Chapter Text
Dinner with the Caulfields hasn’t gotten any less awkward in the three months since the storm. If anything, it’s gotten worse.
Chloe’s been trying. She really, really has. She always walks around the corner from the house when she needs a cigarette no matter how hard it’s raining, and she’s down to three smokes a day at this point anyway. She hasn’t smoked pot at all, apart from a couple times when they were hanging out with Max’s friends and they offered. She made very, very sure to cover the scent on both herself and Max before they got back, but somehow she suspects Max’s parents still knew. She grew out the last remnants of blue in her hair because Vanessa wouldn’t stop making snide comments about it. Of course, as soon as she cut off everything but the three or four inches of remaining blonde Vanessa just started snarking about her hair being too short. She never complains about being compelled to sleep on the couch even though Max said she’d be happy to share her room. Even though there’s a fucking guest room right next to Max’s room, but “oh what if Max’s grandparents want to come for a visit; we can’t have the sheets smelling like cigarettes” - never mind that nobody’s come to visit at all since they’ve been here. Even though her nightmares since they left Arcadia Bay have been The Worst and it’d be really nice to have a living person nearby when she wakes up from them in the dead of night.
She’s even been looking for a job so she can start paying rent like the Caulfields keep unsubtly hinting they want her to. Funny thing, though: turns out high school dropouts with no work experience, a criminal record, severe PTSD symptoms, and highly visible tattoos aren’t exactly in high demand in the workforce. Go figure.
Earlier that day she even had her first interview in over a month: an underpaid barista gig at a local coffee shop. She’d showered and brushed her teeth and made sure she was wearing clean, unstained, untorn clothes and everything. She’d even shaved her legs, which was probably stupid because it’s January and there was no way in hell the interviewer would see her legs, but she was just so desperate to make a good impression she wasn’t thinking clearly.
So of course she fucked it all up. Honestly, it was fucked before she even went in. They probably only even called her in to meet a quota or some shit. The person interviewing her liked her tattoos, which seemed promising, but he liked her criminal record and total lack of experience a lot less. Classic Chloe Price: fucking up every opportunity before she even enters the room.
So when the Caulfields start laying into her over “family” dinner, she’s even less in the mood for it than usual. It starts with a couple of none-too-subtle digs about the smell of cigarettes, and what an unpleasant smell that is for a non-smoker to endure when they’re trying to eat, and Maxine, dear, can you even imagine marrying a smoker and how awful that would be; why, they’ve all got one foot in the grave already. Chloe put on cologne and brushed her teeth again after the cigarette she stress-smoked after her interview, but Vanessa’s got the nose of a bloodhound.
This is followed by a series of apparently-casual-but-actually-very-rehearsed comments to Max about colleges in the area, and what a great idea it would be for her to apply to one of them when she finishes her GED so she can further her education and still live at home with her parents; certainly she won’t want to stray far from home again, not with, well, everything that happened at Blackwell (not that the Caulfields ever actually talk about what happened at Blackwell). Nobody asks Chloe how her GED is going (surprisingly well, actually) or what her plans for college might be (waste of time and money, probably), and Max just quietly pushes her peas around on her plate and tries to answer without answering.
Once this line of questioning (pressuring) is exhausted, Ryan turns his attention to Chloe - the first time anybody but Max has addressed her directly since she returned this afternoon. “So, Chloe. Maxine tells us you had a job interview today.”
Max almost chokes on her peas, flicking frantic blue eyes toward Chloe to silently scream that ohfuckshedidnotmeanforthistobedinnerconversationpleasepleasepleaseforgive.
Chloe swallows the impulse to put a calming hand on Max’s knee to reassure her; no way that would escape Vanessa’s eagle eyes. Instead, she clears her throat and focuses on the crumbs in Ryan’s beard. “Uh, yeah. Coffee shop.”
“That’s great!” Ryan’s enthusiasm catches Chloe utterly off-guard.
“It… is?” She glances at Max to nonverbally inquire whether Max’s dad has perhaps been replaced by a pod person in the past five minutes. Max shrugs silently, looking as baffled as Chloe feels.
