The soles of his overpriced leather shoes had been pacing the same stones back and forth for the last fifteen minutes. Every time Max's eyes fell onto the trellis leading back toward the gathering of guests he swore he was going to rejoin them, and every time he found himself turning on his heel and pivoting back in the direction that he had come from. Fingers played anxiously at the cufflinks that held his starched white shirt in place on his wrists, the pad of his thumb running over the gold inlay as the pattern of the filigree etched itself into his memory. There had been at least four times in the last fifteen minutes that he'd considered hightailing it out of there. Max had found out that Lou was his birth father just two months earlier when curiosity had gotten the best of him. A few aggravated calls to the adoption agency paired with a generous donation from the Reilly Foundation had garnered him the information that he was looking for, and in mid-January he'd found himself a father. A real, live, flesh and blood person with whom he shared half of his DNA. Of course he had graciously accepted the invitation to the wedding when Lou had offered. The idea of a declination hadn't ever crossed his mind.

Max had spent the last couple of days trying to make himself as perfect as humanly possible – to be the ideal image of the son that Lou had never had the chance to know. His barber had shaped up his hair, which he had let grow long and unruly over the winter months. Already he was missing the single piece that tended to fall into his eyes and the ability to tuck the longer strands behind his ears as a nervous tick. A hand drew through the shorter strands, coming to rest at the base of his neck as his head turned toward the barely audible echo of steps carried against the stone path. Max allowed his eyes to meet Lola's for a brief moment before he sheepishly dropped his gaze to the ground. "Sorry," he began, unsure of what he was apologizing for as his hands found their way into the front pockets of his dress pants and he rocked his weight back onto his heels. "Hair's too short. I told him to take a little off the sides – you know, shape it up a bit? – and now I look like I'm about to enlist." All he had wanted was to make a good impression. A good haircut, an expensive suit; things that would show his father that he had done okay in life. "And, even though our tailor told me that this was going to be fit to my measurements, the arms are way too long…" Max held out his sleeve to accentuate his point, one eyebrow gingerly arching over the other as he registered that she wasn't yet decked out in the bridal attire that he had expected. "Today isn't about me, though. How are things going over there on the bridal side?"

Max could feel his nervous ticks manifesting one after another as he consciously willed his feet to stop pacing the cobblestoned path. A month prior he had stood in front of a gallery of no less than a hundred of his peers to defend a thesis that it had taken him a year to produce, and yet somehow, he found himself to be more filled with anxiety now that he had back then. "I don't know, Lola," he began, his eyes dropping to his wrist as she adjusted the cuff against his skin. "You don't think this is too much? I don't want to be a ---" The word burden nearly dripped from his tongue before he deftly pulled it back. There hadn't been any kind of talk about expectations, or what kind of relationship he and Lou were supposed to share now that they had been sprung on one another. There were days when Max had debated whether or not he should have told Lou at all. He had been so fueled by the desire to understand where he had come from that he didn't stop to think about whether or not the feeling was mutual in both parties. Max hated suits. He hated ties and belts and shoes that needed shining, and yet he had made himself into the vision of what he thought the perfect son would look like. A package fancily wrapped in a suit that cost more than most people paid for a few month's rent.

A wrinkle appeared at the bridge of his nose as he furrowed his brow, choosing his next words more carefully. "I feel like my tailor measured me for two hours straight, I don't know how the sleeves came out this wrong." Diversion was something that Max had become incredibly skilled with in the years since his adoptive father's accident. It was easy to shift the attention off of himself and onto something trivial – his hair, the length of his sleeves, the stray thread that poked inconspicuously from the hem of his pants. Anything meaningless to get the focus off of himself and his "feelings". Max's ears perked as she talked about the bridal party, grateful for the change in pace as his arms folded lightly over his chest. For a half of a second, some of the weight against his shoulders lifted. "I'm really happy for you both, you know. You both seem like really genuine people and I'm just, uh… I'm glad I'm getting to know you." His fingers were back to playing with his cufflinks again as he met her gaze. "And thank you for inviting me. I know you didn't have to. I just – I guess I feel like I have a lot of time to make up for."

