Chapter 2
NOW: MAGGIE
Maggie had thought she could do this. Damien had made it seem so possible before he left.
His urging of “call her” seemed like a far away echo as Maggie tried to catch her breath, something she hadn’t been able to do since she left Boston.
She had watched her hands tremble as she’d packed up their once-family home and wasn’t sure they’d stop trembling since.
Even with her daughter, Maya, by her side during the move.
Now she was standing in a processing room she hadn’t seen since she was eighteen.
Dry-mouthed, her knees vibrating with nerves, she was watching Maya introduce herself effortlessly to a young woman named Hanna, and to Diana's daughter, Lily, who carried the same confident and fierce air as her mother.
All three women were so young, so full of possibilities.
So free to move about in the wider world.
When Maggie was eighteen, these walls and this property had been her only form of freedom.
Until now, maybe.
Maggie had felt the guilt that was now ever-present in her stomach slosh around, followed by the flare of anger that was never too far behind.
Damien had done this. He had broken their promise and divorced her.
And now he was chasing dreams or love or whatever in Manhattan, while Maggie had been left behind to figure out her life.
There was a little voice that noted she had done this to Maya too, but she quickly ignored it.
“I need my baby girl,” she had said to her daughter before setting off for Maplewood.
She had been ashamed at how much she needed her, how their roles seemed to have reversed.
Gone was the little brown girl with puffy oily hair and wide brown eyes.
She had turned into this beautiful college senior, assured and calm, relaxed and confident.
She still had the coils and wide brown eyes, but her eyes were older now, more refined but still full of spark.
She was no longer a girl but a fully grown woman.
Still, she would always be Maggie’s baby.
Maya had agreed to come with her to Maplewood, to start over in the only other place she’d felt at home.
At least there was that. She had tried to get Maya to chat and sing Shania in the car as a distraction, but Maggie knew Maya was still trying to understand why her parents had decided, after all this time, to divorce.
A reason Maggie was sure she owed Maya, she and Damien both did, but she was unsure of how to give it to her.
Instead they made the trip and Maggie braced herself for Maplewood and the only woman she had ever wanted to be with, to love with her whole body and soul.
Diana, the woman whose heart she’d broken so many times, who would still, in her time of need, keep her safe.
Once they got to Diana Blake’s orchard property, Diana introduced Maya to her daughter Lily, a near carbon copy of her mother, though taller, with blonde hair, navy blue eyes and pale skin.
There was another young woman there, who Maggie learned was named Hanna, the daughter of a very old acquaintance once upon a time.
But before Maggie could process any of that, in what seemed like a matter of moments, they were alone together. Maggie had allowed Diana to lead her away from Maya, and now she was trudging quietly being her.
This is good, Maya needs to meet some of the other girls here.
Though she supposed, Maya hadn’t been a girl for a long time.
When did that happen? Her little girl had turned into a woman, far braver than her.
But then Maggie supposed she had to be, as one of the only Black girls in her school, and then when she came out, there had been that layer of complexity added into the mix.
This was something Maggie didn’t fully understand about her daughter, a point that shamed her, and so she often tried to lend optimistic words to her instead.
Words that seemed to deepen this one gap they had between each other.
As Maggie took in the breathtaking fall scapes around the Blake property, she found herself chuckling at how she had such a daughter who didn’t give a fuck how different she was.
If only she had been that brave at her age.
Looking at the back of Diana, her slender neck, just visible through her short blonde hair, the sturdiness of her thighs, and, how they were topped off by her cute ass – that Maggie was definitely trying not to look at, and not think about the many times she held it and felt steadied.
They were approaching the familiar white house with black shutters and dreamy wraparound porch, she still didn’t think she could, but supposed she and Diana were going to have to talk.
Maggie only half regretted calling Diana.
She had been at the end of her rope, a bottle or two of wine in.
Damien had finally left. She couldn’t remember making the call, but she could remember her surprise when Diana answered.
And while also she couldn’t remember what was said, she knew that she had begged — pleaded for Diana.
The next morning, hungover and cottonmouthed, she had seen the text from Diana:
ZDiana Blake
You are always welcome. Stay as long as you need.
Maggie had felt a low swoop in her belly, the fuzzy memory of her reaching out the night before struggling to right itself in her mind, and she cringed at the fact that after all the years, she couldn’t bring herself to delete the woman’s number, and that even her tactic of adding a “Z” to the beginning of her name so that she never saw it when scrolling through her contacts or when typing out someone’s name that started with “D”, had failed her.
But truthfully, Maggie had nowhere else to go.
The separation and divorce had pulled her world out from under her.
And while she understood why Damien did it, she wasn’t sure she was ready to forgive him, which she hated herself for, which made her hate him.
He’d left to go chase love in Manhattan, and she couldn’t bear to be that woman left behind in Boston.
She needed to start over too, she just didn’t know where or how yet. Her wounds were too raw.
Coming back to Maplewood scared her, but she could see her drunken self’s point: this had been her home once.
And while this stay would undoubtedly be uncomfortable, in some ways, it would be a comfort too.
There was no way for her to stay with her mother, thank god, and Damien had been right in urging her to call Diana.
So she had. What had it said then, that out of everyone in her life, she still called the last girl that had seen her truly smile?
Maggie didn’t want to ruminate on whether or not that included Maya.
She loved her daughter fiercely; she had no idea that she could love that much, until that baby had been placed on her chest. But there had always been something missing inside her, and maybe a part of her hated Damien because she was envious that he’d found the bravery to fight for it.
