Track 21 Good Day
Track 21
Good Day
Maggie
It was a good day, and though she still hadn’t decided to jump into the Silver family pool with both feet, at least she had dipped her toe in without getting pinched by a crab.
Matt accompanied her back to the “Inn” after the beach to charge her phone and pick up some more clothes. Despite her initial ambivalence, she had thrown a few things in her bag suitable for a wedding. Just in case.
When they were a safe distance from the house, he praised her for being so quick on her feet.
“Man, you were good with the comebacks on the beach. ‘I sat behind you on the ferry.’ If you ever need to testify against a mobster, you’d rock witness protection.”
“You weren’t so bad yourself—that Austin Record Show bit was perfect. Have you ever been?”
“No, but I’m dying to.”
“We can go next year,” Maggie laughed.
“Yes, if we’re still dating.”
Their laughter intensified.
Climbing up the narrow staircase to her room at the Inn, Maggie felt relieved to know she didn’t have to sleep there anymore.
“What is that putrid smell?” Matt asked, affirming that she wasn’t being a snob regarding her accommodations.
“I don’t want to know—it can’t be good.”
In the room, Matt did a 360, checking it out. He had never been there, apparently, and from the look on his face, Maggie guessed this would be his first and last visit.
“This may be the smallest hotel room I’ve ever seen,” he noted, before sitting hesitantly on the bed as if it would give him cooties.
Maggie plugged in her phone and waited for it to spring back to life so that she could text Jason. She probably should have called instead of texting but felt weird doing so in a hotel room with a strange guy sitting on her bed. Well, not strange really. She gave him the once-over. It was worse than that. There was a cute guy sitting on her bed.
She wrote a whole paragraph.
Hi. Hung out with my birth mother on the beach today, incognito. She’s not as bad as I previously reported—but I’m still unsure. This is not a very Midwestern family, to say the least. The good news is I got myself invited to the wedding and other festivities, so I should be much surer about things by Sunday! Love you and miss you!
Matt’s phone vibrated and he pulled it from his back pocket. Maggie couldn’t help but listen to the one-sided conversation—a series of drab “Uh-huhs” and “OKs,” with one interesting “Got it. Four o’clock, William Greenberg.”
When he hung up, Maggie was standing in front of him, her head tilted like a curious puppy’s.
“It was Jake. My mom needs me to pick up the wedding cake in the city tomorrow; apparently there was a big mix-up with delivery, and she’s flipping out.”
“I’ve never been to New York City!” Maggie blurted out, then blushed, realizing she wasn’t invited.
“Wait, really?”
“Really. I’m just a small-town girl,” she sang.
They both laughed, remembering the bartender’s reaction to that statement the night before.
“Wanna come with?”
She welcomed a break from lying. It was exhausting.
“Yes!”
“I can give you an abridged tour—we can make a day of it.”
“You know what I’m dying to see?”
“How many guesses do I have?”
Maggie lit up—because—a guessing game!
“Five.”
“And what do I win if I guess?”
She tilted her head again in thought.
“A first press of Miles Davis, Kind of Blue , but you’re never gonna guess.”
“Well, that was a good hint. I’ll cross off the usual suspects. Unless saying ‘you’re never gonna guess’ was a trick.”
Matt grimaced; Maggie smiled devilishly.
Matt took his time answering as they rode back to Bay Harbor. He was very contemplative. He must have really wanted that album.
“Times Square!” he shouted, leaning into the trick.
She squashed it with a dramatic shake.
“Central Park?”
“I would love to see the park, but that’s not it.”
They reached the house and Matt planted both feet firmly on the ground.
“I hope it’s not the 9/11 Memorial.”
“Nope. Two more guesses.”
“That wasn’t a guess, it was a statement.”
She leaned her bike against the fence and disembarked.
“Ohhhh, you’re one of those.”
“One of those what?” Matt questioned.
Maggie put her hand over her mouth and coughed while saying, “Cheater.”
“I am not a cheater,” he retorted, nudging her on the arm. She found herself pushing into the nudge, adding a few seconds to the encounter before pulling back.
“OK,” she said coyly.
“I hate cheating of any kind. I’m serious,” he responded with a pout.
“I see that,” she laughed. “I’ll give you a hint. It is obscure and has something to do with my business.”
He paused; now more than serious, his expression was bound and determined.
“You want to check out one of those Japanese-style listening bars.”
“Shut the front door!” she gasped.
“I will, as soon as we are inside!”
Maggie pulled open the door to Matt’s house and Matt strolled in, scatting the first notes of “So What” from Kind of Blue.
“I can’t believe you guessed that!” she marveled as Matt headed to the fridge, grabbing a bag of baby carrots and hummus, and placing them on the counter.
“It was easy. I thought about what I would want to see if I owned a record store—plus I did a piece about them a couple of issues back,” he boasted. “So they’re top of mind.”
“That was you? I tore it out and fastened it to the center of my vision board. I want to open a listening bar in my store. I can’t believe you wrote that. How crazy!”
“I’ll call my favorite, the Tokyo Listening Room, and get us a reservation for lunch. It’s bashert !” he declared, dipping a carrot in the hummus, and taking a bite, before nudging the bag in her direction. She took one and dipped.
“You know I’m part Jewish now?”
He laughed. “You weren’t before, I guess?”
“Nope. My parents were basically atheists. Atheists who loved Christmas.”
“Mine are Jews who love Christmas,” he chuckled.
“What’s your favorite thing about it?”
“I think the music. I love Christmas songs.”
Maggie laughed. “Not Christmas, being Jewish.”
He took a minute to chomp his carrot and contemplate his answer.
“Oh. There are a lot of things. The culture, the food, the traditions. The way there are so few of us, yet when I find another Jewish person, I feel instantly connected. First shower or second?” he asked, changing the subject.
“First, if you don’t care.”
“Have you ever taken an outdoor shower?”
“I have not!” she replied, not bothering to temper her excitement.
“Aaaah. You’re going to love it.”
They brought her bag upstairs and Matt handed her a towel. She looked at it and blushed thinking about her forthcoming nakedness and how short a time she had known this man. He must have recognized her apprehension because he reached behind the door and handed her his big gray terry bathrobe. Relief flooded her face, and she took the stairs two at a time for her inaugural outdoor shower.