EZRA
‘ I ’ M SORRY THAT IT TOOK SO LONG FOR US TO DO THIS ,’ M AGGIE says, pensively stirring a matcha latte. ‘Work’s been crazy.’
I glance up at her. We’re in a small coffee shop near her office, a hipster relic with exposed brick walls and plants hanging from the ceiling. Just about every other person in here is frenziedly tapping away at sleek little laptops, and the constant patter of fingers against keys is a weirdly relaxing sound. They charged me five dollars for a black coffee, though, so obviously I’m never coming here again.
‘Yeah?’ I venture. ‘In a good way?’
‘I suppose. Lots of new clients, but that means I’ve been living in the office, basically.’
She sighs, tucking a strand of shiny hair behind her ear. She’s trying to look harried, but I know her too well. Maggie is never happier than when there’s a crisis, and right now she’s radiating satisfaction – it’s in the set of her shoulders, the spark in her eyes.
‘Well, I’m glad it’s going well,’ I say, and she flashes a quick smile.
‘Thank you. I didn’t ask you here to talk about me, though.’
‘No?’ I say, like it wasn’t incredibly obvious that Maggie had ulterior motives in suggesting we ‘get coffee and catch up’. Her and I haven’t done that since … well, ever.
‘No,’ she says, delicately setting her spoon against her saucer. ‘I wanted to talk about your birthday.’
‘Oh. Well – I don’t, particularly, so …’
‘At least let me apologise.’
‘Mags, you don’t—’
‘I do,’ she presses. ‘Caroline was deliberately trying to provoke me, and I gave her exactly what she wanted by rising to it. We spoilt your day, and I am so, so sorry.’
‘Right,’ I say, surprised by the Caroline-centric angle. ‘Except I wouldn’t have said that Caro deliberately —’
‘You don’t need to defend her, Ezra,’ Maggie cuts in. ‘It was your birthday – it was about celebrating you . Caroline was wrong to try and make it about anything else.’
‘It’s always a weird day, though. There’s not really anything any of us can do about that.’
‘There’s nothing weird about it,’ Maggie says intently. ‘And if Caroline implies otherwise, that reflects poorly on her. She won’t accept that we’ve chosen to process our grief differently, and it’s selfish – that’s why she’s so combative about it. She’s selfish.’
‘… Okay,’ I say, distinctly discomfited. ‘So – I take it you guys haven’t spoken since then?’
‘Seeing as she started it, I think it falls to her to reach out first,’ Maggie replies coolly, taking a sip of her latte. I say nothing, unnerved by how this fight is still dragging on. Despite feeling the occasional pang of envy over Maggie and Caroline’s bond, I don’t like the idea of them being at odds with each other.
‘Anyway,’ Maggie says briskly. ‘What are your plans for the rest of the day?’
‘Uh – just this, I guess.’
‘Oh,’ Maggie says, blinking. ‘I didn’t – I have a meeting with a client in half an hour. I’m sorry.’
‘That’s fine,’ I say quickly, embarrassed. ‘I just assumed – it’s my bad.’
‘I’m going to an event tonight, though!’ she says. ‘You could come! Please come.’
‘No, you don’t—’
‘Please, it’ll be fun! A friend of mine is opening a gallery in SoHo – maybe you could network a little! Dad mentioned that you were getting back into photography.’
‘I really don’t love that everyone in this family talks about me behind my back,’ I interject, abruptly annoyed. ‘If you want to know what’s going on in my life then you can ask me, not Dad.’
‘Well, that’s news to me,’ Maggie replies, the chilliness of her tone betrayed by two spots of colour in her cheeks. ‘Caroline’s the only one you ever actually confide in.’
‘Yeah, well – we spend more time together. You and Dad are always too busy working, case in point.’
‘What about my engagement party? No one was working then.’
‘Come on.’ I laugh. ‘You clearly didn’t want me there in the first place.’
‘Ezra, you can’t blame me for being surprised that you came when you didn’t RSVP !’
‘Well, I’m sorry that my social etiquette isn’t up to your standards,’ I retort. ‘I guess boarding schools just aren’t what they used to be.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Maggie says, voice taut – she’s genuinely upset, I realise, and my anger immediately caves in on itself to make way for shame.
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s not. I didn’t – I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘No, I’m being a prick. And that gallery thing sounds like fun. Is Tomas going?’
‘He is,’ she says after a pause. ‘You could bring someone too, if you wanted.’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Maybe I will.’
I haven’t seen Audrey since she left my apartment yesterday – she stuck around for breakfast this time. I made eggs. She made coffee. We ate and drank and smiled and tried to pretend that there wasn’t a huge, unspoken something hanging over our heads.
Maybe whatever’s weighing on her will resolve itself. Maybe it’s nothing, like she keeps insisting – maybe I’m just projecting my own bullshit on to her, creating this weird little fantasy where she needs saving and I get to be her white knight. Me being pathetic is an infinitely better scenario than something being actively, seriously wrong. It’s also way more likely.
In any case, I’ve figured that the best course of action is to just be … around. Available, should she need me. And it works in my favour, seeing as she’s currently my favourite person to spend time with.
‘Okay.’ Maggie nods, looking slightly taken aback. ‘I’ll make sure you have a plus one.’
‘Thanks.’ I smile. She returns it, taking another sip of her drink – her engagement ring sparkles in the light as she raises her hand, the stone so massive that it probably has its own gravitational pull. Maggie’s normally all about the understatement, so her walking around with the gemmological equivalent of a foghorn on her finger didn’t make sense to me until I found out that it was a family heirloom, bestowed on her by Tomas’s mother. Whenever I catch her looking at it, it’s with this soft, dreamy smile that’s usually only reserved for him. And that’s love, I guess – a force so powerful that it can undermine even Maggie’s unshakable aesthetic principles.
‘How’s the wedding planning going?’ I ask impulsively. Maggie cocks her head in surprise, probably at my apparent willingness to discuss colour schemes and string quartets.
‘It’s going very well,’ she says after a pause. ‘How would you feel about being a groomsman?’
‘Oh, wow. Is this an official offer?’
‘Well – “offer” implies that you have a choice.’
‘Then I’d be honoured,’ I reply smoothly, and Maggie laughs. I grin, suddenly struck by how rare a sound it is. It always has been, even when we were kids. Maybe that’s why it feels so good to be responsible for it.