Chapter Text
1- The first day
It all started on Max’s first day at SPRQ. He was nervous, because this was the beginning of a new adventure. Luckily, he had kept in touch with Zoey, so he knew a bit about what to expect on the fourth floor.
What he did not expect, however, was a brown paper bag with his name on it waiting on his desk. He opened it to find a turkey sandwich, apple, a bag of chips and a fruit roll-up. There was a handwritten note on a sheet of lined paper.
“Good luck today. You’ll do great. Keep my daughter in line. Just kidding. Don’t try to do that because she might kill you. She’s her mother in a lot of ways. -Mitch Clarke
Max stared, mouth agape at the note.
Zoey’s dad had made him lunch for his first day at SPRQ.
Max couldn’t remember his own dad ever doing that for him. His relationship with Alan was cordial at best, fraught with tension and disappointment at its worst.
He walked over to Zoey’s desk.
“Hey.”
“Hi Max! Welcome to the fourth floor.” She smiled at him, her eyes lighting up.
Max took a small breath before asking the question.
“Why did your dad make me lunch?”
Zoey hesitated a bit before answering.
“We were talking last night about how your family lives in New York and that you don’t have such a great relationship with your dad. I hope I didn’t overstep. My dad, being who he is, insisted that he make you lunch. I really hope that’s okay.” She looked down at her desk, cheeks flushing.
Max smiled. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.”
As he ate his lunch with Zoey, Max thought that the Clarke family just might become the family he’s always wanted.
2-Wisdom teeth
The irony of the dentist’s kid needing all four wisdom teeth removed at once was not lost on Max. Yet, here he was, sitting in the oral surgery office, ready to be put under. Mitch looked at him.
“Ready for this?”
Max fiddled nervously with his registration form.
“Yes.” He paused. “Hey, Mitch, thanks for coming with me. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course. I can’t believe you were thinking of doing this alone and taking an uber home. How would you get up the stairs to your apartment?” Mitch smiled at him, and Max felt more relaxed.
Four hours later, Max woke up on the couch at the Clarke house. He couldn’t remember exactly how he got there, but he vaguely remembered telling Mitch that he was the best, and singing Billy Joel loudly in the car on the way home.
Or, maybe it was Elton John. Whatever it was, Max assumed it was loud.
“Oh, you’re up. How are you feeling?” Mitch came into the living room with a tray. “I made you some lunch. Now, you can only eat a few things, so we have some mashed potatoes and applesauce, and my personal favorite, butterscotch pudding. The water is room temperature, because it says so on the discharge instructions.”
Max smiled at Mitch. Well, as much as he could smile with a swollen face and some anesthesia still coursing through his system. Maybe it was the come-down from the medication, or perhaps he was imagining things, but Max is pretty certain he teared up a little bit.
“Twankkss Mits. I weer eee applecia late it.”
Mitch laughed. “The anesthesia hasn’t worn off I see. Wait until you see the video I took.”
Max startled. “Wid ee ooh? Wud wid ee ooh? Mits come baaccckk.”
Mitch smiled at him over his shoulder and winked as he went back into the kitchen.
The next day, Max found a paper bag on his kitchen table. It was filled with fruit roll-ups.
The note simply said “for later.”
3-The Visit
“I just wish, for once, that he said he was proud of me.” Max paced around the Clarke kitchen.
Mitch was busy at the stove. It was a rainy Friday afternoon, and Max had just returned from dropping Alan Richman off at the airport. Max had stopped by the Clarke house, hoping someone would be home. He needed to be with his second family after the visit from his dad. He knew Zoey was at work, but was happy when Mitch opened the door.
“Max! What a surprise! Why aren’t you at work? Come in, I’m making chicken noodle soup.”
Max had slumped down at the kitchen table, placing his head on his hands and looking miserable. Without a word, Mitch placed a beer in front of Max and put his hand on his shoulder, silently letting him know that he was there to listen.
After a few minutes, Max spoke and began pacing.
“I had a few days off because my dad was visiting for a conference. I thought that maybe we could do something fun together, father and son. But of course, it turned into a lecture about my ambition, or lack thereof, and how I needed to move back home. I’ve never had any desire to be a dentist or work in the family business, and he knows that.”
Mitch stirred the soup, silently nodding. “I just wish we had the kind of relationship that you have with Zoey and David,” Max said sadly. He went back to the table and slumped in the chair again.
Mitch placed two bowls of steaming hot chicken noodle soup and rolls on the table, and sat down across from Max. He took a spoonful of soup, and looked Max in the eye.
“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. You’re like another son to me, and if your dad can’t see how great you are, it’s his loss.”
Max might have started to tear up a little, but maybe it was the steam from the soup. Either way, he looked at Mitch and smiled softly. “Thank you.”