As they approached the back door of the multi-story house, Diana said, “Shit Mags, how long has it been since you’ve been here?”
This pulled Maggie up short in her own mind. For she knew how long it had been. It hadn’t been since then, that time. “Not since your parents’,” Maggie humored Diana.
“Yeah I suppose not since then. Well, not much has changed,” Diana said as she opened the back door and gestured for Maggie to go inside.
“You’re the big boss now,” Maggie said as she crossed the doorway.
“Yeah, I suppose that’s changed.”
As they entered the back of the home, which started with a mud room, Maggie took in the space.
It hadn’t changed much from what she could tell—the same hard white oak floors, deep moss green walls—Maggie hung her jacket on the rack that sat above a rickety, lopsided slab of wood that she supposed was a bench.
She paused, “Is that—?” She turned to question Diana, who had come up behind her, hanging up her jacket and then bending down to pull off her rubber boots. Her face was down and her blonde hair covered it, but Maggie caught the slight smile on her face.
“It is, I found it a few years back and thought it could use a better home than the attic,” Diana said, as if nothing was amiss.
Memories flooded through Maggie at the sight of the bench, the day Julia had brought it home and offered it to Diana like it was the most beautiful thing.
It was not. More memories threatened to rush forward, memories she quickly pushed to the back of her mind, grimacing slightly as if she were physically shoving them down.
She was already off-kilter in Maplewood, on the Blake’s property, in this house.
Maggie quickly pulled off her duck boots and turned to a waiting Diana.
“Want something warm to drink? Warm cider?” Diana asked.
“I would actually, that sounds great, you know I’ve always loved the Blake family cider,” Maggie said awkwardly.
“Just the cider?” Diana said, but then swept past the moment by continuing, “Great, kitchen is this way.” She gestured down the hall off the mud room.
“I know,” Maggie said quietly, and as Diana kept walking in front of her, her long blonde bob swaying from side to side, she wasn’t sure she’d heard her.
Once in the kitchen, Maggie saw some things had changed, the countertops of the once-white counters and cabinets had been replaced with butcher block, and the kitchen was a vivid red instead of the muted blue it had been when they were in high school.
“Red,” Maggie said, looking around. Diana moved around the kitchen island to the silver fridge. It looked twice the size of a regular fridge, though given Diana’s work, Maggie supposed she opted for restaurant grade everything.
“Yeah well, the previous type of blue that was here was a bit, stale? Sterile? Boring?” Diana said as she opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of cider, her voice questioning each word as if trying it on.
“Well,” Maggie chuckled as Diana moved to retrieve a pot from the rack hanging over the island, “the red suits you.”
Diana took a second to fix her ocean-blue gaze on Maggie, and she felt her heart skip.
“I suppose it does,” Diana finally said, moving towards the stove.
“I mean, almost no one used the kitchen outside of the staff. It never felt ‘homey’, you know?” Diana said as she poured some of the cider into the pot.
She looked over her shoulder and then said, “Feel free to sit, this will take a minute.”
Maggie looked at the stools lining the island and took a seat, grateful they all had a small back to them..
“So, the staff what, only comes on weekdays?” Maggie asked, remembering how Diana’s house used to be abuzz with workers both on the property and in her home.
“God no, I basically gave the staff the opportunity to take a package I could afford to give them or stay on and work elsewhere on the property. It was just me, Gavin, and Lily,” Diana explained, even though it had only been Diana, her father Dorian, her mother Anna, and her younger sister, Julia when they’d kept a full staff.
Maggie knew that Diana felt like her parents had her and her sister out of obligation, but had no interest in—or no idea how— to relate to their children.
Diana and Julia had been largely raised by their au pair, and their parents spent lots of time tending to the family businesses—the orchard property, a wellness retreat up north, a golf course, and a myriad of real estate opportunities.
Something Maggie knew Diana had resented.
“So no au pair? No chef?” Maggie said knowingly and teasingly.
“Nope, well, we did have a nanny to help with childcare once I returned to work, god forbid Gavin had taken time off to be home with us,” Diana said, and Maggie immediately picked up on the bitterness in her voice.
“Well, you know, studies have at least shown that the next gen, millennial men, are way more into being hands-on fathers, or actual fathers,” Maggie offered, not sure how much Diana wanted to reveal in the moment.
Diana moved from the counter she was leaning on to open a cabinet.
“Yeah well, I somehow don’t think his problem was generational,” she said, grabbing two mugs.
She clicked off the stove, ladled out the warmed cider from the pot into each, and then stood on the opposite side of the island while sliding a magenta mug over to Maggie.
Maggie took in the tart and sweet smell of the steaming cider before taking in the mug. Aside from the loudness of the magenta, she could make out deep magenta and purple etched in designs all along the mug. When she got closer to it, her breath hitched.
They were labias, Maggie was sure of it.
“Lily is really into feminist art and does a ton of work with ceramics,” Diana said, and when Maggie met her gaze she could see the woman watching her. Maggie guessed she was looking for a reaction.
Testing her.
Fine. She should have known Diana would find little ways to poke at her. She always did.
“It’s lovely,” Maggie said dryly.
“Glad you like it,” Diana said, taking a sip from her royal blue mug, also etched with what Maggie guessed were more labias. Perhaps they were part of a set.
Maggie took a sip of her hot cider and felt a part of her melt at the perfect balance of flavors. She was instantly transported to the easy falls spent at the Blake’s.
“So,” Diana said, interrupting her brief moment of zen. Maggie noticed her lips were quirked, no doubt getting a kick of her drinking cider from the labia mug. “What brings you back to Maplewood, back here, with me?”