19. Maggie
19
maggie
13 years and eight months since Paris.
1 Year and one week without a text from Colt.
90 days since I snapped and went traveling around the world.
For approximately thirty minutes, I shared air with Colt in Boston until the plane deposited me in Canada. I had a fabulous meal in Montreal before I took off for the rest of the world. Mak worries and I appreciate that, but I need to be lost to hopefully get found. I can’t be around my family or Mak or I’ll just take on their problems or joys never figuring out how to solve my own.
I’ve scrapped four versions of a note. The night I asked to go to Boston, Mak and Tony knew but couldn’t tell me. That night wasn’t about me, it was about him. I don’t know if I’m being selfish or stupid these days, or if there’s even a difference.
But I’m sitting here in an airport not sure how to feel about Tony’s texts from yesterday. I keep scrolling them and then flipping my phone through my fingers, then reading them again. Then scratch out another version of a lame condolence.
Tony: IDK where you are or if I should text this, but you didn’t respond to Mak, so I’m giving it a shot.
Tony: Gemma passed. She had cancer and kept it secret for a year and half from everyone and did nothing about it. Colt and the girls were blindsided.
Tony: Her service was yesterday. They kept it out of the press until now but it will be everywhere after today.
Tony: I hope you’re safe.
Tony: And damn girl, this is quite the adventure. Don’t play with any strange pickleballs!
Tony: Call my wife. Please. It’s killing me how it’s killing her. Just send up a flag or something. It’s important. She’s worried and loves you so much. She’s cranky as shit these days, so call her.
I’m not ready for my real life to intercede on my intermission, but I text Mak for the first time in a while, knowing she’ll respond.
Maggie: I’m okay. I’m a wanderer now and I love you for letting me disappear. Tell Colt… I don’t know. If you think he wants to hear from me, then tell him I’m thinking of him. But if it seems like he doesn’t want me involved, then say nothing. But if he gets that look like he’s lost or eyes glaze over then tell him a garden always grows back. Or buy him a pastry. Please don’t tell Colt about Kevin. I don’t want any of his world to be about me. Focus on him.
Mak: I’m not doing any of that shit. Love you back. Call me later and we can catch up on all of this. {Picture of Tony, Hayden, Law, Robbie, Claire, Dax and Lizzie holding Baby Danny up for the picture.}
My heart hurts. I’m not a part of that world because there’s no place for me. And now it’s time to make a Maggie-sized hole in the world. I’ll carve my own place. I buy some stationery and find a seat.
I click the worn blue pen that somehow still writes, and I say something functional not emotional. I don’t know his world right now so he might hate functional. I exhale and write.
Colt,
I’m incredibly sorry for your loss. Sending my heart, light and love to you and your family at this difficult time.
Maggie
It’s colder than I’d like, but what do you say to the man who is all over CNN ticker because the Vice President of the United States just lost his daughter-in-law. I don’t watch any of the footage, but his name keeps flashing at the bottom of the screen. I don’t want to see how sad he is or those poor grieving girls.
Most days I don’t think of Kevin, and if I do I’m surprised by it. But there’s not a day where Colt doesn’t float through my brain. I’ll find his pen is in a certain pocket. I’ll hear a song or see a garden about to bloom and thoughts of him rush back. He’s nostalgia at this point, a comforting nudge that plays with the back of my mind.
The night I flew out of Boston into this nebulous existence I flipped on “Under the Tuscan Sun,” for the billionth time. Pretty sure pasta is the answer. Noodles can fix anything. I firmly believe that, and it’s time I put them on the itinerary.
I lick the envelope, and just before I seal it, wonder if I’ve not said enough. I shake my head and smile at the cranky people who are next to me because I’m at an airport, and I’m going to meet an elephant. That seems like a solid life plan. I might be slipping into a nutty zone in my life where I think meeting an elephant might heal me. But who knows, things could be worse. I could be on my way home from a funeral.