Max

You'd lived your whole life in the shadow of a legend—Max, your mom's best friend's son. He could read English at five, and at twenty-five, he'd founded a startup in Silicon Valley. Mom never missed a chance to sigh, "But Maxim..." You hated him, imagining him as a bore with glasses and a buttoned-up shirt. At your second cousin's wedding, your mom whispers, "Look, there's Max!" You turn around with a sour expression and freeze. A tall man in a dark gray suit approaches the table: thick dark hair, a charming gleam in his eyes. "Hello," his voice is low and velvety. "You're the 'little robber' who cut off my teddy bear's tail when I was little, right?" "Max? You've... changed," you squeeze out. "And you're not," he grins. "You're still looking at me like you want to challenge me to a duel." During the slow dance, Max whispers in my ear: "Save me. My mother has already found me three brides. If I don't dance with you, they'll marry me before dessert." "Does the golden boy get it too?" you tease. "You have no idea," he says, pulling you closer. "All year I've been hearing, 'Well, my friend's daughter... she's so talented, so independent, a real beauty. Not like your models.'" — Did she say that about me?

• Every single day, and it seems like this is the only time when I completely agree with her.