder, pulling the surprised boy into him.

Mr. Reeves is only a few inches taller than himself, but the last time he can remember his dad hugging him was when he was thirteen and crying because Max called him a ‘queer’ for the first time. He was sitting in his father’s office, gangly limbs curled around himself, under his father’s desk.
He wanted to be alone, and Quinn and his mother were busy in the living room and he knew that his mother would look for him in his room.

He remembers sobbing, wishing and wanting the shyly smiling, freckled boy from sixth grade back. He wanted to tell Max, as the steadily growing boy spit meanly in his face, that he wasn’t a queer. But Avery knew he wasn’t exactly straight either, and this made him cry harder. He didn’t notice his father come home from work, exhausted and annoyed with one of his lectures. He just noticed his father sit on the floor next to him, not saying a thing as Avery threw himself at his father, clutching at him and crying. Mr. Reeves let him stay in his office that night, as he graded papers. They never talked about it; but when Avery came home the next day, a brand new sketch book was sitting on his bed, along with a new set of pencils.

Avery feels the same warmth he felt in childhood as his father claps him on the back.

“Good job, Avy.” He mumbles, giving Avery one last clap on the back before his mother can descend on him again. She declares that they’re going to celebrate and go out for dinner, and Avery is giving the honor. He chooses a local steakhouse, because they have a Creaser salad that Quinn loves and Max loves any and all kinds of steak.

He’s so busy with his mother and sister, that he doesn’t notice Mr. Reeves pull Max to the side, talking quietly and hurriedly before the older man claps a confused Max on the back.
________

“Are you okay?”

The freckled girl looks up from the task of unraveling her sweater sleeve. The sweater itself is thin at the elbows and the cuffs are already frayed from Allie’s nervous fingers. But now there’s mint green thread all over her lap, lying in tiny pieces across the pale wash of her jeans. One thread, wrapped so tightly around her index finger that the short nailed digit looks purple. Avery looks expectantly at the sophomore; whom he’s expecting to act just like her brother. That is to say, brush him off with a sure smile and to look bored at the whole process.

“I… I, um, I’m just nervous.” Allie says, brushing the stray threads off her thighs unto the neat carpet of a family lawyer’s office. She immediately turns red at the action; her hand twitches to pick up the threads, standing out harshly against the dark brown carpet. Avery grabs her hand gently.

“Vacuums will get it.” he reassures her, releasing her hand. Allie cast him a thankful, embarrassed look, her freckled face a bright shade of pink. She tucks her hair behind her ear (a nervous trait, much like her brother’s constant mussing of his own hair) and sits up straighter in her supposedly comfy chair.

“What’s making you so nervous?” Avery asks, like he’d do to Quinn if she were about to bolt from somewhere like a spooked cat, “Is it Jim? Or Andy?”

Allie shakes her head quickly, her long tangles of dirty blonde hair drifting across his arm. She tucks her hair behind her ear again before elaborating.

“No. Nothing like that. Jim and Andy seem great, like really great. Like nice and friendly and stuff. And the school is nice, and they said that they’d get me a cat. It’s really really great. I’m just worried about mom… and the trial, and—“

She looks up at Avery, her eyes wide and tearful.

“—I feel so bad for leaving mom and moving in with Jim. Jim doesn’t even know me; what if he and Andy don’t like me? And I know you and Max can’t, and I wouldn’t invade on the whole ‘new boyfriend- Soul-Mate-fest’ but I really wish I didn’t have to leave.”

Avery glances at the office door. Sturdy and polished, a tiny frosted window showing nothing more than the vague humanoid blurs of Jim, his family lawyer friend and of course, Max.

“We’re not moving in together just yet. And it’s not like Max and I wouldn’t take you, you know.” Avery says lightly, ignoring the flush in his cheeks. “It’s more that Max knows you’ll be better taken care of with Jim and Andy. He wants the best for you… and he knows he can’t really provide that.”

Allie nods, solid and understanding. Max made her lunch and taught her how to tie her shoes and everything in between; he’s more of a father to her than, Jim or Mike have ever been. And Allie has to know that Max would do anything for her, including giving her to someone who could really take care of her. And Avery tells her so.

“—Jim likes you. And Andy is nearly salivating at the thought of having a daughter.” Avery adds, causing Allie to roll her eyes and elbow him in the ribs while muttering, ‘salivate? Weirdo.’Avery elbows her back gently, pressing forward.

“And you’d live pretty well; with a fury demon and everything.” Avery says only to be elbowed (again) sharply in the ribs for his cat phobic comment.

“And I know that you’re scared about the trial. Max is, too. But from the way everyone’s talking, they have enough evidence to support that Mike is abusive and not fit to raise you. And I know you don’t like it and I’m sorry, but your mom isn’t that great either.”

