Love Is Beautiful (Chelsea & Max)

by Abby Brooks

  I’m crying now. Like lips quivering. Breath hitching. Can’t swallow. Max is a man of few words. To hear him say all of that about me. The look in his eyes. The warmth of his voice. To know that he’s seen me bare and uncovered, uncensored and unfiltered, and he still feels that way about me … it’s everything I ever wanted. My whole life, I wanted someone to see me. The real me. And I just wanted the real me to be okay. Enough. I wanted someone to look at me and want me for who I am, not for who they thought I could be.

  And Max just did that.

  “Why are you crying?” he asks, wiping the tears from my eyes.

  “Because…” I swallow and sniff. Sit up and take his hands, not even bothering to cover my breasts with the sheet. “You make me feel like I matter. Like me, who I am inside. What I think. Why I do the things I do. All those things matter to you. You see them and understand them. You don’t want me to be anything but what I am…” I take a breath and give him a watery smile. “It feels good to be accepted. That’s all.”

  I wish I could explain it better. Wish I could explain the pressure I feel to succeed. That it’s just built into my sub-conscious that I will never achieve enough because I am capable of so much more. I can hear my dad’s words to me over the years.

  Not bad, Chels. But I know you can do more.

  Over and over and over. Time and again. And it doesn’t matter what I accomplish, it’s always the same.

  I know you can do more.

  Max’s eyes soften. He holds my gaze and I fall into him, tumbling head over heels, into his heart and soul. “I love you, Chelsea.” His voice is raw. Powerful.

  The truth of his statement hits my chest like a ray of light and I take a sobbing breath. “Oh, Max, I love you, too. Like crazy, beautiful in love with you. I’ve never felt this way before. Like, never ever.”

  He kisses me and the answer to everything is in that moment, our lips touching, our breath shared. His hands cupping my face. And when we’re done, we sit with our foreheads pressed together, just staring into each other’s eyes, falling head over heels together.

  “Will you come to my birthday Thanksgiving with me? With my family?” I whisper the question, afraid to push too far, too fast.

  Max pulls back, distress in his eyes. “I can’t…”

  I knew I shouldn’t have asked. I knew it was going to be too much, too soon. Leave it to me to ruin the most beautiful moment of my life by asking for more. “I’m sorry…” I pull back and give my head a little shake.

  “No, no.” Max reaches for my hands. “It’s not that. I promised Charlie that I’d spend Thanksgiving with him so he didn’t end up being alone.”

  “Alone? Isn’t he only ten?”

  “Exactly. I refuse to let that happen. So, it’s going to be a me and Charlie kind of day.” Max smiles sadly, flaring his hands.

  “Bring him.” Who knows how my family will feel about me bringing a random kid to our Thanksgiving, but you know what? Sometimes I get to have what I want, too.

  Max shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know, Chels. A strange man and an at-risk kid at a London family gathering? Is that really the best idea?”

  “It’s what I want. I can’t imagine spending the day without you. Besides, maybe it’ll be good for Charlie to get the full-on family get together experience.” I shrug. Or, it could be disastrous, but I’m not ready to give into that thought just yet.

  “You sure about this?” Max is smiling and I know I’ve already won him over. For better or for worse, I’ll be showing up to my family’s Thanksgiving with my broken police officer and someone else’s at risk kid.

  22

  Sleep eludes me. Chelsea is curled up in my arm, soft and sweet, her breath deep and even. It’s not that I’m uncomfortable here with her. It’s that I’m too comfortable here with her. I avoided spending a night together for so long because I wanted it so badly. I wanted to know she was safe with me, tucked in my arms where I can keep her and protect her. I wanted to know she needed me. I wanted to know she loved me. Sometimes, that scared me. But others? It fueled me.

  And for all the nights she asked me to stay, I was afraid to say yes and discover that it wasn’t what I thought it’d be. That having her curled up next to me, our bodies pressed together in sleep, that it would somehow let me down.

  It hasn’t.

