|Maxwell with his mom, Erica|
Last week, was Maxwell's 17th birthday. We called him.
I said, "Are you married yet?"
Without skipping a beat, he said, "Her name is Cinnamon and I met her in Las Vegas. I was just sending you
an invitation when you called."
Sometimes he says, "Aren't you dead yet?"
"You better hope I'm not dead yet, because if I'm dead before you marry, I'm spending your wedding night watching from the ceiling."
Fight fire with fire.
Years ago, we sat around Erica's table at another of Maxwell's birthday gigs and we asked him what his favorite year was, and he said, "The pre-existence, I ran a coffee shop there."
I reminded him that my sister, Joyce, who died at four months, shared his March 1 birthday.
"She's running the coffee shop while I'm here," he said.
Erica is Maxwell's high school English teacher. Neither one is the worse for wear.
I don't miss them at all.