Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Maggie
Jack is … perfect. He says all the right things, does all the right things, and that makes me more terrified than if he were a douchebag.
“He called me yesterday to let me know he got tickets to the baseball game this weekend,” I tell my therapist in the emergency session I booked for today, my heart racing and my hands clammy as I give voice to my hidden anxieties.
I haven’t been seeing her as often these days, only when something comes up that I need extra support for—usually to do with Kyle being a dumbass and abandoning Liam.
I should probably just get in her schedule again because the next thing on my list is to contact my attorney about revising the custody and child support agreement.
She should be back from vacation by now, and Mom and Dad are right—if he’s not going to take his time, the least he can do is give me more money to feed and clothe Liam, pay for his extracurriculars and the day camps I have him signed up for so he has somewhere to go during the day and isn’t home bored and alone all summer while I’m at work.
My therapist cocks her head to the side, her steel gray curls swaying gently with the movement, her brow furrowing behind her dark-rimmed glasses. “Is that … bad?” She sounds almost confused, and I can’t help smiling.
I spread my hands, then wipe them on my thighs.
“I mean, no? It’s actually really wonderful.
He came over last weekend and he saw the prints I have on my wall of famous baseball stadiums—prints that Kyle gave me the silent treatment over for almost two weeks until I finally caved and put them in the guest bedroom that he never went into—and now he bought us tickets to a baseball game.
I should be happy—and I am!—I’m just also … worried.”
“What are you worried about?” she asks, her voice calm.
“It feels too good to be true,” I say after a moment, my voice just above a whisper.
“I mean, I know we’re friends, we’re not really dating”—Kim’s eyebrows raise at that statement—“but …” I shake my head again, grabbing the throw pillow next to me and clutching it in my lap.
“I guess I’m worried that I’ll get used to being treated well, and then one day it’ll all stop. ”
Kim makes a note on the pad in her lap. “Is that what happened with Kyle?”
I sit back on the couch, looking at the ceiling briefly as I think back to the early days of my relationship with Kyle.
“Not exactly.” I shrug, meeting her eyes again.
“I mean, he wasn’t as much of a dick in the beginning as he was by the time we divorced, but there was always this tendency for us to always do what he wanted.
Which was mostly fine, I’m usually happy to go along with what other people want, especially if they have strong opinions, or at least stronger than mine, but … ” I shrug again.
“But what?” Kim presses.
“But I always wanted to have my voice heard too. To feel like I mattered. I don’t need my way all the time, of course. But I like getting to do something I want to do too.”
“And with Jack, you’re getting that.”
I nod.
Kim shifts in her seat, crossing her legs and leaning her elbow on the arm of her chair, resting her chin in her hand and narrowing her eyes as she considers me.
“I’m still not sure I see a problem,” she finally says.
“I understand that you’re used to a slap following a gift or a compliment.
That was Kyle’s MO, so you’ve come to expect it from everyone, even your parents, who have no history of treating you that way. ”
I let out a breath, nodding slowly. “I guess that’s true.”
“So it’s understandable that Jack treating you well makes you uncomfortable when you’re used to being treated poorly. You also have developed some hyperindependent tendencies from being married to Kyle, which makes it difficult for you to accept gifts or help from anyone else.”
I squirm, hating how right she is. “Yeah. That’s true.”
“When you feel like this about Jack, I want you to review a list of what you’re worried about happening compared to the evidence in front of you.
From what you’ve told me, you and Jack have struck up a mutually beneficial arrangement—he gets to go places and do things and therefore isn’t stuck at home bored until September and gets the added benefit of possibly being seen with you which makes him seem more stable than he’s been portrayed in the past, right?
” I nod. “And you get treated to fun nights out, which I agree with your mother’s assessment, you desperately need.
You spent many years in your marriage putting everyone else first. And since your divorce, you’re still putting Liam first”—she holds up a hand—“which is definitely important with a child who is reliant on you. That’s not a criticism, but it does make it difficult for Maggie to get what she needs.
I’m glad you’re letting your parents take Liam for overnights.
I think that’s good for both of you, and his grandparents too.
And I’m glad you’re getting to go out and have fun for the first time in far too long. ”
I smile, my shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Me too. It’s just scary, though.”
She nods. “I know. But Jack isn’t love bombing you. He’s not giving you extravagant gifts. Though I realize baseball tickets aren’t cheap, it’s not like he’s flying you to Italy for the weekend, showering you with jewels, and declaring his undying love.”
Grinning, I giggle and shake my head. “Not even close. Like I said, our arrangement is friendly. We’re seen together on a weekly basis, and while he doesn’t get a ton of attention, I know a few of the smaller gossip sites have seen us out and have started speculating already.”
Kim’s eyebrows lift again. “How do you feel about that?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Fine. It was the deal, after all. I knew that going in. We’re not getting mobbed by paparazzi or anything.
