Asha
I don’t know what has gotten into Max, but he has been acting off since lunch.
He didn’t want dessert. Who doesn’t want dessert? I’m pretty sure if you skip dessert, there is something really wrong with you. And I don’t think he has diabetes.
“So, now that you know how to cook. Are you going to make us some dinner?” I ask, jokingly. He hasn’t really learned how to cook yet, but I am trying to get him to talk. Maybe I can try to figure out what is going on.
“Sure,” he responds, not even turning to look at me. What a buzz killer. He parks the car in the garage, quickly gets out of the car, and takes long strides until he disappears.
I enter the house. It’s eerily quiet, and there is no sign of Max. The house looks dark and empty, just like it used to before he entered my life.
