Melted: A MaxTul AU story

Seventy-nine: Love Letters--Part Two

Apasiri held the wooden box in her hand and softly let her fingers feel its smoothness as she thought about what Tul had told her about its contents and Pongpat Tappitak's letter. She was uncommonly thankful to that man who had spent so much time during his last time on earth thinking about her son. His letter to her, not surprisingly, had not been as long as Tul's.

He had already filled her in on what living with Tul was like in person. He had also, at her request, filled her in on the Pakorn world in which Tul had been a part. Some of this she had heard about from Phon over the years, but even Phon didn't have the knowledge of the company that Pongpat had, so she had asked him to visit her alone to tell her more about his job, the company, and Tul's place in it.

She sighed full of regret and remorse. Could she have made a better choice? Should she have risked coming back sooner to try to take her son back? But what would she have been able to offer him? Would she have been able to afford sending him to good schools or to university or to study abroad? It was interesting because Pongpat seemed to have predicted her guilt because he told her in his letter to try not to think about the past because if she had done something different maybe Tul wouldn't have met any of them. Maybe Tul wouldn't have met Max.

In fact, more of Pongpat's letter had been about Max than it had been about Tul. He wanted Apasiri to know about the man her son had fallen for. Of course, Max had come up in their conversations before, but in the letter, Pongpat told her more about Max's family, what he was really like when he first showed up as their young boarder, his traumatic relationship with his own father, and the man he had become as a protégé of Kuhn Bagnet's.

Pongpat's letter had provided details and given reasons behind some of Max's behaviors and motivations. The letter just made her feel even more sorry to and grateful for the love he had for Tul. It was interesting to her as she sat at the small table by the window, looking at the night sky from her hospital room, how she felt as though she understood Max more than she understood her own son.

She understood how hard it was to love from a place of strength and confidence when your own family made you feel as though you were an embarrassing burden. She completely understood how at the core of Max's love for her son was a level of disbelief that he could ever be worthy of him, that there were always better options for Tul than being with Max, that everything was fine now, but the world had a myriad of things to offer that could fill Tul up more than he ever could.

Hadn't she had those thoughts herself? Hadn't she had that experience herself? Wasn't that what her grandfather had told her about her drain on the family and what she owed him? Didn't Metinee Pakorn show her (and prove to her over the last two decades or more) what she could do for Channarong that Apasiri could never do? Wasn't she the living breathing example of a person who gave Tul up for his health and wellness?

She looked at the door, wondering how long it was going to take Tul to do talk to the head night nurse. She had come by with a packet of documents for Tul once she had been informed at the nursing station that he had come for a visit. He had looked through some of the pages but had questions, so he had went off to find her before he left. Apasiri knew it could have waited until the next day but that Tul was eager to make sure that absolutely nothing was going to delay her scheduled discharge in a couple of days.

She also wondered how much of his eagerness to talk to the nurse was about his unwillingness to talk to her about Max. She had asked him about how Max was doing, but he seemed to be avoiding the conversation. Had they fought? She knows she was the one who made him go to the airport. He had, in fact, been with her when she realized that Max was leaving that day, and she had wondered why he wasn't with him and was with her instead. She was the one who had basically pushed him to go, telling him that he'd regret not saying goodbye.