9.
Shay
My chest felt pleasantly light as my hand rose to the spot where Maggie’s lips had been. They were soft, hesitant, and I’d fought the urge to turn my head and capture her mouth. I wanted to kiss her the way I sometimes thought about when we sat quietly together on the bus, but I refrained. My gut instinct told me to be patient because I sensed she didn’t allow herself to get close to people very often.
Admittedly, I was surprised to see her at the hotel. I hadn’t even noticed my phone was missing until she turned up with it. The look on her face as she stood in the lobby, like she was doing something wrong just by being there, made me irritable.
I wanted her to know she never had to feel that way, not with me.
I also wanted nothing more than to give that prick, Lloyd, a piece of my mind for being rude to her. But that was the tragedy of my life. I wasn’t equipped to have strong words with people, though I did intend to glower at him intensely the next time our paths crossed.
Throughout my life, I’d had to utilise other forms of communication outside of speech. My facial expressions were one. Body language worked, too. You’d be amazed by what you could express simply from the way you stood, the slant of your head, if your shoulders were relaxed or tense, arms folded or by your sides.
Pulling Maggie onto my lap was an exaggerated form of body language communication. I wanted her to know I was a safe place for her, that she was always welcome to come closer if she needed to.
I just hated the idea of her walking all the way to the hotel and then a receptionist giving her shit. My annoyance at the whole situation was why I acted so forward with her when we were alone in the office. I’d yanked her onto my lap like I had every right to, like she belonged there. Because as far I was concerned, she did.
The combination of her flowery perfume and her jasmine scented shampoo was intoxicating. I could hardly focus on the monitors the entire time she’d sat there as I fought the urge to lean in and kiss her soft, delicate neck.
You need to quit thinking about her.
More and more lately, my head was full of Maggie. I hadn’t been able to stop fretting about what she told me on Sunday, how her mam kicked her out when she was just sixteen. What kind of parent did something like that to their own teenager? She hadn’t elaborated on where she went or what happened to her afterwards, and I hadn’t been able to ask, but just thinking of her all alone and possibly on the streets felt physically painful, even if it happened many years ago.
It was amazing how well she was doing considering her start in life. She’d clearly been self-conscious about her flat, and yes, the building itself was a little rundown, but I’d loved being in her space. It was small and cosy and smelled like her jasmine shampoo. She’d made the place a home, put her stamp on it, and I liked seeing where she spent her time when she wasn’t working or taking the bus.
Remembering my phone, I pulled it out to check if I’d gotten any missed calls or messages while Maggie had it. There was a voicemail from Nigel, but I didn’t bother listening. It was only going to be the same iteration of the apologies he’d given over the last few days. That he was determined to act better and not drink so much anymore. That he was sorry for being a bully to Maggie and her neighbours.
That was all well and good, but I still thought he deserved to suffer for a little longer. And besides, it wasn’t me he needed to be saying sorry to. It was Maggie and her neighbours.
In fact, that was a good idea.
I typed him a message.
Me: Go and apologise to Maggie and her neighbours in person. Then I’ll forgive you.
He didn’t respond right away. It was a few hours later when I was nearing the end of my shift that I finally received a reply.
Nigel: Fair enough. I’ll do it.
I was satisfied with his response until a part of me started to worry he wouldn’t apologise at all and would instead go over there and give her a piece of his mind for telling me what he did.
Nigel had a bit of a petulant, vindictive streak when the mood took him. It wasn’t an admirable quality, but we’d known each other for so long I tended to overlook it. Perhaps that was wrong of me, but I was close to so few people I didn’t want to throw away a friendship just because of one or two small personality flaws.
When I reached the bus stop that evening, Maggie was already there, wrapped up in a patterned scarf, her navy coat buttoned to her chin. A warmth spread across my chest when our eyes met, and my stomach gave a weird pang, like yearning. I wished the bus wasn’t the only place we got to see each other and wondered if she’d come to dinner at my house again. Hopefully, Nigel hadn’t scared her off completely.
“Hey,” she said as I stepped close enough our arms brushed.
