4. Blair
4
BLAIR
I push open the front door, the familiar creak welcoming me home. The cozy, cottage-like interior of Maggie's house envelops me. Every time I walk in this door, I feel like I've climbed inside a genie's bottle. It's all color and touchable fabrics. Pretty much the complete opposite of the garage and the apartment above it I lived in for most of my life. Dad wasn't much for decorating. Neither am I. It's not that I don't appreciate it; I just don't notice it until it's right in front of me.
"Aunt Blair!" Max's voice rings out from amidst a sea of colorful Lego bricks. "Look what I'm building!" Warm afternoon light spills through the living room window, casting a golden glow on the worn hardwood floors and across the colorful bricks.
I ruffle his damp hair as I pass, the scent of his freshly washed locks mingling with the mouthwatering aroma wafting from the kitchen. "Looks great, kiddo. What's it gonna be?"
"A spaceship. I’m going to use it to nuke those alien assholes," he declares, his focus already back on his creation.
Fuck he’s funny. But I clear my throat and give him a glare. He rolls his eyes at me the little jerk, but mumbles, “Sorry. Not assholes. Jerks. Alien jerks.” Then his eyes go hazy. “I wonder if aliens poop? Do they use toilet paper? Or maybe they built a machine that just sucks the poop out? Huh. I gotta look that up.”
Stomach aching from holding in my laughter, because seriously, he’s either batshit crazy, or a scientist in the making, I turn and follow the scent of Maggie's cooking into the kitchen. Thank fuck she's feeling up to it today. I can cook, but not like she can. I grab a Coke from the fridge, pop the top with the magnetic bottle opener, then stick it back on the side of the fridge.
Maggie stands at the stove, stirring a pot of what smells like her famous chili. Her headscarf, a vibrant splash of color against her pale skin, is tied neatly at the nape of her neck. She glances over her shoulder, a knowing smile on her face.
"Rough day?" she asks, her voice soft with understanding.
I lean against the counter, taking a long pull from my drink. "You could say that."
Maggie turns down the heat on the stove and faces me fully. "Max had a great day at school. Christine says he's making real progress with his reading. Apparently, all it takes is a book on gross facts, and suddenly he can't get enough."
"That would do it," I say, looking in at my godson. The kid is all about gross and weird. Not sure why we didn't think of getting him some different reading material before now.
How the fuck am I supposed to do this by myself?
I pray like hell that I'll never have to, but that fucking scarf on Maggie's head is a pretty stark reminder of the reality of her illness. There's no way to stick my head in the sand when I'm staring at it every day. And if the both of us together couldn't figure out something as simple as a book of gross facts to help Max with his reading, what chance would I have as a single parent?
Maggie's hand on my arm pulls me back to the present. "Earth to Blair! What's wrong?"
The concern in her eyes breaks my heart a little bit. She doesn't want to talk about the possibility of her not being here, so I stuff that shit down and let all my worries pour into another subject instead.
"Ransom sent some of his guys to the garage today," I admit, the words tumbling out. "They tried to buy it. Again."
Maggie's face softens with sympathy. "Oh, Blair. I'm so sorry."
I take another swig, trying to wash away the bitter taste the memory leaves. "I'm just... I'm so tired of it, Mags. It's been months of this shit. Every time I think I'm finally free of him, he finds another way to worm back into my life."
Maggie wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I lean into her embrace. It's a comfort I've come to rely on over the years, ever since I moved in to help with her pregnancy and never left. I was supposed to be helping her, and I did. But at this point, I need her a fuck of a lot more than she needs me.
"Have you reconsidered selling?" she asks gently. "It might be easier?—"
"No," I cut her off, more sharply than I intend. "Sorry, I just... I can't. That garage is all I have left of Dad and Grandpa." I don't have a lot of memories of my Grandpa. He passed a couple of years after we moved back here. But for a while, all three of us lived above the garage together. We were a family. "I can't let it go. Especially not to Ransom."
Maggie nods, understanding without need for further explanation. She's been there through it all—the good times with Ransom, the bad, and everything in between.
"Well, then," she says, giving my shoulders a squeeze before returning to the stove. "We'll just have to figure out another way to get him off your back."
I manage a weak smile. "Got any ideas?"
Maggie winks at me over her shoulder. "I might have one or two. But first, dinner. You look like you could use a good meal and a distraction."
As if on cue, Max's voice pipes up from the living room. "Mom! Aunt Blair! Can we watch Survivor while we eat?"
Maggie and I share a look, both of us fighting back laughter. Fucking addict. And Maggie’s his dealer. "Not a chance in hell, sweetie," Maggie calls back. "Set the table for us, okay?"
