'til the road and sky align

[ CHAPTER EIGHT: Visit ]

There isn't much of a difference between a two year-old and a four year-old -- until she suddenly decides to pounce on you, and you're fully reminded of how much a young girl can grow in a year and a half. Max catches her easily, of course, because he Works Out and he Lifts, Bro; but, still, she's so grown now. What the fuck?

Chino gives Max a look over his computer. After all these years, he's still a fucking mind reader. "She's not heavy, Hermoso. You're just a wimp."

Max glares at him. Telepathically, he's spitting out curses that he would never say aloud in such circumstances -- because all Violet knows is that he's the nice, god-fearing uncle that throws her up in the air and plays catch with her.

"Tito Max," she says, her lisp not as prominent as it was three months ago. "Can we play catch later?"

He beams at her. "Of course, Vi!"

She laughs with a childish glee, and pounces on him again, wrapping her little baby arms around his neck. Max catches her easier this time while returning the hug in one move. He has a free hand, so he reaches over to ruffle the short, fluffy hairdo she had going on.

Chino glances at him again. Violet wouldn't have been able to see the look since she faced the other way, but Max sees it, and his stomach drops. It's a knowing look that Max matches with the grim set of his mouth.

"Of course I'll be able to play catch with you later," Max repeats, mostly to himself.

Chino frowns. He squints at Max through his reading glasses, but he doesn't say anything.

Violet pulls away. "Tito, let me go get the guitar."

Max settles his face into something pleasant before she notices. --Or at least he hopes she doesn't notice anything. Children are scary; anyone with Chino's genes are even scarier. He doesn't say anything about that, though. He just nods at her. "A'ight, Vivi. Your papa and I will just be here and talking, okay?"

She scrunches her nose up. "Gross grown up stuff?"

"Yep," Chino chimes in, and while his tone is joking, there's still something pained in his look. When Violet turns around to look at him, though, he smiles back at her. "Though, aren't you supposed to clean your room?"

She pouts. It's the most heartbreaking look, and it's a fucking phenomenon that Chino barely blinks when she blinks up at him with her most puppy dog look. "But, Papa, Tito Max is here."

Max would've fucking folded in his cards by then, but then Chino -- the Almighty Christopher Chua -- holds his hand out for her. She walks over to take it, naturally.

"Don't worry about your tito," he says. "We'll be able to play the guitar later. And catch, too. Your room is very easy to clean, so once you're done with that, we can make Tito Max cook us something."

At the mention of food, Violet' face lights up. "Yes, papa!"

Chino smiles warmly at her, but then his eyes flick up to Max, cold. He looks back at his daughter.

"Sige, go na," he says, and like that, Violet dashes off, her footfalls heavy on the wooden stairs. Chino turns back to Max, expression sombre again. "You're breaking her heart, you know that?"

"I was thinking of teaching her Genesis. I think she'd love to learn a song her dad made," Max says, non sequitur in all the best ways if he did say so himself. "I would've wanted to teach her Whisper but I don't think her grandparents will be happy with her screaming profanities so early on."

"Max, what are you going to tell her?" Chino asks.

Max shrugs. There's no way out of this topic even if he tried. "What do I usually say?"

"You didn't even spend more than an hour at her party," Chino hisses. "Yen had class that day, and even he spent more time than you did."

Something ugly stabs him in the chest, and Max can't help to snarl, "You try to do all these fucking jobs at once!"

Chino glares at him, his mouth pulling into a tight line.

Max lowers his eyes. "Sorry," he says, and while his body is still wound up tight, clenched fists at his side, he sounds apologetic enough. "I just-- I don't even have time for Nathan, much less for Vi."

Chino sighs. The anger leaves him in a quick moment, making him slump forward and lean on the table. He brings his hand up to rub his eyes, while the other hand clenches into a light fist. "I'm sorry, too."

There's a tension in the air that's so palpable Max could almost taste it.

"It's fine," he amends. That's how you adult, he guesses. That's just how things are. You fight, then you apologise, then you shoulder the world in your path to somewhere. He breathes in deeply. That's how it is.

Chino's hands settle back onto the table, clasped loosely over the laptop keyboard. "I. . . How's Nathan?"

Nodding, Max picks at his nail. "He's good. Been good. He's taking up the drums for school."

They both chuckle.

"When's your next visit?" Chino asks.

Max frowns, face twisting. He'd pick at his nail again, but he's gonna probably start scratching too hard, and he really does not need that right now. "Saturday, but. . . ."

He lets the silence speak for itself. If Chino pushed further, he'd shrug. He's just too busy, really. He'd feel some shred of shame, but he shakes it away.

"Uh," Max starts, but then his breath catches, so he clears his throat. "Uh, Violet looks more like her mother now."

Chino pouts, a totally annoying habit that he seems to have never stopped. It makes him look like he's a kid again -- but considering he's a thirty-five year-old man, it's a Little Weird. When he pouts, though, he looks like Violet when she pouts, so at least there's that similarity between them.

"We both have small eyes, dark hair, and straight hair," Chino says, "We look alike enough."

Max rolls his eyes, and if he were any mood to discuss the Not All Asians Look The Same topic, he would. Maybe when they get together for some drinks. He'll start gesturing between himself, Chino, and Yen about the differences of their Asian-ness, leaving Vikentiy to be the white one out. (Then proceed to abuse the generosity of the duo by drinking one too many beers, while then abusing Yen's fairly low intolerance by challenging him to shots.)

Nathan looks too much like him. He's got some of his mother's features (and, thankfully, his mother's height), but the similarities he has to Max is undeniable. It's not particularly a good thing.

Violet's steps are loud and heavy as she dashes down the stairs into the living room. Something clacks on her last step, but then she's walking again. She enters the living room balancing the beat-up guitar case on her tiny little arms.

Max paints a smile back onto his face. "Vivi! Come on! Lemme teach you how to sing your dad's first song."

Chino groans. "Please don't. You'll tear this household apart." But he stands anyway, pushing himself from the computer.

Max grabs the guitar first, though, because he knows Chino won't ever give it back to him, and they'll just end up teaching her something by RUSH!. He has thirty minutes; he'll teach her what he wants.

Violet hops up onto the couch.

Max strikes a pose. "A one, two, three, four--!"

—

translation stuff:
tito = filipino for uncle. used for older males that are too adult to be a kuya (older brother). similar to tio.
"sige, go na" = "fine, go already"