#parker my babygirl sorry ur not in a better show

[witchofinterest]

"you do know i have a first name?" + whoever this could work for !

ohhh, thank you! I’m gonna write Parker! I’m just gonna drop you in the middle of this let’s go!

Parker sat in the chair in front of Max’s, her dads, counter. He’d left a plate of cookies which she thought was really funny but she hadn’t touched them. One, because they chips ahoy which is easily the worst store bought cookie and two, simply because she was too excited.

She could hear her dad and some guy named Michael arguing about something in the other room. She was pretty sure she was part of the argument but they’d also clearly been arguing before she came in, so she wasn’t the root cause.

With some social media stalking of her dad she knew Michael was a family friend that had only started appearing again recently, though they’d gone to high school together. There was a photo of them, along with Max’s sister Isobel, on the bleachers looking incredibly happy. She’d never been that close with anyone, except her mom. Well, maybe this was a new chance! Her mom was a loner who’d raised one but her dad was liked by lots of people. Maybe he could teach her how.

Given that she did not hear the argument winding down, she hopped off her stool and decided to explore.

She went over to the bookcases lining the wall and started checking out the titles. It was in the dewey decimal system which made her giggle. Her dad was a huge nerd who used the dewey decimal system for his home library.

“Are you stealing?” Michael asked, catching her off guard as he stormed into the room.

“I wasn’t even touching anything,” she said as she put her hands up. Max followed him with a resigned look.

“I believe you, you can put your hands down,” he said, wiping his face with his hand.

“Well I don’t, she is not your kid,” Michael said, pointedly ignoring her presence.

“Funny, that’s not what it says on my birth certificate,” she shot back at him, making him glare at her.

“There’s often more than one person with the same name, there’s probably a 75 Max Evans in Roswell alone,” Michael argued.

“37 actually and only one that went to high school with my mom,” she informed him.

“Sweetheart, just because I went to high school with your mom doesn’t mean I’m your dad,” Max explained gently.

“Then why would she name you on my birth certificate?” she asked, going over to her backpack and getting it out. She handed it to him, along with photos she found of him and her mom.

Michael grabbed her bag from her hands, rooting around in it. He pulled out some other photos and scoffed.

“Stalk much?” he asked, showing Max printed out photos from high school.

“I was curious! 14 years of knowing nothing about my father other than he was probably a brunette does that to a girl,” she said before adding “besides, if you don’t want people to see your old photos you shouldn’t have a public facebook.”

“You still have a facebook?” Michael asked disgustedly.

“I haven’t used it in years!” he said, still looking at the letter he had written Tess back in high school.

“Still, your mom could’ve met another Max Evans after she graduated,” Michael said.

“Sure, I mean I was born exactly seven months she graduated, which means she would’ve had to have met another Max Evans while she was still in high school, and there’s no other record of another anywhere near where she was living. But I guess it’s possible,” she shrugged.

“Who’s your mom anyway?” Michael asked, crossing his arms.

“Tess Hardy,” she answered shortly. That answer made Michael scowl and Max look up.

“And how come your mom’s not here?” he asked, a small smile on his face. It unnerved her a bit.

“She’s at work, busy day,” she shrugged.

“So I can’t call her?” he asked, smiling more.

“Well you could but I’m not giving you her number,” she smiled back, wider.

“Max, we have way bigger problems than this kid’s daddy issues,” Michael said pointedly.

“You do know I have a first name?” she asked him.

“One I will not be learning,” he answered, as Max pulled out his phone and dialed someone.

“Hey Izzy, I need you to do me a favor, could you find a way to get me Tess from high school’s number, stat? Thanks, I’ll tell you about it later,” he hung up.

“You are so screwed,” Michael whispered to her.