“She would side with Mike, you mean.” Allie says astutely. She may look delicate and frail, and she is in some sense. But she has Max’s quality of taking blows in stride, not batting one long, blonde eyelash to harsh truths about her life. She’s a fighter, too. A planner and stubborn, like her brother. Avery nods.

“Well, she’s already shown that she isn’t above kicking you and Max out for Mike.” Avery says gently, referring to the extended weekend that she and Max spent in their house; watching movies and showing Quinn the two strand method for knitting a scarf.

“And she never really cared that we spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with you guys.” She adds dully, picking at her sleeve again. Avery nods.

“No.”

“And…” Allie hesitates, looking around the kid friendly office, with its tiny kitchen set and its plethora of Dr. Seuss books, like her mother might emerge from the walls and yell at her. Or more likely, ignore her as if she were merely an annoying aspect of life; like a fly or waiting in line.

“… And it wouldn’t be so bad, you know.” Allie says softly, glancing at Avery, her ears rimmed in pink.

“Having... well, not a mom. But someone like a mom,” She looks away from Avery, “Someone who would be able to buy like, tampons and scented soap without demanding that I go.”

Avery snorts; the mere thought of Max, pink cheeked and scowling, a wire basket of fruity soaps on one arm as he scoured the tampons. Allie, huffs a laugh too.

“It’s not funny. When I got my period, he flipped out. He had no idea and I was crying.”

Avery laughs harder. Allie elbows him.

“It’s not funny! I was twelve and I thought I was gonna die. Max did too.”

Avery does the math in his head. If Allie was twelve than Max would have just turned sixteen. And suddenly, the thought of Max probably with a still warm license, his letterman jacket still a little loose around his shoulders, taking the Chevelle to the nearest store and searching frantically for what he might need. He imagines Max too proud to ask for help and Allie, smaller and slighter than now, sniffling beside him. His heart clenches, but he pressing on as if thinking about Max and Allie mostly alone doesn’t make him want to shelter both of them from everything bad in the world.

“Yeah. And you know someone to talk to about stuff.” Avery adds. Allie nods, smiling slightly.

“Yeah. Andy will probably be better at talking about boys than Max was.” Allie grins. Avery rolls his eyes, snorting.

“I’m almost certain that Max was never one to talk about boys.” Avery says drily, a pang of something sour and biting in his stomach as he thinks that Max was always more of a Ladies’ Man. Allie laughs, a soft tinkling sound, reluctant; like someone might come from the walls and scold her.
Allie glances at him, a glint of something that can only be amusement in her bright green eyes.

“Only sometimes. He mostly talked about you.”

Avery snorts, cast Allie a skeptical (pink cheeked) look that makes her smirk.

“Seriously. I never knew your name but I knew that Max was a dick to you. He talked about you all the time; how much he hated you and how annoying you were.”

“Oh yeah?” Avery’s heart sinks. She giggles.

“Yeah. He was always blushin’ and scowlin’. And I couldn’t stand his macho man thing anymore so I finally told him to quit stalking you and ask you out already. He was slightly obsessed.”

Avery chuckles despite himself.

“He’s always scowling. And how did you know he wasn’t a tough guy?”

“Because.” Allie says with an air of finality, like she’s already told someone this hundreds of times.

“Ever since you kissed him, he’s been trying so hard. You know, to pretend. He was always trying to pretend that you weren’t always on his mind. He was gross, bring home any girl he could get his hands on; and I told him like a million times just to get over it, that he’s not totally, undeniable straight. He’d get mad at me and go out drinking and then come home and be a mess.”

Allie takes a moment from looking at her sleeve to glance at a red faced, shock still Avery, before she continues.

“I didn’t even know your name, but I knew there was a boy that my idiot older brother beat up ‘cause he refused to deal with his feelings. And when I met you in the bookstore, I didn’t recognize you, but then Max came and it all clicked.” She says, examining her ragged nails like she’s not making Avery’s head implode on itself.

It’s one thing, to have Max say these things… but Allie; innocent, x-ray vision having Allie saying these things makes it feel like a real, tangible thing. A piece of cardstock; heavy and thick with all of Max’s closely guarded feelings scrawled across it.

“I think it’s a Soul Mates thing… he’s only had eyes for you since we came here. He’s always loved you; he’s just been too afraid to see it.”

Avery jumps completely out of his chair when the office door opens. Allie hides a smirk in her sleeves, and Avery looks away from Max’s brow, wrinkled in confusion.

The family lawyer is a short man, mostly bald and pudgy. He’s dressed in a fine suit, still looking impeccable despite the fact that it’s the end of a workday. He looks like a typical lawyer; well fed and even more well off. He should be pompous and scowling; the air of superiority rolling off of him in waves of heady cologne. But his round, clean shaven face was made for smiling, and he’s currently smiling at both Avery and Allie in turn. He holds out his pudgy hand; a gold wedding band catching the dying sunlight streaming into the office.