I met her gaze, dipping my head in greeting and noticing her cheeks and the tip of her nose were red from the cold. I was struck with the sudden urge to give her some of my warmth. Stepping even closer, Maggie watched me curiously, then inhaled sharply when I lifted her smaller hands into mine. There were faint calluses on her fingers, which made me frown because I knew they came from working so hard. Some part of me wished to whisk her away from it all, make her life frictionless. I wasn’t sure where the instinct came from, but I knew it wasn’t realistic. I wasn’t some rich bloke who could fix all her problems with money, but I could fix one thing right now. I could chase away her chill.
Slowly, I lifted her hands to my mouth, blowing warm air on them, and she inhaled sharply. My hot breath danced along her skin, and I heard her inhale once more, her eyes searching, asking a question, What are you doing?
Making you feel better, mine replied.
Her eyelashes fluttered as she gazed up at me, and once again, I was struck with the sudden urge to kiss her. It took more of that so called willpower of mine not to do it. With my hands still cupping hers, I brought them to her cheeks to heat them up and chase away the cold.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Um … thank you.” She laughed nervously. “Wow, your hands are very warm and …” Her eyes went to my lips as she trailed off, and I lifted an eyebrow. What was she going to say? And my mouth was warm, too? The thought had my mind picturing all the places I wanted to put it.
I continued to hold her gaze, noticing her grow more flustered. Why could I not stop coming up with ways to touch her that day? Maybe it was the realisation I liked having her in my space, showing up at my work. I wanted her around as much as possible.
I continued warming her face until the bus arrived, and I had to let go of her hands. I lowered them and tucked them inside her coat pockets before withdrawing. We boarded the bus, and I walked to our usual seats, motioning for her to take the window while I sat in the aisle. It was a quieter journey today. Normally, Maggie would ask me to show her some sign language, but she was silent now, contemplative. I wondered if she was just tired or perhaps I’d been touching her a little too much and should stop. But she hadn’t seemed to dislike it when my hands were on hers, my mouth blowing warm air into her palms. On the contrary, she’d closed her eyes for a moment like my heat and touch were soothing.
When we reached our stop, I stood, allowing her to step out first before I followed her off. She turned to me then, something self-conscious in her expression when she said, “I’m not going straight home today. I have an appointment.”
I arched my eyebrow curiously, and she went on, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Well, actually, it’s not an appointment. It’s a class. I’m attending that adult literacy class I told you about. It’s time I faced my fears, and if it all works out, you might not have to wait so long for me to read your texts anymore.”
I was filled with pride for her, not that it was my place to be proud. Maggie didn’t belong to me, even though I wished for something more with her. But I was very impressed she was biting the bullet. I knew it had to be nerve-wracking to start something new.
Also, her mention of texts made me realise I still didn’t have her phone number. I pulled mine out and created a new contact with her name. Then I handed her the phone, hoping she’d put her number in. She peered at the screen, then glanced up at me.
“You want my number?”
I nodded, and a small smile shaped her lips. “Okay,” she breathed, then proceeded to tap it in.
I took the phone back, warm from her hands, slid it in my pocket, then signed, Good luck with the class.
She bit her lip, a look of apology on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that.”
Instead of going to the trouble of typing it out, I pulled her in for a hug. Just as always, I was assaulted by her scent, her small hands resting against my upper chest as I squeezed her once, then released her. She gave a shy smile, eyes fluttering to the ground before meeting mine once more, “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
See you tomorrow, I signed before we parted, going our separate ways.
***
Over the next few days, I sent Maggie a handful of texts, though she tended to reply mainly with emojis or GIFs. I suspected it was because she was self-conscious of typing things out.
When I’d messaged her on Wednesday night asking how her literacy class had gone, she’d replied with a thumb’s up emoji, which I took to mean it had gone well. The rest of the week passed, and on Sunday, I wondered if she remembered my invitation to dinner. I’d forgotten to remind her when I walked her home after the bus on Friday.
I’d just gotten out of the shower while Daniel sat by my bed, whining to be taken on a walk. I quickly dried and got dressed, then sent Maggie a text.
Are you coming over today?
