Harder We Fade by Kate Dawes Page A

no, he’s much different.”
    “So, when did he start talking?”
    She thought about it for a few seconds as she chewed and then said, “Five and a half. Then he wouldn’t stop. Of course he started to become a little withdrawn and that’s when he started writing.”
    I looked out the glass front of the restaurant because a woman walking by caught my eye. Her entire head was wrapped in gauze. I briefly wondered if she had been in some kind of accident, but then when I saw her oversized breasts, I realized that she probably had just had some work done north of her new boobs.
    “I’m sure he told you about our life before California?” Paula asked.
    “He did.”
    A somber look overtook her face like a veil of sadness and regret.
    “I’m not going to ask,” I reassured her. “But I’d love to know anything else you’d like to share about Max.”
    Her face brightened again. Clearly he was the jewel of her life. She was so proud of him, as well she should be.
    “You’re the first young woman he’s introduced me to.”
    “Really…”
    She said, “I mean, aside from when he was a teenager. He had a girlfriend that we knew, but only somewhat. In California, though, he’s always kept his girlfriends to himself. I’m not sure what that’s all about. I’m a nice person, easy to get along with.”
    She really was. “I don’t think it has anything to do with you,” I said. I wondered if he had ever so much as mentioned Tyler to his mother. Maybe it was better that I not find out the hard way.
    She lowered her voice and said, “He’s nothing like his father.”
    I just looked at Paula, her eyes radiating sincerity.
    “I know,” I said. “And for what it’s worth, I really love him.”
    Later, when we got back to her house, she made orange spice tea, and told me it was a Christmas tradition with her family that her great-grandmother started. I pretended to like it, but worried a little about future Christmases with her. I’d have to find a way around that. At least she didn’t offer me any fruitcake.
    I sat on the couch with a dog on each side of me. I couldn’t have told you which was Zeke and which was Dolly. But who really cared? They were cute and friendly, and the more time I spent at Paula’s house, the more I realized they truly were her live-in family.
    “This is wonderful,” she said, as she opened the Christmas gift I gave her. “I’m going to put it right up here.” She walked over to the fireplace and put it on the mantle, just above the three stockings, one of which had my name on it.
    The gift was a framed picture of Max and me, taken by Anthony on the night we had the cookout. The Pacific was in the background, the sun was setting, and Max had playfully grabbed me by the waist, dipped me in dramatic fashion, and kissed me. Anthony snapped the picture without us knowing.
    It was then that I noticed for the first time, despite having been in her house several times, that the only picture she had displayed in the entire house was one of Max as a baby. There were no other family photos. I wondered if there was a sad reason for that, and figured there probably was.
    The way she looked at the picture of Max and me made my heart warm.
    Paula said, “I have something for you, too.” She went to the Christmas tree and retrieved a small wrapped box.
    “You really shouldn’t have, Paula.”
    “Don’t be silly,” she said as she made her way over to the couch and sat down beside me. “I have that stocking with your name on it hung by the chimney with care” — she smiled and winked — “and even though I wish you were going to be here with us, I know how important it is to be with your family.” She held the box out.
    I opened my hand and took it. “Thank you.” I started to unwrap the paper, thinking the box was just the right size to hold a watch or bracelet.
    But it was neither. I opened the rectangular box to find a sterling silver spoon.
    “This,” Paula said, “was Max’s