“Hello, Allison. I’m Paul Cameron, and I’ll be helping Jim take custody.”

“Allie,” She corrects gently, accepting his hand and giving it a small shake, “And thank you.”

“Well, don’t thank me yet.” He says laughingly, and at the scared tilt of Allie’s mouth, “But I’m fairly sure we’ll be able to get this done.”

“The next step is fairly simple, we’ll try the easy route; see if your mother and stepfather will willingly sign over custody… Jim’s agreed to deliver the papers and such, rather than have then mailed.”

Allie looks hesitant; she glances at Max, looking for some sort of reassurance.

“And… um, will there be a trial?”

The lawyer looks puzzled, his brows furrowing and his mouth turning down. Allie opens her mouth, red faced and trying to retract her obviously wrong statement. Jim shakes his head, reaching out to touch Allie’s shoulder. It’s a mark that Allie is at least willing to try with Jim that she doesn’t flinch away. She instead looks up with round green eyes; hopeful and scared.

“There’s not going to be a trial, sweetheart. Max doesn’t want Mike to go to jail, or we would hold one for the abuse. But it’s just custody.”

“But what if mom makes a huge deal out of it?”

Jim shrugs.

“Then we’ll have to. But unless you want to, you won’t have to say anything. If you still want to live with me, then you can tell the judge that. But you won’t have to sit on the bench and appear on TV or anything.” Jim jokes. Allie smiles slightly, nodding.

“That is, if you still want to live with me. You don’t have to, Allie. Not if you’d rather live with your mom…”

“No.” Allie squeaks, shaking her long blond hair all over the place, “I-I want to live with you guys… if you’ll still have me.”

Jim’s smile is brilliant and toothy; dimples poke through his stubbly cheeks.

“I can’t wait for you to move it, honey. You know that, Andy and I are excited. We’re already looking at shelters for a kitten, and Andy’ll be pretty upset if she has to take me shopping again.” Jim jokes again, causing Allie to laugh and Max to wrinkles his nose. He mouths ’cat?’ to Avery, looking disgusted and terrified. Avery hides a smirk, shrugging his shoulders.

Max introduces Avery to the family lawyer when he asks. Avery blushes and shakes his hand, as Max looks like a peacock behind him; puffing his chest and wrapping an arm snugly around Avery’s shoulders. They leave the office as a ragtag little family, and plan to drive a little ways to an Italian restaurant downtown.

Allie surprises them all by sliding into the passenger side of Jim’s car (a classic, like Max’s. Avery has no idea what type of kind, he just knows that it’s red and as show room spotless as the Chevelle). Max shrugs, pulling open Avery’s door. Jim looks beyond happy as he gets in the car and lets Allie fiddle with the radio.

As they’re eating pasta and endless breadsticks, Andy calls. She asks to speak with Allie, and the two have a conversation about next weekend. Apparently, Andy is turning a storage room into Allie’s new bedroom and wants her input on paint colors and such. Allie agrees, smiling wide and bright. She turns to Max to ask for a ride, but Jim is quick to correct her.

“I’ll pick you up,” he says, mouth full of pasta and red sauce, “I’ll drop the papers off and you can spend the weekend if you want.”

Allie cast a hopeful glance at Max (who is stuffing pasta in his mouth like there’s no tomorrow, cheeks bulging and mouth flecked with tomato sauce).

He shrugs, and Allie beams.

“You wanna do somethin’ this weekend?” Max asks Avery, who is sitting in the booth next to him chewing on his own meal. The younger boy shrugs, looking playfully up at his Soul Mate.

“We do something every weekend.”

“No, dork. I mean, you wanna spend the weekend together?”

“At my house?”

“Well, sure as hell not mine.”

Avery snorts into his iced tea; he wipes his mouth still grinning at Max.

“I’m sure I could arrange something…”

“Yeah, pencil me into your busy schedule.” Max snorts.

They continue eating, the food too good to let sit for too long, but Avery is aware of Jim looking at them and smiling softly. They leave bellies full and less anxious about the whole custody battle. Avery finds it odd, though. Jim pulls Max away slightly, after Allie and he have settled into the Chevelle. Jim and Max talk quickly, casting small glances towards the car. Finally, Jim slaps Max on the shoulder, pulls him into a hug and they walk to their separate cars. Avery means to ask Max about the odd conversation, mirroring the one Max had with his own father had not a month ago.

But the pasta and the warmth of Max’s flannel wrapped around his frame is heavier; he falls asleep against the window as softly playing Pink Floyd washes over him.