I didn’t receive a reply until I was strolling down the canal later with Daniel. My heart raced as I pulled out my phone and opened the message, which consisted of a single thumb’s up emoji. Instantly, my mood brightened. I picked up the pace, much to Daniel’s disgruntlement; he liked to stop and leisurely sniff at things that caught his interest.
When I got home, I could hear Dad in the kitchen preparing dinner, the sound of the extractor fan blaring and the clinking of various utensils. He was talking to someone, and I thought my brother and Dawn might’ve arrived early, but then I entered the kitchen and spotted Rhys sitting at the table with Stephanie by his side.
Mild irritation nipped at me.
I felt guilty for being annoyed she was there. I wanted to get along with Stephanie, but as I’d said, she tended to give me a wide berth. It was hard to breach the awkwardness that always lingered between us. I didn’t want to be awkward with her, but I also didn’t know how to make things better. Maybe she just didn’t like me, and there was no fixing it.
Last week, Rhys had said he and Stephanie were happy to keep their separate routines on Sunday, so why the change? Maybe Dawn’s questioning had gotten to him, made him feel like he should make more of an effort to spend the day with her, include her in his family time.
“Shay,” Dad said. “Look who your cousin has brought. Isn’t it lovely to have Stephanie as our guest?”
I nodded, glancing at Rhys, then at Stephanie, and mustered a polite smile.
“Ross, Dawn and the kids have a birthday party this week, so they won’t be over. Well, at least that means there’s more food for us,” he chuckled jovially, unaware of my discomfort. I internally grimaced. So, it was just going to be me, Dad, Maggie, Rhys and Stephanie for dinner. Already, I was far less relaxed than normal.
“Is Maggie coming again?” Rhys asked.
Yes, I signed.
“And what about Nigel? I hope you had a word with him after his behaviour last week.” His dark eyebrows drew together in disapproval. Rhys’ father had been violent towards his mother when he was younger, so my cousin was particularly sensitive when it came to men throwing their weight around with women. I’d hated Nigel’s behaviour, too, especially given my feelings for Maggie, but to Rhys, those sorts of things were extremely personal.
I did. We’re not talking right now, so I doubt he’ll turn up today.
“Well, good. He acted like an unholy prick to the poor woman.”
“Who are Nigel and Maggie?” Stephanie enquired.
“Nigel is Shay’s best friend,” Dad explained, removing his oven gloves after checking on the roast lamb. “Shay had a new lady friend over last week, Maggie, and Nigel was rude to her, so the two of them are on the outs right now.”
“Oh,” Stephanie said, her blue eyes widening in surprise to hear I had a “lady friend.” Did she think I was incapable of attracting women simply because I was mute?
She’s Rhys’ fiancée, I reminded myself. Try to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“And do you know why he was rude to her?” she continued curiously.
“Not really,” Dad answered. “Though Nigel can be a temperamental sort. He’s very protective of Shay, always has been, ever since they were this high.” Dad lowered his hand to indicate a child’s height.
“Well,” Stephanie said, her gaze meeting mine. “If he’s protective of you, perhaps Nigel saw something in this Maggie he didn’t trust, and that’s why he was rude to her.”
I frowned and shook my head vehemently. Stephanie’s assumptions irritated me, mainly because I didn’t appreciate her casting aspersions on Maggie, someone she didn’t even know. Rhys glanced at me speculatively.
“Is there more to it?” he asked.
I don’t want to talk about it, I signed.
I hadn’t told anyone about what Nigel did outside Maggie’s flat, intimidating her and her neighbours. I knew he didn’t deserve me protecting him from my family’s judgement, but I wanted to give him a chance to redeem himself privately instead of tarnishing him in everyone’s eyes over one mistake.
To be honest, though, I felt a little stuck. I wanted Nigel to redeem himself, but the part of me that felt strangely possessive and protective over Maggie didn’t really feel like forgiving him any time soon.
Leaving the kitchen, I went to take off my coat and hang it up in the hallway when the doorbell rang. My spirits lifted seeing Maggie outlined through the stained-glass panels.