  It’s everything I wanted. She’s everything I wanted. So strong, yet so broken. So confident and capable, yet wracked with self-doubt. It amazes me sometimes, how backwards we are. Given our upbringings, I should be the one wearing all the scars. And I do. They haunt me when I’m alone at night. But, she should be scar free. She was cultivated. Her parents raised her and groomed her and gave her every opportunity to shine. Me? I grew wild and free, shaping myself.

  I know it embarrasses her, admitting how much her perfect upbringing hurt her, especially in the face of all that I had to face.

  It shouldn’t. Maybe, as awful as it is to admit, the death of my parents came at just the right time. The truth of who my dad was and the consequences of his actions a cold jolt of reality at just the right time. And then the years with my grandmother—the years when I was the most open to her teachings—young enough to still believe in her wisdom and old enough to understand what she wanted me to learn. I absorbed her lessons and then had time to put them into practice as I floundered from family to family, from kindness to cruelty. I had the time to choose who I was and why.

  Chelsea? She never made choices. She followed rules set out in front of her, bending herself to her parents’ will. She isn’t her own person. She is theirs. And she wears scars she shouldn’t and berates herself for them, seeing them as another one of her many imagined flaws.

  I finally succumb to sleep, wondering about the complexities of life. About who I would have been if my childhood had been different. About Charlie and all the struggles he faces on a daily basis. About Chelsea and everything about her that makes her so perfect it scares me to death.

  The first thing I do when I wake is check outside to see if the guy in the car is out there. I haven’t said anything to her, but I’ve been keeping an eye out. He hasn’t been back in that spot, not since I showed up in my uniform all those weeks ago, but I have caught glimpses of a similar car driving past her house too many times. It’s not enough to worry her about, but it is enough for me to worry about. No one is going to hurt her. Not on my watch.

  The street is clear.

  It’s early still, but I’m most definitely not going back to sleep. I pull on my pants and head downstairs, intent on finding some coffee, and maybe making Chelsea breakfast. I won’t be able to stay much longer; I’m already worried about the mess I might find when I get home to let Reagan out. The crazy thing is, I really don’t want to leave. I’d love to sit here with her all day, just extend our night into a weekend. The fact that I’m standing here in her kitchen, grinning like a madman is proof enough that what we have is something special.

  I told her I love her last night. What I didn’t tell her is that she’s the first person I’ve really loved. I have never felt like this about another person. Never. I would die to protect her. I would sacrifice to keep her safe. I am hers and yet, I know that somehow, she is mine. It’s a beautiful feeling. Love is beautiful, and I suppose I should be saddened to know that I spent all the long years of my life not knowing that simple truth.

  I’m not.

  Somehow, it makes it all the more special, knowing that I saved it all up to give to her. Chelsea. My sweet, naughty, needy little girl.

  23

  Today’s the day. My birthday. The day I officially leave my twenties behind and embark on a disappointing journey into old age. I don’t feel any different. No nervous breakdowns on the horizon. No wrinkles jumping out on my face, announcing to the world that I’m officially past my prime. I thought I’d wake up today an emotional mess. I didn’t. I woke up excited to see Max, to meet Charlie, and to show them off to my family.

  My amazing man,
with the bullet blue eyes, and a heart big enough to take care of a small boy who needs him. I’m proud to be his. Proud to love him. Proud to show him off. Proud to know that he loves me.

  Mom was surprised when I told her I was bringing guests. I hadn’t even told her I was seeing someone. The first thing she asked me was what he did for a living, as if she could size up the man by knowing his profession. She didn’t seem impressed to learn he was a cop, although Charlie’s story seemed to earn him some bonus points. She asked me to bring some pies and said she’s be glad to set two extra plates at the table.

  I don’t know if she recognized it or not, but that was the first time I ever told my mom I was doing something. I didn’t ask her if I could bring guests, I told her. Maybe it’s a little sad that it took me until my thirtieth birthday to claim that small measure of independence. It doesn’t matter. It still feels good.

