Melted: A MaxTul AU story

Ninety-three: Pieces of Peace

Author's Note: I'm sorry that I didn't post anything last week, but as some of you know the semester started at the same time the Omicron variant was surging where I live. And since I'm in charge of coordinating COVID testing logisitics and mitigation, there was a LOT of work. I've been working 12-14 hour work days, and falling asleep while eating dinner.

I'm hoping that either the next chapter will be the last or the one after that.

Thanks for staying with me.

And yes, that picture above is an interior picture of the restaurant in the chapter.

***

Apasiri stared at her son. She couldn't figure out his mood. He wasn't sad. He wasn't upset. Distracted? Bewildered?

Ever since they had come home from Mik's funeral, Tul had walked around as if most of his mind was somewhere else. She knew her son always had a lot going on, but what was confusing her now was how whatever was on his mind this time seemed to have stunned him completely.

She finally had to say something when she saw him pouring her some juice. It wasn't that he didn't pick the right juice or that something was wrong with the glass; it was the fact that he didn't stop pouring even after the glass was full. He was looking right at the glass as he poured, but he just kept pouring and pouring and . . .

"Tul!"

"Yes, Mae?" Tul stopped pouring and looked at his mother as if she had awoken him from sleep. He stood there looking at her not seeing the pool of juice or how it was close to pouring over the counter onto the floor.

Apasiri hurried over, grabbing a towel, and started to wipe. "What is going on with you?"

Tul slowly began to comprehend what she was doing and, as a result, what he had been doing.

"Oh, sorry, Mae," he said, going to grab a towel, too, to help her wipe off the counter. "I didn't even realize I was doing that."

"I know," she said with a chuckle. "Care to tell me what's going on? You don't look sick or anything. In fact, you look like you're blooming, but I have to say your distraction is worrying."

She took both towels to the sink to rinse them out. She wet a dishtowel and looked for some soap. Wiping that counter down with just water wasn't going to be enough for the sticky mess Tul had created.

When she turned back to Tul, he was standing there with a broad, slightly crazy, grin.

"I'm getting married," he said to her.

She looked again at her son, an eyebrow raised and said in a deadpanned if kind voice. "I know, Tul. Everyone knows. It's been on every news program and in every tabloid. People seem to be as interested in your engagement as they are in what that woman did."

Apasiri wrinkled her nose in distaste. Every time she thought about Metinee Pakorn since the shooting, she wanted to set fire to something. She supposed that this response was better than what her response used to be: abject fear and then nausea.

She looked back at her son wondering why he looked the way he did. He didn't even look like this when he and Max had come back from the farm after the proposal.

"No, Mae," Tul said, taking the towel from her and sweeping her into his arms. Tul swirled his mother around like they were in the middle of a ballroom, and though she didn't know what this was about, she had to laugh because her son looked so happy.

"Max talked about planning a wedding," Tul said as he swirled her around in a waltz (a dance he knew well because Metinee had forced him and Plustor to take ballroom dancing lessons—to not embarrass Channarong at big events). Tul grinned at his mother more as everything started sinking in. The words flooded out of his mouth as they danced.