41. Maisy
41
MAISY
Miggy
Meet me at this address in one hour.
Tate
What are we doing?
Miggy
Using our imaginations.
Me
Sounds dangerous. I’m in.
Tate
Can I bring a snack?
Miggy
Oh! Is there a third Holloway brother? Bring him.
Graham
I’m in this group chat, darling.
Miggy
I jest. You know graham crackers are my favorite snack.
Tate
Aww.
heart eyes emoji kissing face emoji pretzel emoji
Graham
Pretzel?
Tate
It’s cracker adjacent.
Me
We’ll be there.
Acting cagey, Tatum ditches me at the last minute. She gives a barrage of lame excuses about why she can’t join me to meet up with Graham and Miguel. As I pull up to the address Miguel provided, I’m wishing I would’ve made my excuses as well.
The destination looks like something straight out of a horror movie about summer camp. It’s not just the creepy remoteness or the gnarly trees making my skin crawl; it’s the dilapidated mobile home sitting in the middle of an overgrown clearing.
Graham stands by a rental car, his head on a constant swivel, eyes big and alert as if someone or something could jump out of the trees at any moment and snatch him.
“What is this place?” I ask through my rolled-down window, afraid to get out of the truck. Plus, I’m not willing to give up the air conditioning for the blistering July heat unless I have to.
“According to Miguel, it’s the site of our future home.”
I glance in the rearview mirror at the rugged dirt road behind me and say, “You’ll definitely have privacy.”
We’re literally in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t know anyone lived this far on the outskirts of Walford. Tire tracks embedded deep in the soil under a tree catch my notice. They aren’t fresh, as if someone passed through. They’re permanent, like a frequently used parking spot.
“Does someone live here?” I ask.
Graham wipes his hands down the front of his floral shirt like he’s drying his sweaty palms. “The real estate agent Jake hooked us up with said the place hasn’t been occupied for years.”
The mobile home with a caved-in roof leans to one side. Its crusty windows are impossible to see through, and the makeshift wooden porch lost most of its railing.
“I can tell,” I say, my skin prickling with unease at the sight. “Where’s Miguel?”
“Inside.”
Since it appears we’ll be here for a while, I shut off the car and join Graham in the first to die in the movie circle, right out in the open. The door to the sad structure nearly flies off the hinges, and Miguel leaps down the steps while holding his nose.
“I love it!” he exclaims, his voice nasally. He’s wearing bright yellow, cropped chinos, flip-flops, and a loose tank top with—wait for it—a floral ascot tied around his neck.
I point to the accessory and say, “Absolutely not.”
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I’m dressed for the occasion, angel.”
“What occasion?”
Before he answers, Graham cuts in. “Are there any dead bodies?”
“Something’s definitely dead,” Miguel says, waving a hand in front of his face. Gross.
I carefully climb the janky steps and stick my head inside the door. One sniff, and I gag. The interior reeks of urine, rotten food, and a carcass—not that I’ve ever encountered one. The home should be condemned.
“This is where you want to build?” I ask Graham, who looks even less certain about this spot than when I arrived.
They’ve discussed buying land around Walford and building a home, but I didn’t expect them to be looking so soon. They surprised me with this sudden trip, but I’ll take any chance I can get to spend time with them.
Graham props a hip on the car and slides his sunglasses on top of his head, squinting against the bright sunlight. “It’s secluded, and there’s a lot of acreage. We can fix the road and clean up the overgrowth. It’ll be nice once the eyesore is gone.”
“I want to keep the mobile home,” Miguel announces. “Think of it like the tiny house trend, but we can call it glam mobile .” He accentuates the name with showy hands.
Ignoring him, I tell Graham, “I’d love for y’all to move here so I can see you more.”
He smiles, cheeky with a dash of Hollywood flair, and pulls me into a hug. “Spoken like someone who’s decided to stay.”
I haven’t made an official proclamation that I’m staying in Walford. Over the past few weeks, the decision came gradually, bolstered by the realization that I haven’t given a single thought to leaving since my meltdown at the river. I have no reason to run anymore. On the contrary, I have an extraordinary reason to stay.
“I guess I am,” I admit, hugging Graham in return, my cheek against his chest.
At my back, Miguel wraps his arms around us, squishing me between them, and says, “We should do this more often.”
On the outside, I chuckle and roll my eyes. On the inside, I couldn’t agree more.
The first sign I’ve been tricked by Jensen and my friends today? Multiple cars line Jake’s driveway. The second sign? Tatum’s grinning face peeks through the curtains of a fully illuminated window, then she gestures excitedly for someone to turn off the lights. She must not realize I can see her as clear as day.