Max hadn't banked on the fact that he would feel any differently once he found out who his father was. After all, he had a good life. He had grown up with a veritable silver spoon in his mouth, wanting for nothing and considering himself lucky that arrangements had been made before he was bounced around in the system for years. He'd spent the last couple of months exchanging texts and emails with Lou, overexcited and overeager at the fact that his father wanted anything to do with him. He hadn't expected how much he wanted some kind of relationship with the guy, even after all these years. Max could play the role of the well-polished, high society rich kid – his mother had been grooming him for that for years, but the expensive suit, the cufflinks, the high-brow haircut, it was all an act. What he wanted more than anything was for Lou to get to know who he was outside of all the pomp and circumstance. His eyes were trained on her deftly moving fingers as his chin nodded up in acknowledgement. "I appreciate it," he offered, his fingers finding their way around the tailored cuff with a small smile, "It's your wedding day, and somehow you're less nervous than I am."

The irony wasn't lost on him. Max stopped for the first time in what felt like an hour of pacing, his elbows resting on his knees as he sat himself down on a stone bench in the center of the garden. His hand served as a resting place for his chin, a small smirk touching up at the corners of his lips when she brought up the reception. "If there's two things that can help to center my chi it's food and dancing." The admission came with a broader grin as he resisted the urge to pull his fingers through his newly shorn hair. It was still strange to hear Lou referred to in that way -- your father -- and he allowed the words to marinate in his mind for a brief moment before nodding his head. "You're right. There's plenty of time." Max was waffling between going to find Lou before the ceremony to wish him good luck in person or waiting it out until the reception was well underway. He was already here – there was no point in leaving now. "I'm going to hold you to that cup of tea. Maybe iced, with like, a ton of sugar…" Max looked up at her from his spot on the bench before pulling himself to his full (albeit short) height. "… But you better get going. Your bridesmaids are going to end up sending out a search party soon. I've been in a wedding or two, they don't mess around."

The sounds of idle chatter could be heard vibrating through the air from somewhere over his shoulder, indicating that the wedding guests had begun to file in to the venue. Max was ready – as ready as he would ever be – and he reached a hand out to snatch his folded suit jacket from the bench, shrugging it over his shoulders in a quick movement. Underneath the sleeves of the suit coat, the quick pin-job at his wrists was barely noticeable, and he was gracious for the small victories. With a quirked brow, newly relaxed hands fell into the pockets of his jacket and pulled it tighter around his small frame. "C'mon, Lola. You take the sugar out of the tea and it's basically just fancy water." His trademark grin had returned to his face as he reached his fingers up to adjust the flower that had been hastily pinned to his lapel. "Whatever you guys want to do. I'm… around, I guess." Max still felt like he had to tread carefully, not to press himself too far into their already established lives. While Lola and Lou had been nothing but inviting to him since he had sprung the news upon the two of them, there were times, at no fault of theirs, that he still felt like an intruder.

Max was still shaking off the annoyingly heavy feeling when her arms encircled his shoulders. There was a vague look of shock written across his features that, gratefully, was out of her line of vision. The moment of confusion passed as quickly as it had come on, and he allowed himself to lean into the embrace. Growing up with a CEO for a mother wasn't without its own difficulties. Max had grown up getting hugs and maternal affection from nannies and babysitters instead of his own mother, who often chose business meetings in big cities over birthday parties and graduations. When Lola pulled back to her own space, Max tried to keep the smile on his face as discrete as possible while averting his gaze to the ground. He heard the sound of footsteps paired with the furious clicking of heels before he saw the irritated face of someone – instincts told him it was a bridesmaid – peering around the trellis at the two of them.

"That's probably your signal." Max took a step back with an apologetic smile, holding both hands up in front of his chest in a mock surrender. The bridesmaid's arms were crossed lightly over her chest, her nonverbal cues telling him that now was the time to head into the venue to join the rest of the wedding guests. "Alright, I'm going, I'm going." He turned back to Lola for the briefest of moments, not wanting to catch the ire of the irritated bridesmaid who was waiting to get the bride in her dress. "Thanks again," he began, fingers gesturing to his delicately pinned sleeve. "For the quick fix and for the pep talk. I'll see you after the ceremony… maybe you can make some tea suggestions that don't need 17 sugar cubes to make them mildly drinkable." Or, he could find something a little stronger in the reception area that would loosen up his tightly wound nerves. Fingers were tipped against his brow in a salute as he turned on his heel in the direction of the venue. "See ya soon, Mrs."