“Hypocrite,” I mutter.
“Shut up.”
Max bursts into the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy. He scrambles onto the counter, reaching for the plates and cups with the agility of a monkey. The stool in the corner sits unused, as always. Maggie catches my eye and shrugs, a silent acknowledgment that this battle isn't worth fighting anymore. Doesn’t matter how many times she tells him he’s going to fall and crack his head open, he doesn’t listen.
We settle around the table, steam rising from bowls of chili. Max launches into a detailed account of his day, his words tumbling out faster than he can shovel food into his mouth.
"And then Nikki dared me to eat a worm, but I told her that's gross, so we decided to collect rocks instead. We found this really cool one that looks like a dinosaur egg!"
Maggie nods along, asking questions and laughing at his story. I try to focus on the conversation, but my mind keeps drifting. The weight of everything—the garage, Ransom, and most of all, Maggie's illness—presses down on me.
I push the chili around my bowl, taking small bites when I notice Maggie glancing my way. The normalcy of this scene—family dinner, Max's chatter, Maggie's laughter—it's all so precious. And so damn fragile.
Some days, I can almost forget about the cancer lurking beneath the surface. But today, with my defenses already worn thin, I can't shake the fear. What if this is one of our last dinners together? What will Max and I do without her?
I force myself to take another bite, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. Maggie reaches over and squeezes my hand, a silent understanding passing between us. I try not to talk about my worries, but she somehow already knows. She knows me.
After dinner, we gather around the coffee table, the worn Uno deck spread before us. Max's eyes gleam with mischief as he slaps down a Draw Four card.
"Boom! Take that, Aunt Blair!"
I groan, reaching for the pile. "You little monster."
Maggie chuckles, her fingers absently tracing the edge of her headscarf. "He's ruthless. I like that about him."
"Of course you do. He only does it to me."
"He loves his mama," she says, smirking.
The game continues, filled with laughter and playful jabs. For a moment, everything feels normal. But as the clock ticks closer to Max's bedtime, a familiar weight settles in my chest.
Maggie starts gathering the cards. "Alright, Max. Time to get ready for bed."
Max whines, but Maggie's gentle insistence wins out. She turns to me, hope in her eyes. "Blair, want to join us for story time?"
I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. "I... I think I'll pass tonight."
Disappointment flickers across Maggie's face, but she nods. "Okay, honey. I'll see you in a bit."
As they head upstairs, I slump onto the couch, guilt gnawing at me. I should be up there, helping, being part of their routine. Just in case. It will be easier on him if you're a part of it all. Easier if... But I can't bring myself to intrude on their time together. Every moment Maggie has with Max is precious now.
And trying to hold my shit together while I watch them is getting harder and harder.
I don't know how long I sit there, lost in thought, before Maggie's soft footsteps bring me back to reality.
"He's asleep," she says, settling beside me. Her hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "Blair, we need to talk."
I brace myself, knowing what's coming.
"You need to start stepping in more," Maggie says, her voice gentle but firm. "If... this doesn't go the way I hope it does, you're going to have to do this every night. It'll be easier on Max if you're already part of the routine."
The matter-of-fact way she talks about her death sends a chill through me. I want to argue, to tell her she's going to be fine, but the words die on my lips. We both know what the doctors said. Stage 4. Twenty percent chance. Affairs in order. Stay hopeful.
"I know," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I know, Mags. It's just... tonight, I couldn't. I'm sorry."
Maggie pulls me into a hug, and I bury my face in her shoulder, fighting back tears. "It's okay, honey. I understand. But we need to start preparing. You and Max, you're going to have to form your own little family without me."
She says it like it's inevitable, and for a second, my throat closes up. I pull back, meeting her gaze. The calm acceptance in her eyes both amazes and terrifies me. "How can you be so... okay with this?"
She smiles, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I'm not okay with it, Blair. But I've made my peace with it. I've had more opportunities than most to come to terms with my mortality. Now, I just want to make sure you and Max are taken care of, if this is it."
I want to fight her, to convince her that she'll beat this like she has before. But the words stick in my throat. We both know the odds. The cancer's spread farther, faster than anyone imagined.
"I'm scared, Mags," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to do this without you."
Maggie cups my face in her hands, her touch gentle. "You're stronger than you think, Blair McKenna. You've been doing it already, more than you realize. Max adores you. You're already his family."
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Maggie pulls me close again, and I let myself sink into her embrace, savoring the comfort while I still can. I know I’m supposed to be comforting her, but tonight, I can’t.
I just can’t.
"We'll take it one day at a time," Maggie murmurs. "That's all any of us can do."
