Christmas Break: A Maxley Fanfic

Chapter 5 - Max's POV

As Brad goes to grab games and movies, I think about what I've just agreed to. Friends with idol/archnemesis/crush? No, not crush. I am just simply confusing the new feeling of friendship, I'm sure.

Eventually, he makes it back and puts in a skateboarding movie while I quickly set up Monopoly, excited to win. I pick up the dog piece and place it on Start.

"You ready?" I ask over my shoulder. Brad walks back over and grabs the car piece.

"Always."

And so we play.

- - -

We played for a few hours before Bradley forfeited, calling it quits so he could make us supper.

I silently celebrate my victory as I sit at the kitchen island, cutting some vegetables for a salad. Meanwhile, Brad sauteed pork and boiled some fettuccine.

Eventually, it was done, so we each grabbed plates and divided up the food. I started walking over to the living room, but Brad stopped me.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To eat, what else."

"No, you must eat at the table. Why in the world would you eat anywhere else?"

I thought back to home, where Dad and I would sit on the couch every night and eat together while watching sports. We never sat at the table, as there was always an empty chair that reminded us of Mom.

"I don't like eating at the table, brings back bad memories," I stated, trying not to remember anything that would make me tear up.

He looked worried for a second, but quickly recovered. "Fine, but we are sitting at the counter, not the living room."

I nodded and we ate quietly for some time.

"Sorry," I eventually muttered, washing off my plate and fork.

"Fres- Max, why the hell are you sorry?"

"For making us sit at the counter instead of the table..."

"Listen, Goof. I understand, even if that is a crazy thought. My father isn't the greatest person ever, so I try to avoid certain things that remind me of him. But meeting your dad, I'm sure that's not your issue."

"It's not. It wa-"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." But what if I want to? I think I trust Bradley enough to tell him.

"I...want to tell you Brad. Can we go sit down?"

"Sure," he says, leading the way back to the couch. "And remember, Freshman, it's Bradley. An example of something my father made me hate."

I nod and we sit. I dig my nails into my palm and brace myself for the story.