  There’s a knock on my door. Or rather, more of a strange thump. I check the time; leave it to Max to be early. Excited to meet Charlie, I fling open the front door with a huge smile on my face. Except no one’s there. Nerves skitter beneath the surface of my skin and for some reason I just happen to look down. There, at my feet, neck all twisted the wrong way, is a mouse, still and unmoving. My hands fly to my face and I shriek, stumble backwards as I recognize Max’s car turning the corner onto my street.

  He sees me, sees the fear, I know it because he bumps up into my driveway too fast and has the door open before he kills the engine. I watch him turn, probably talking to Charlie in the backseat, and then he bounds out of the car, stopping when he sees the mouse at my feet.

  “What happened?”

  “I heard a thump. Thought it was you, knocking. Opened the door to find this poor thing.”

  Max glances back to the car. I can see a blonde head in the back, a small face pressed to the glass. “I’ll take care of the mouse. I want you and Charlie inside, behind locked doors. I’m going to take a look around.”

  He swoops up the mouse by the tail and tosses it into my garbage bin on his way to get Charlie out of the car. “Charlie, this is Chelsea, my girlfriend,” he says, his voice light and easy.

  “Hey, Charlie.” I wave, fighting a roll of nausea brought on by the mouse on my doorstep and all that it might mean.

  “Hey.” Charlie smiles at me, a broad thing, all teeth and honesty.

  “Max is going to take care of something for me. Will you come in and help me get the pies ready?”

  Charlie shrugs. “Sure.” He follows me inside, either not noticing or not caring that I lock the door behind us. He studies my house the way Max did, seeing everything all at once. I show him how to wrap the pies and place them in the carrying containers.

  Max knocks a few minutes later and I let him in.

  “Nothing,” he says with a shake of his head. “But you’re coming home with me tonight. Go grab some clothes.” I do as he says without question, listening to the happy sounds of Max joking with Charlie downstairs. I’m scared. I don’t know what that mouse means, but I do know mice just don’t run up and break their neck on people’s doorsteps, so it can’t mean anything good. I pack my bag quickly and head downstairs. As if I needed another reason to be nervous about today.

  Max is in rare form, joking with Charlie until the boy is absolutely belly-laughing. He ushers us into his car, his quick eyes sizing up my entire neighborhood while he navigates us out to the main roads. His hand is on mine the whole way, holding me tight.

  “So, Charlie,” I say, spinning a little so I can look at him in the backseat. “What’s your favorite kind of pie?”

  He makes a face. “Do I have to pick just one?”

  I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. “You’ve been hanging out with Max too much.”

  Charlie shrugs. “Maybe.”

  “Hey now,” Max says, glancing at Charlie through the mirror. “There is no such thing as too much Max.”

  “The man has a point,” I say to the boy. “I can’t get enough of him.”

  Charlie just grins and Max squeezes my hand. Before I know it, we’re pulling into my parents’ driveway. So here we go then. It’s my thirtieth birthday. I’m showing up at to a family gathering with a man they’ve never met, a boy I don’t know, and the secret of a dead mouse showing up on my doorstep.

  I think I might pass out.

  “You ready for this?” I ask Max as we climb out of the car.

  “Of course.” He smiles, wide and open. “Are you?”

  I shake my head and suck in my lips. “I hope so.”

  “Don’t worry. You got this and I got you.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him. I wonder if he knows how safe I feel next to him.

  “What about you?” he asks Charlie. “You ready for this?”

  “Your mom a good cook?” he asks me as we head up to the porch.

  “She’s a very good cook.”

  “Well, then what are we waiting for? I’m starved.”

  Max is right. This kid is something special.

  I lead them through the front door, calling out to announce our arrival.

  “We’re in the kitchen,” calls my mom. I collect Max and Charlie’s coats and hang them by the door before leading them through my parents’ massive house to the kitchen in the back. Charlie takes it all in, eyes wary, face closed. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but the look on Max’s face is identical.

  I juggle hugs and pies and introductions. My dad sizes up Max and Charlie and dismisses them both. I see it on his face. He has deemed them unworthy. I take a deep breath and hope he keeps his thoughts to himself.