Jensen shuts off the engine, and I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to budge. “I’m not going in there.”
“You are. Everyone flew into town for your birthday.”
“Why are you doing this to me? You know I hate being the center of attention.”
He drapes an arm over the back of my seat. “You don’t realize this, but every person waiting inside that house thinks the world of you.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I observe. I’ve seen it. If you weren’t special to them, they wouldn’t be here.”
“They could just send me a birthday text,” I grumble.
“Maisy.” He sighs my name, like he always does when my stubbornness exasperates him. “We want to celebrate you. Let us.”
Growing up, my summer birthday came and went during one of Logan’s football camps, so I never got to have a party with friends. After moving to California, my birthdays passed during Tatum’s tour season. If anything, we had a quick celebratory dinner when my friends could trick me into it. I’ve only celebrated one birthday with Graham and Miguel, so I guess it won’t be too bad to spend another one with them.
“Fine. But I’m not giving a speech or anything. And if anyone starts singing to me, I’m leaving.”
“Deal. Let’s go,” he says.
Before we step onto the porch, he stops and produces a hibiscus flower, which he sticks behind my ear.
“What’s with the flower?” I ask.
“It matches your dress.”
The dress he suggested I wear has a bright, tropical pattern, spaghetti straps, and a flowing skirt that reaches my knees. My mind flashes to Graham’s floral shirt and Miguel’s ascot from earlier, and I know for certain I’ve been bamboozled. They kept me occupied while everyone else plotted behind my back.
Jensen says, “Tatum’s been so excited about surprising you. Just play along, okay?”
“This is the opposite of loving me, you know.”
“You’ll have a good time. I promise.”
I sigh and wave a hand toward the house. “Let’s get this over with.”
When he opens the door, urging me to enter the dark house first, Tatum whispers, “One, two, three.”
Everyone yells, “Surprise!” Then the room falls silent because, apparently, they didn’t assign anyone the job of turning on the lights.
Jensen flips a switch, flooding the kitchen with enough bright light to make everyone shrink away.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, shocked by the number of people in the kitchen and the tropical decorations everywhere.
Giant flowers and loads of streamers hang from the ceiling. Every flat surface has some kind of island-themed decoration. Big jars of sand. Conch shells. Colorful umbrellas sticking out of coconuts. And all the partygoers are dressed like we’re at a beach resort. The California crew consists of Marcus, Judge, Graham, and Miguel. The Walford bunch includes Rock, Lucy, Jake, Tatum, Brody, Pam. All my loved ones are here, plus…
“Menchy?” I ask, the surprise obvious in my high-pitched voice when he steps forward.
“Happy birthday, Maisy,” he says with a sheepish grin that garners more than a few surprised reactions. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited myself.”
“Of course not,” I say, wondering why he would do such a thing.
“Hug me!” Tatum yells. She wraps herself around me and whispers in my ear, “Why is Menchy here? And why is he smiling?”
“I’m so confused,” I whisper back. “And I hate you right now.”
“Happy birthday, Maiz,” she says, laughing as tears well in her eyes already.
My own eyes sting and water. “Don’t make me cry.”
“Angel!” Miguel steals me from Tatum and embraces me like we didn’t see each other hours ago. “Open my gift first. It might be a pair of moccasins, and you’ll love them.”
My heart pounds. If everyone wasn’t chattering, they would all catch my audible gulp. “Gifts?” Oh no.
He gestures to the table piled with cards and wrapped presents, and I take a step backward, bumping into someone. Surely they can’t expect me to sit front and center while opening presents. I’m the worst at faking happiness, and I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings—like Miguel’s once he realizes how much I hate the moccasins he bedazzled for me, no matter what they look like.
The hand on my shoulder stops me from running out the door. “You don’t have to open your presents tonight,” Graham says loud enough for everyone to hear, and I’ve never been more grateful for someone coming to my rescue.
Miguel pouts while I hug Graham a little too long and collect myself. Soon, I’m passed around from person to person. Several of the guys lift me off the floor, but I keep my grumbling to a minimum until I end up at Jensen’s side again.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.
“Yeah. I’ll kill you later.”
He barks a laugh and puts a hand on my lower back, directing me to the dining room. “All the excitement will settle when we eat. Come on, birthday girl. Pick your seat, and I’ll make you a plate.”
I choose the chair at the far corner, opposite from where the beach-themed cake sits at the head of the table. Jake shouts to get everyone’s attention.
“In honor of Maisy, we have a large assortment of appetizers and desserts, all of her favorites. This next part, Tate told me I have to say.” He holds up a flower lei and winces. “Snacky birthday, Maisy. I hope you get laid.”