They continued their lunch in silence. Afterwards, Mitch went to the pantry and took out a box.
“Dessert?”
“Absolutely,” Max replied as he took the fruit roll-up and opened it, shoving it into his mouth in delight.
4-Day after Thanksgiving
Max awoke with a start. Where the hell was he?
Oh, right. David’s old bedroom.
He had spent the previous day, Thanksgiving, with his favorite family. Maggie had outdone herself, and everyone ate ungodly amounts of food. After football and dessert, Max had planned on going home.
His body and the tryptophan from the turkey had other ideas. Zoey had nudged him awake at 9pm, where he had spent the previous hour asleep on the couch, head back and possibly drooling.
“Sleepyhead, go upstairs. My mom got David’s old room ready for you. She has an extra toothbrush and I’m sure we can find you something to sleep in.”
Max stood up, stretching. “Yeah, that sounds great. Are you staying over too?”
“Definitely. Mom and I are getting up at 4am to hit the Black Friday sales. Nothing like a little shoving match at Target to get your day started.” Zoey turned on her heel and headed upstairs, Max following her.
He stopped at the door to David’s room and looked at Zoey.
“Goodnight, Zo. And thank you for including me in your family holidays.”
“Anytime. You’re like family to us.” She gave him a hug. “Oh, do you need sweats or something?”
Max gave her a sly look. “That won’t be necessary.” He shot her a shit-eating grin, and closed the door behind him. He missed Zoey staring at the door for a good 30 seconds, pondering why he didn’t need sweats. Or perhaps she was pondering something else, but he’d never know.
---
He found Mitch in the greenhouse.
“Good morning, or should I say mid-morning. Did you sleep well?”
“I slept great. What are you doing?”
“Oh, just starting some seedlings for a new garden we’re working on. Want to learn?”
“Sure. I can keep a plant alive.”
“It’s more complicated than that. Here. Watch me.”
For the next hour, the two men planted seedlings, with Mitch explaining soil nutrients and watering techniques to Max.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, though I shouldn’t be after all of that food yesterday. Maggie is a great cook.”
Mitch laughed. “She is, but know what I do better? Leftovers.”
They went to the kitchen, and Mitch pulled out the leftovers. He took out a frying pan and some bread, getting to work concocting a sandwich. A few minutes later, he presented a plate to Max, leftovers piled high in between two slices of fried bread.
“I call this the Mitch special.”
Zoey and Maggie returned halfway through their lunch, finding the men chatting and laughing over giant sandwiches and soda.
“Oh, a dad special. Can I have one?,” Zoey asked. “Shopping makes me famished, and let’s not discuss what I had to do to get the sweater I wanted.” She plopped down at the table, kicking her shoes off.
“Yes, you can have a sandwich under one condition.”
“What’s that, dad?”
“Tell me what you got me for Christmas.”
Zoey stuck her tongue out at her dad as he set to work at the stove.
Max looked around at his surrogate family, warmth radiating throughout his body. This is what he wanted his whole life, and he finally found it.
Maggie insisted on sending him home with enough leftovers to feed a small army. As he unpacked the bag at home, he found it buried in the bottom.
A paper lunch sack with fruit roll-ups and a note from Mitch.
“Don’t tell Maggie.”
5- Advice
“This is really good Mitch. Why is it when someone else makes you a sandwich it always tastes better?” Max chomped down on the tuna salad sandwich, hearing the chips he shoved in there crunching.
“Well, I think because when someone cares about you, they put love into the food they make for you. So what’s going on? It sounded urgent.”
Max sighed. “Sorry to alarm you. I just feel...lost? Confused? And I needed some advice, which we know my father will not give me.”
Mitch took a bit of his sandwich. “Shoot.”
“Okay. So first, I broke up with Ali last week. It was a long time coming, but I still feel bad. Then, I messed up some code at work which sent the team back an entire day. I know Zoey doesn’t blame me for it, but I feel terrible. I don’t know, I guess I feel...stuck? Like maybe I need a change or something to kickstart my creativity again? Does that make sense?”
“It makes complete sense. As for work, you’re human and there are always going to be ups and downs. And I know my daughter, and she definitely wouldn’t blame you. People make mistakes. In the romance department, I’d say keep going. The right woman is out there for you.” Mitch paused. “Hopefully she’ll realize it soon.”
And with that sentiment, Mitch cleared his plate from the table, leaving Max to contemplate that last sentence. Or perhaps obsess over it all night, while he ate all six fruit roll-ups Mitch had handed to him in a paper bag as he was leaving.
The note said: “She’ll realize it. Don’t give up hope.”
Max might have started crying a little (ok, it was more of a sob or a bawl) into the wrapper, but he would never admit that.