Page 39 of Out Of Time

He felt his body shrink into himself like he often did as a young boy. Making himself small. Making himself unseeable, unknowable… non-existent in a world where he wasn't wanted.

“Mom,” he said, the name on his lips felt foreign and forced.

“Max, what is it? Can we rush this along, I have to get to—”

He cut her off. “Justine's gymnastics competition, yeah I heard you the first time.”

“Don’t be rude, Max. Her competition might not be an NHL game, but that doesn't make her accomplishments any less worthy of my time and praise,” she spat, her every word lined with disdain for her redheaded stranger of a son.

Max's heart raced in his chest. His need and want to fight back, to finally have the courage to call her out on her familiar bullshit, rose in his chest. He wanted to tell her his accomplishments had never been praised by her, her new husband, or his new siblings. His accomplishments had only served as a way to keep him far from her happy existence.

But he wasn’t good with words, and with his mom, they were like a million daggers to the heart—but from behind.

“I just have one question and then you can go.”

“Well?” she asked.

“My dad—”

She immediately cut him off. “Nope. Not going there, Max. And out of respect for the man who actuallydidraise you”—sent you off to billet home after billet home— “I suggest you drop it.”

“I need to know if he had any…” He didn't know how to ask, didn't know how to speak. He felt like a helpless child at her mercy.

“If he had any what?” she asked, and he knew it had nothing to do with her wanting to help him. It had everything to do with her wanting the conversation to be over so she could go back to pretending he didn't exist.

“Did he have any medical issues,” he finally got out.

“I don’t know. He left, Max. He left me andyou.”

Taking a deep breath, he mustered all the courage a man terrified of his own mother needed to ask a question he knew would be met with resistance and hate.

“Mom, I need you to tell me who he is.”

He heard her sigh on the other end, one he was not unfamiliar with. It was her signature sigh that said,I don’t have time for this, Max.

“Mom. Ineedto know who he is,” he pleaded.

“Your father is Nick,” she said cruelly, offering up the name of his stepfather.

“Mom.” He paused, his breathing erratic. “I need tofu-ckingknow who myfu-ckingfather is,” he said, breaking up his words to add emphasis to his demands.

“Max Miller,” she snapped.

“Mom,” he pleaded, like he had his whole life, begging for her to give him anything without a fight since he was a young boy.

Mom, can I have a piece of candy?

Mom, can I go on the field trip?

Mom, can I come home for the summer?

Mom, can I have a hug?

“Max?” she held out.

“Please. I need to know if he’s… sick,” he said, not sure how else to try and get her to cave, to care, to let him have somethinghe needed. It was a cry for her to just this once, show him she cared about him more than her pride, more than her ego.

“I can’t do this right now, Max.”

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