  “Happy birthday, Moo,” Dad says as he smiles down at me. “You’re officially an old lady, now.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I say it, though I don’t mean it. First the nickname, one I earned when I was a little girl because I apparently had more appetite than metabolism in his eyes, then the dink on my age. He sure knows how to come in with the one-two punch to the ego. Whatever. Now is not the time. I introduce him to Max and Charlie and watch as they shake hands.

  Thankfully, Maya shows up and distracts everyone for a little bit and just as that bit of excitement settles down, Dakota and Dominic show up in a swirl of energy and amazing stories of their travels. With so many people here, the focus is off our strange little trio and that is more than fine with me. Dominic and Max hit it off and they disappear with Charlie and my dad to go watch football in the living room, leaving me with my mom and my sisters.

  “What the hell, Chelsea?” Dakota hits me in the arm. “You didn’t tell me he was a fucking monument to manliness.” She shakes her head. “Oh, and happy birthday by the way.”

  “Thanks, I think.” I rub my arm. “And I’m pretty sure I told you he was good looking.”

  “Right. Good looking. Not oozing strength and confidence and chiseled composure.”

  Maya pours a glass of wine, earning herself a disapproving look from our mom. “You definitely skimped on the details, Chels. Max is something.”

  I blush. “He is something. I’ll give you that.”

  “Look at you.” Dakota leans back and glances at my sister and mother in disbelief. “Is my ever-independent big sister falling for the big, strong and sexy cop?”

  Maya giggles. “I’d say she’s already fallen.”

  Mom leans in. “I’m glad for you. It’s nice to see you so happy.”

  The conversation moves on and I find myself sneaking peeks at Max, sitting in the family room with my dad and my brother-in-law. They’re laughing and smiling and yelling at the TV, a group of men doing their manly thing. Charlie sitting at the floor at their feet, eyes everywhere at once, but smiling nonetheless.

  We roll into dinner and I’m amazed at how well things are going, although I’m glad to be back at Max’s side. It was nice being with my mom and my sisters, but I feel best when I’m with him. I watch Charlie to see how he’s handling everything and find that he’s busy watching everything to see how he shou
ld handle it. He’s a smart kid. I wonder about the kind of mom who would leave a treasure like that alone on any day, let alone a holiday. But at least he’s got Max.

  My dad smiles down at us from his place at the head of the table. “I’ll start with the tradition of thanks this year. I’m thankful for a smiling wife and daughters who continue to strive to realize their full potential.” I know he means it as a compliment, but what I hear is that I’m not good enough yet. The pinched looks on Maya and Dakota’s faces show that they heard the same thing.

  We go around the table, each of us saying our peace. Dakota thankful for Dominic, Dominic thankful for Dakota, Maya thankful for a recent patient recovering well. Charlie’s eyes go wide when he realizes it’s his turn.

  He looks at Max and then down at his plate. “I’m thankful for him,” he mutters, jerking his head towards Max. “Otherwise I’d be alone. All the time. He’s all I got to look forward to.”

  There’s a brief moment of stunned silence. All eyes turn to Max, jaws dropped, hearts on sleeves, breaking for the boy and his moment of raw honesty. Max ruffles the boy’s hair.

  “You’re never alone. You got a phone, you got me. It’s that simple. One call and I’m there.” I think all of us heard the weighty emotion he tried to hide from the boy. I think all of us felt it. Throats tightening. Eyes burning. How can we have so much when so many have so little? How can I spend so much energy caring about hated nicknames and the pressure of expected success when Charlie has nothing? How self-centered can I be? My family loves me. Isn’t that enough?

  “I guess that means it’s my turn,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m thankful for Max, too. For the safety and security you’ve brought me. For the honesty with which you see me. For the selfless way you love me. For who you are fitting so well with who I am that I finally feel like I’m becoming the person I was meant to be. You’re a gift.” I turn to the rest of my family. “And I’m thankful for parents who have taught me never to be satisfied with anything less than perfect and sisters who keep me laughing through the hard stuff.”