Opening the door, I found her standing there, her cheeks flushed against the cold and her scarf wrapped in layers around her neck.
“Hi Shay,” she greeted, and I motioned for her to come in. “Thanks for inviting me over again. The food was delicious last time.”
I motioned to her coat, and she began unbuttoning it before untangling her scarf from around her neck. I stepped close, my fingers sliding along hers as I took her coat and scarf and hung them up for her. I knew she was perfectly capable of hanging up her own things, but at that point, I was taking every chance I could to touch her, even casually. She wore jeans and a loose, pale green shirt, her long hair down around her shoulders. My eyes instinctively went to the bare skin at her neck before I forced my gaze away.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, and I led her into the kitchen.
“Maggie,” Dad exclaimed. “It’s so good to see you again!” He came and folded her into a hug, which seemed to take her off guard, but she accepted it anyway. There was no resisting my father’s warm, open nature at times. I was a little jealous, to be honest. I wished I could get away with hugging Maggie like that every time I saw her.
“Good to see you, too, Eugene,” she said. “Thank you for having me again.” Her attention went to Rhys and Stephanie. “Hello.”
“Maggie,” Rhys replied, his arm going around Stephanie’s shoulders as he introduced her. “This is my fiancée, Stephanie.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Stephanie said, smiling as she reached out to shake Maggie’s hand.
“You, too,” Maggie replied, and I motioned for her to take a seat at the table. She sat, but I noticed she was distracted by the art that hung on the wall. My art. I didn’t like to hang my work, but it was Dad’s favourite, and he insisted on putting it up. It depicted a small sparrow I’d seen on a bush in our front garden. I’d always been fascinated by birds. They were the most common subject in my drawings.
“What a lovely picture,” Maggie said, her eyes still tracing the lines of the small creature. It was drawn in pencil and filled in with irregular splotches of watercolour. An odd emotion hit me. It had been a long time since I’d felt that way, the pleasure in having someone take in what I’d created and admire it.
“And the style is so unusual,” she went on. “Who’s the artist?” I noticed her searching for a signature.
“You’re sitting right next to him,” Dad replied with a proud grin.
“Oh,” she breathed, turning to look at me in surprise. Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting that answer. “You drew this?” My expression was soft as I nodded.
“Shay’s always been an amazing artist,” Dad went on. “It came naturally to him. Shay, why don’t you show Maggie the rest of your work? The food won’t be ready for another while.”
Her eyes flickered nervously to mine. “That’s okay. You don’t have to—”
Before she could finish, I motioned her from her seat and led her from the kitchen. I didn’t mind showing her my portfolio, especially if it meant avoiding Stephanie until the food was ready. I heard Maggie following me up to my room, her shoes clipping softly on the wooden stairs.
I opened the door and turned back. She lingered in the hallway, hesitant. “Is that your bedroom?”
I nodded, hoping my expression told her I didn’t mind her coming in. She stepped inside and something hummed in my chest as I watched her look around. It was a large bedroom, with a king-sized bed, a desk where I drew and painted, a TV, as well as a double wardrobe, chest of drawers and bookshelves.
“I like it. It’s very tidy.” She walked across the rug, her eyes scanning the space. “Rhys’ fiancée seems nice, and my goodness, she’s so pretty,” she went on as she lowered to sit on my bed. I was a little overwhelmed by her being there, but it wasn’t a bad kind of overwhelmed. My mind flashed with an image of me kneeling in front of her, running my hands up her thighs and pressing my face to the soft pad of her stomach. Maggie’s eyes flicked to mine to see if I agreed with her assessment of Stephanie. I merely shrugged, and she tilted her head.
“You don’t think so?”
I blew out a breath and sat down beside her, our knees touching, then pulled out my phone.
I don’t think she’s my biggest fan.
I handed her the phone, and she took her time reading, allowing me the chance to look at her freely. Stephanie might’ve been pretty, but Maggie was beautiful. The delicate slope of her nose, the dip and rise of her lips, her soft, auburn hair. To me, she was unique. I didn’t think I’d ever met someone who made me feel like Maggie did. There was an energy about her that drew me in, but it couldn’t be described in words. I was just comfortable in her presence. There was also something vulnerable about her, a delicateness that called to me and awoke a protective streak.