“It is!” Ryan affirms. “I have to say, it’s good to see you showing some initiative. Of course, it’s been, ahh, a real... trip down memory lane, having you with us. But, well, one cannot live on nostalgia alone - however much Max may disagree, with her polaroid and her vinyl collection.” Ryan chuckles, shaking his head as he gazes fondly at his increasingly confused daughter. “And, of course, one cannot live on charity alone.” His gaze settles on Chloe once more, every trace of fondness now abruptly vanished.
“...Dad?”
“Now, now, Maxine; I know it’ll be an adjustment, but--”
“Are you kicking me out??” Somehow, Chloe manages to squeeze the words out even though her lungs feel like they’ve been punched out of her chest.
Ryan and Vanessa exchange a look, and holy shit they totally fucking are.
“Dad? Mom?” Max’s voice is trembling. She sounds like she’s about to cry. It’s hard to confirm, since all Chloe can see is red. “Are you?”
“‘Kicking out’ is a bit harsh,” Ryan objects without denying it. “But it’s been three months, Maxine, and we all agreed that this arrangement would only be temporary. It simply seems--”
Max stands abruptly, her silverware rattling on the table. “She-- She didn’t even get the job, Dad! It’s just an interview; she might not even--”
“Maxine, really!” Vanessa exclaims, mortified.
“Now, Maxine; we’re not going to just throw her out on the street. But--”
Chloe can’t listen to another word of this. She’s fucked. She’s completely and utterly fucked. She already lost her parents, her hometown, everything she owned, Rachel, everyone and everything but what she’s managed to scrape together here in Seattle… And now she’s going to lose that, too. She’s not going to get the job. She won’t have anywhere to live. Max’s parents won’t let her visit. She’ll probably never see Max again. And honestly, Max will be better off for it.
Chloe’s not sure how she got to Max’s room or how long she’s been there, but the next thing she knows she’s being spooned by a puffy-eyed Max on the too-small bed Max slept in the five years they were apart. Max is saying something to her, and it takes a few minutes before Chloe can make out anything more detailed than the sweet softness of her voice, the slight, familiar rasp to it like she’s always just woken up.
“I’m sorry,” she’s whispering over and over, “I’m sorry.”
“S’okay,” Chloe murmurs when she can persuade her vocal cords to engage. “S’not your fault your parents are dicks.”
Max freezes for a moment then squeezes Chloe tightly. “I’ll talk to them,” she promises.
“Nah.” Chloe shakes her head. Her eyes hurt. “No reason you should tank your relationship with your folks just because I’m a fuckup. I’ll figure something out.”
“You’re not a fuckup!” Max objects, pulling away so she can look Chloe in the eye. “You’re not,” she insists when Chloe gives her a skeptical look. “My parents are just…” She lets out a burdened sigh.
“Dicks?” Chloe suggests.
“Yeah.” She strokes Chloe’s hair in silence, and Chloe lets her. She relaxes into the quiet of the moment. It’s going to be okay. Somehow, it’s going to be okay. She has no idea how, but Max will make it happen. Eventually, Max’s hand stills and Chloe can feel her chest tense as words attempt to form in her mouth. She waits patiently for whatever Max is trying to figure out how to say. “We should go somewhere. Just the two of us. How does that sound?”
Chloe lifts her head from Max’s shoulder to look her in the eye. Max looks slightly nervous, but mostly she looks determined. “You’re serious?”
Max nods. “Completely. Anywhere you want.” She scratches the back of her neck and gives Chloe a sheepish smile. “Well. Anywhere you want that we can realistically get to, anyway.”
“Hmm, good point. We probably can’t drive to Paris.”
Max laughs. “So you want to? No nagging, no job interviews, no--”
“No separate beds?” Chloe cuts in.
Max makes a face at her then giggles. “No separate beds,” she agrees. “Just Max and Chloe and the open road.”
“Uhhh, no shit I want to! But your parents--”
“They’ll get over it.” Max shrugs. “Or they won’t. But if it’s a choice between staying here without you or leaving with you, then I’m with you to the end of the road.”
There are a million things that Chloe should say. Admonishments, expressions of gratitude, admissions of fear, declarations of love. Chloe swallows them all when Max leans in for her kiss.