Is it weird seeing grainy phone pics of me on random websites?
Sure. But it’s nothing terrible.” At least not yet.
I know that media coverage always has the potential to take a rough turn without warning.
But since we’re not doing anything scandalous, it’s hard to see how that could happen.
Nodding, Kim makes another note on her notepad. “Okay. So it seems like things are going well. There’s no reason to suspect Jack has bad intentions. His words match his actions, which is always an important thing to keep an eye on.”
Leaning forward, I take a deep breath, bracing myself to ask one of the questions that swirls and loops endlessly through my mind. “What if …” I chew my lower lip, afraid to voice my fears aloud. “What if his words stop matching his actions?”
“That’s a good question,” Kim says. “What if that happens? Have you thought about what you would do?”
I sit back against the couch again, both grateful and annoyed at how calm Kim is in the face of my raging anxiety. “Leave, I guess. End things.”
She nods. “Good. That sounds like a good plan. If at any point he reveals himself to be less than what he is currently representing himself to be, you can end it. At this point, you have no strong attachments. You like spending time with him, which is good.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
“I’m genuinely happy for you. I think it’ll help you feel better if you keep things as they are, though, until you feel more settled about this situation.
There’s no reason to introduce him to your son or any other friends or family.
You’re hanging out, having a good time, and that’s enough.
If you decide you don’t want to anymore for any reason at all, even if you still think Jack’s a great guy but you just want to have time to date for real or you develop feelings that you know he doesn’t reciprocate or anything at all.
” She waves a hand airily. “You can end it. You have the power to do that. You’re no longer the Maggie who was dragged along by the force of someone else’s personality.
You’re able to focus on things that are important to you, pursue those things, and have fun with someone who wants to take you to places and events you want to experience. Enjoy it.”
Letting out a deep breath, I nod and give her a tentative smile. “Okay.”
On my way back to work, I feel so much better about my situation with Jack.
Talking to Kim lifted a load off, reminding me that I’m in control here, that I get to decide how long this lasts.
I don’t have a contract. I don’t have to worry about how to untangle my life from someone else’s.
I don’t have to worry about how it’ll affect Liam or anything like that.
I can simply … stop going out with Jack if I want to.
I don’t, though. Especially not when he buys Mariner’s tickets.
My good mood evaporates as soon as I walk back into work, though.
“Maggie,” Brock says, sounding annoyed, “there you are. Where have you been? Never mind.” He stops in front of me, taking a giant bite of the sandwich in his hand and chewing with his mouth open.
It takes real effort not to let my disgust show on my face.
“I had an appointment,” I remind him, even though he doesn’t actually care.
“Whatever.” He waves that away like he would a stinky fart. “What’s with all these uggos you set up interviews with? And why are half of them dudes?”
I raise my eyebrows. “I set up interviews with the candidates who were most qualified.” Uggos? “You didn’t actually insult anyone to their face, did you?” But I already know the answer to that question.
“No!” he denies, bits of half-masticated sandwich spraying out of his mouth.
I take a step back, unable to hide my disgust now.
He wipes a hand down the front of his shirt—a Broncos jersey that costs way too much to be using as a bib-slash-napkin.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Oh, what? You’re too good to talk to a guy eating a sandwich?
That’s why you’re a single mom, isn’t it?
You’re just one of those bitchy women who’s all prim and proper and doesn’t understand how a man really is. ”
Refusing to dignify any of that with a response, I step into my little office, setting down my tote bag.
“Brock, do you want me to schedule your social media posts, or do you want me to be your assistant?” I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down.
“Because I’ll do one of those things, but I won’t do the other.
I’ll give you three guesses about which is which. ”
He looks at me, confused. “Huh?”
I roll my eyes, no longer bothering to hide my disdain.
He might threaten to fire me, but we both know he won’t.
He can’t afford to at this point. He has no assistant, no social media know-how, and he refuses to do anything himself that doesn’t include food or talking to athletes.
He does interview people well, I’ll give him credit for that.
And he’s a wiz at editing—even if he sometimes uses those powers for evil more than good, like in Jack’s case.
He comes up with good angles for shows, which makes my job easier.
He’s very quotable, gives good quippy soundbites that get lots of love from the algorithms. I think he’s a giant asshole, but that’s why the internet loves him.
“Look, Brock. You need an assistant. If you keep making me do two jobs, I’ll quit.”
He scoffs. “You have a kid. You can’t afford to quit.”
Dropping my arms to my sides, I lean closer. “Try me.”
We’re locked in a staring contest for a few seconds before he splutters and steps back. “Fine! I’ll hire one of the uggos!”
“If you call them that, they won’t take the job!”
Turning away, he waves a hand. “There are plenty of people desperate enough to take any job, even if it sucks.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “Look at you. You’re still here, aren’t you?”
And just like that, he gets the last word.