The Real You

4. The Help

Mav's mom, Blanche, watches us stroll toward her. She must've just come home from work because she's clutching a worn black purse, and her hair is gathered in a low bun.

The fine lines on her forehead and either side of her mouth have deepened even more, and her eyes have puffiness to them that wasn't there last time I saw her. She works too much and is exhausted most of the time. Today isn't an exception because the smile she gives her son and me is weary.

"Tara. I'm so thankful you're here," she says and reaches out to rub my arm.

Shifting my weight, I glance at the grass beneath my feet. "Of course, I would be," I say and lift my gaze off the ground.

Blanche sighs and shakes her head when she registers the box with the cake in my hands and the gift in Mav's.

My heart feels heavy. How could it not? I've known Mav since we were little. I didn't have siblings to play with, and the boy living in the house next to our mansion was the only person my age I could talk to.

We might've grown up, but he's still one of my closest friends, and I'm not here because of pity, even though his mom seems to think that's why I keep visiting them. Her gratitude shouldn't bother me, but it does. I don't want Mav to think spending his birthday with him is an obligation.

"Let's have some tea," Blanche says, pointing a hand toward the house.

I draw an arm around Mav's shoulders as we follow her there. At five foot eight, I'm not short, but he's a couple of inches taller than me. Probably more than a couple if he straightened completely.

As Blanche turns the key in the lock, I steal a glance at Mav. A smile is glued to his lips. He's studying the butterfly tee, looking happy for the first time in a long while, which makes him even more handsome. I can't help but wonder if anyone else will ever see that or will care enough to get to know him.

Back when we were kids, Mav and I spent hours in his garden, observing butterflies. Maverick's dad had a lot to do with his son's hobby. Blake gave him a book about insects, and soon there wasn't a species Mav didn't know.

Fast forward a couple of years, and his parents split up. Maverick didn't take it well. He was shy before, but after his dad abandoned him, his shyness turned into long stretches of silence and refusal to spend time with kids his age other than me.

While I went on with my life, he never did the same. His body might've grown and changed, but he remained the same nine-year-old boy who found comfort in watching the creatures inhabiting his garden.

In the kitchen, Blanche puts the old kettle on and gives me saucers and teacups to place on the wobbly table. The chipped ceramic is another reminder of how different our lives are. I'd give her new cups if I was sure she wouldn't take it the wrong way.

After Blanche pours tea into the cups, I stick the candle in the center of Maverick's chocolate cake and light it.

"Make a wish," I say, kissing his cheek.