“She doesn’t like you? Why?” she asked, disbelief in her voice, almost like she couldn’t possibly imagine anyone not liking me, which only heightened my affection for her. I was little bit addicted to the way she saw me.
Handing me back the phone, her small fingers were cool when they touched mine.
I don’t know, I typed and handed it back to her.
When she finished reading, she said, “Why don’t you ask Rhys? Maybe she’s just shy. Sometimes shyness can come across as dislike.”
I shook my head. Stephanie wasn’t shy. I’d seen enough of her interacting with other members of staff at the hotel to know that. And I wasn’t going to mention her weirdness around me to Rhys because he loved the woman, and I didn’t want to cause trouble in their relationship. Honestly, I just needed to get over the whole thing. Not everyone got along with their family members’ partners. It wasn’t the end of the world, and I was tough enough to be able to handle being around someone who wasn’t overly enthused about me.
Feeling like changing the subject, I rose and went to gather a small folder of my drawings from my desk. I brought them back over to Maggie and saw curiosity light her features as she opened the folder.
“Wow, these are beautiful, Shay. You’re very talented.” Pride stirred in my chest at her praise as she studied a sketch I’d done of a crow sitting on the roof of our neighbour’s shed. A wave of pleasure rushed through me. Why did her praise affect me more than the praise of anyone else? I couldn’t explain it.
She lifted her head to study me. “Do you only draw birds?”
Mostly, I signed.
“Most of the time? Is that what you said?” she asked, and I nodded, grinning.
Maggie smiled. “It’s such a rush every time I understand a bit of sign language. I asked my teacher from the literacy class, Hazel, about learning it. She mentioned there are classes available but suggested I focus on improving my reading and writing first. She doesn’t think I should overload my plate.” She paused, giving a self-deprecating chuckle. “Maybe I’m a little eager to be able to talk with you.”
I held her gaze, a strong emotion taking hold. No one outside of my family and Nigel had ever gone to the trouble of learning sign language just for me. Emer’s brother was deaf, so she was already fluent. It was one of the reasons we’d grown close, being able to connect in that way.
Maggie drew in a breath and brought her attention back to my drawings. “Do you use charcoal and then paint over it with water colours?”
I nodded.
“It’s such a unique style. I work for an artist, Alan Cole. Have you heard of him?”
I nodded again. Alan Cole was a well-known Irish painter. I was pretty sure he’d attended NCAD, too. Though, unlike me, he hadn’t dropped out in the final year.
“Well, I think he works mostly with oil paints, but he has this grant scheme he runs to sponsor new artists. I should show him your work.”
I shook my head, and she frowned. “No? You’re not interested?” I nodded, and she seemed surprised, tilting her head as she studied me. “Why not?”
I exhaled heavily and cast my gaze out the window, regret and discomfort taking over. “I’m guessing it’s a long story?” Maggie said, and I nodded. Her eyes softened.
“Well, maybe sometime soon you can tell me. And if you ever change your mind about Alan, just let me know.”
She returned her attention to the folder, and I tried to ignore the squeeze of pain in my chest. Once upon a time, I wanted nothing more than to be an artist, someone who got paid for their work. But that all changed after Mam was diagnosed with cancer. I’d been in my final year of college, and her illness threw our family into disarray. I completely lost the ability to create. My well had dried up. It was only about two years ago my inspiration returned, but I had no wish to share my art with the world anymore. Not like I used to. Now I created only for the joy of the act.
Maggie turned the page to the next drawing, and my chest seized. It wasn’t a picture of a bird that time. It was the outlined sketch of a hand. A small, feminine hand. I knew exactly who it belonged to, and I also knew what Maggie was going to find when she turned to the next drawing. I’d forgotten I’d placed those pictures in this particular folder, and now, she was going to discover the true extent of my obsession with her.
I couldn’t let that happen, so I did the first thing that came into my head. I shoved the folder off her lap, took her soft cheeks in my hands, and kissed her.