A collective groan rolls around the room, but Tatum and I grin at each other. She’s pleased with herself, knowing I secretly enjoy her cheesy humor.
Marcus drops into the head chair—the one I assumed Jensen would occupy—at my end of the long table. He looks like a different person in a tropical shirt and linen shorts. An uncomfortable person.
“Have I ever seen you in shorts?” I ask, eyeing the hairy leg closest to me.
The opportunity to tease him further vanishes when he doesn’t take the bait. Because he’s no freaking fun. “Your man organized this whole thing. You picked a good one,” he says.
“As if there’s ever been another choice for me.”
Our gazes slide to Jensen, who chats with Pam and Judge while piling food on a plate. He looks relaxed and happy, genuinely at ease in this social setting.
“Have you told him that?” Marcus asks.
“No,” I admit. “Feelings are scary things.”
“Especially for the person waiting to find out if those feelings are reciprocated.”
Studying him, I ask, “Have you told Roni that you love her?”
He clears his throat and squirms in his chair. I imagine in life-threatening situations he’d never lose his calm. But we’re discussing relationships, an unfamiliar battleground for us both. “I have,” he says.
Amused by his discomfort and pleased that he found love, my lips tug at the corners. “I’m happy for you, Marcus.”
With a straight face, he leans in close and says, “Just a little happy? Or are you mega happy?”
“Get out of here.” I shove his arm, laughing as Jensen slides a full plate of food in front of me. He plants a kiss on the top of my head and sits at my side.
While we eat, my friends tell embarrassing stories about me. I may be blushing fiercely and tempted to hide my face in my hands, but I relish the memories being shared, even the ones that make my eyes water or bring fits of laughter at my expense.
Jensen carries my empty plate to the kitchen and returns with two flutes of champagne, one for each of us. Everyone else has a flute too, some with fruit juice in place of the alcohol. When he stands at the head of the table near the cake, my stomach sinks. The only thing I find more daunting than giving a speech is being the subject of one.
He clinks a fork on his glass, drawing everyone’s attention. I shakily set my flute down and plant an elbow on the table and a fist at my mouth. I’m nervous for both of us.
“Thanks for showing up to celebrate Maisy tonight. Some of you traveled a long way for her, and she—I mean, you—hold on.” With a deep breath, he removes his cell phone from his pocket and swipes the screen. “It’ll be easier for me to read my speech.”
He clears his throat. “I’ve had several opportunities to observe Maisy’s relationship with each of you, and I noticed a pattern. One by one, you pull her aside—into a corner, into the shadows—for secret conversations. All hours of the day and night, her phone pings with notifications from people vying for her attention, her blessing, her advice. You all love her, but there’s one person who shares a deep connection with her, one I know she cherishes above all others. I’m sorry to put you on the spot, but I’d like to ask this person—you know who you are—to stand up and say a few words.”
Four people stand up.
Tatum glances around, slack-jawed, and cries, “It’s obviously me!”
Graham looks at me, brows raised high on his forehead, to see if I’ll back him.
Miguel gasps, outraged that anyone has the audacity to consider themselves first.
Marcus narrows his eyes at the others—a silent threat.
They bicker among themselves, and Jensen whistles to get their attention. “Thank you for proving my point. We all love Maisy, but I’m the person she cherishes most, so I’ll remain standing while you four take your seats.”
Pouting, huffing, and grumbling under their breaths, the four sit down, not pleased with his joke. Then Jensen sets his phone on the table and addresses me as if we’re alone.
“Maisy, you allow people to love you in the shadows, but everyone here wants to love you in the light—proud and out loud. We respect the hell out of you. In fact, most of us have come to you for help or advice because you’re trustworthy and you accept us as we are.” Murmurs of agreement float around the table before he continues. “There’s something intriguing about you that makes people want to scale your walls. For those of us who succeed, the rewards are endless. Your smile is a gift. Your sense of humor keeps us on our toes. And your heart…it’s loyal, protective, and bigger than you let on. We’re lucky to call you a friend. And despite several people at this table claiming to be your best friend, I’m honored to have been the first to hold that title. Happy birthday, beautiful. Cheers.”
A chorus of cheers and birthday wishes rings out, but I stare at Jensen in awe, tears streaming down my cheeks. When he winks at me and sips his champagne, all is right in my world.
He organized a themed birthday party—a first for me—and invited all the people I love. He gave a speech and crushed it. I’m so proud of him, and I’m beyond grateful to have him in my life. I plan on expressing my gratitude many times over when we get to his house.