I pull away from Maggie's embrace, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. My chest feels tight, a mixture of fear and hope warring inside me.
"What about... what about that new trial they mentioned last time?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe we could?—"
Maggie's gentle laugh cuts me off. "Blair, honey, we've been down this road before. There's no magic cure hiding in some lab."
I feel my face flush with embarrassment. Of course, she's right. We've explored every option, chased down every lead. But still, I can't help but hope.
"I know, I just..." I trail off, unable to finish the thought.
Maggie takes my hand, her grip warm and familiar. "It's okay. I know you want to fix this. But sometimes, we have to accept what we can't change."
"But you're not giving up."
Something shifts in her face, just for a second. Then she gives me a small smile. "I'm not giving up. I'm just being realistic." Then she shakes herself. "You know," Maggie says, a hint of her usual serenity in her eyes, "I've got a pretty good idea of what's waiting for me on the other side. My faith's gotten me through a lot, Blair. It'll get me through this, too."
I manage a weak smile. Even now, facing death, Maggie's still steady.
"I wish I had your faith," I admit. "But I don't know anything anymore."
Maggie squeezes my hand. "You've got your own kind of faith, Blair. I've seen it. In the way you love Max, in how you've stuck by me through all of this. That's its own kind of belief."
I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in my throat as I see Maggie's eyes well up. Her calm facade cracks, and suddenly she looks so vulnerable, so scared.
"Blair," she says, her voice fierce despite the tears. "I need you. I need to know you'll be okay. That Max will be okay."
The raw emotion in her voice hits me like a physical blow. I've known Maggie since we were kids, and have seen her through every up and down. Most of the time, I would give her shit about her tears. Most of the time, she cries over stupid shit, like commercials and flowers.
This kind of tears, the sad scared kind, scares the shit out of me.
"Mags," I choke out, pulling her into a tight hug. "We'll be okay. I promise. I'll take care of Max. I'll... I'll figure it out." And I will. I have to. Because no way do I want to let her down. She and the kid are my family. I love them both.
But I need Maggie in a way I don’t need anyone else. She’s my rock. My best friend. The sister I didn’t know I needed.
She’s my constant.
I feel her nod against my shoulder, her body shaking with silent sobs. I hold her tighter, my own tears falling freely now. I hate crying, but she's not going to judge me, and I don't have the strength to fight them back. Not tonight.
"You've always been there for me," I whisper. "Through everything. Let me be there for you now."
Maggie pulls back, wiping her eyes. She manages a watery smile. "You already are, Blair. You always have been."
We sit there, hands clasped, neither of us speaking. There's no need for words. Thirty years of friendship, of shared joys and sorrows, fill the silence between us.
She pulls back, wiping at her eyes. "God. I'm so sick of being sick. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Tell me about Ransom. What are you going to do this time? I honestly thought he'd back off after the glitter bomb."
"It was pretty spectacular."
"I know," Maggie says dryly. "You tested it in my freaking kitchen."
My cheeks redden. "Yeah, I'm still sorry about that. I got a little caught up and forgot where I was."
"I'm shocked."
"Shut up."
"You shut up."
We glare at each other, lips twitching. She finally shakes her head and curls up in the corner of the couch. "You could just go and talk to him in person. The rigged packages and the bullet holes in contracts don't seem to be working."
"I'm not going to see him. Not ever."
"Blair, you?—"
"Never."
Maggie sighs. "He was a kid. So were you. It was a long time ago."
She's right. He was a kid. Technically, I was too. But the feelings were very real and very grown-up. "He's never tried to come back here either. He was pretty fucking clear when he left, Maggie."
"He was fifteen. What did he know about anything at that age?"
That's the thing. Ransom, at fifteen, was more certain and more mature than men three times his age. He meant every single word. "You weren't there that night. You don't know. But I do. Ransom Kyle is done with me, done with this town, and there's no point in trying to change that. He doesn't deserve a minute more of my time."
Maggie sighs again and pushes herself to her feet. "That's the problem, honey. He's taking up way too much space in your brain for a man you say you're done with. At some point, something's got to give."
"Maybe. But it's not going to be me."
"Careful. That kind of talk could get the universe to start meddling. Hell, one day, Mr. Billionaire Fancy Pants could come walking down Main Street, and you won't have any choice but to deal with him."
Something crawls up the back of my neck. That won't ever happen. It can't.
"If he ever shows his face in this town again, he'll be sorry."
Maggie just smiles and waves goodnight. She doesn't believe me.
I'm not sure I believe me either. There's nothing I can do to hurt Ransom Kyle. He doesn't have a heart.
And he cut mine up in little pieces forever ago.