Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
Maggie
“Brody?” I burst through the front door of the house, searching for the man I had a hundred things to say to.
Namely one, more important than the rest, that just might change the trajectory of everything.
“Brody?” I called again, poking my head into various rooms, finding them all disappointingly empty.
I was desperate and frantic and excited all at once with the newfound realization that I had more power than I’d ever given myself credit for.
Brody and I loved each other. I knew we loved each other. Had known all along we had loved each other. I had just never put enough faith in that certainty. But I wasn’t afraid to anymore. To bet everything on him. On us.
I heard steps descending the staircase and hurried back into the foyer in the hopes of seeing him, only to be once again disappointed.
“You are not the person I wanted to see.”
“Oh, gee, thanks.” Cassie rolled her eyes with a good-natured smile.
“No! I’m sorry. I love you!” I assured her while hurrying past her up the stairs. “I’m just looking for Brody. It’s kind of urgent.”
“He’s not here.”
I paused, turning back to face her. This really wasn’t going according to the plan I formulated in my head fifteen minutes ago on the drive over.
“Did he go to the rink early?” I asked, already digging through my purse for my car keys. I really needed to stop just dropping them in anywhere. I could never find them when I needed them.
I hurried back down the stairs, still searching, and contemplating whether I should get one of those big, absurd fluff-ball keychains Cassie had for this very reason, when her words stopped me in my track again.
“He’s not at the rink. He’s at your apartment.”
“He is?” I said, feeling elated. “That’s great!”
He must’ve been on the same page as me. He must’ve changed his mind about moving to Michigan. He must’ve realized what I did—that we can’t give up on each other. Not now. Not ever.
“Hey, Mags?” Cassie gripped my forearms. “I need you to relax because your eyes are kind of bugging out and it’s making me nervous, okay? Let’s take a breath.”
I did, nodding along excitedly as I blew out a breath in sync with her. Feeling more grounded, I focused on my friend in front of me. How pale she looked. And the scent radiating off of her.
“You smell kind of pukey, Cass.”
“I feel kind of pukey,” she answered.
I took a generous step back.
“It’s not contagious!” she quickly assured. “Something I ate. Anyway,” she waved it off. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“I’m going to pull a Noah!” I told her. “Like you suggested.”
“What does that mean?” She shook her head, completely lost.
“‘The Notebook,’ Cass. I’m going to take a page out of Noah’s book and give Brody some big romantic speech or gesture or… I don’t know, but I’m going to do something. Maybe I’ll stop and get him flowers?”
“Flowers?” Cassie echoed.
“Yeah, Brody’s always getting me flowers and I’m so stupid. I’d never thought to give him any. I mean, guys like flowers too, don’t they?”
“Yes, but—why?”
“Because I love him, Cass! I love him, and I want to ask him to stay, and after everything I feel like I need to do it in some big way to show him how much he means to me.”
Cassie paused. Processed. Then took my hands and squealed, jumping up and down in excitement. For once, I joined her in the absurd display of celebration.
“Finally.” She threw her hands up in victory. “I’ve been waiting for you to figure this out.” Then she dragged me toward the front door, opening it for me and practically shoving me out before yelling, “Wait!”
I turned, watched her plunge her hand into the vase by the door and pull out the calla lilies that were still dripping by the stems.
“Here,” she shoved them toward me. “Don’t waste any time stopping. Take these and go now.”
We both laughed at the absurdity of the situation and the thrill of me—Maggie Brynn—going to profess my love.
“Good luck,” Cassie said, pulling me in for a hug.
“Thanks.” I breathed her in, feeling the puzzle pieces of life settling back into place again.
“Now, go get your man.”
“Come on,” I bit my lip, furiously jamming my finger repeatedly against the elevator button.
I waited a solid eleven, maybe twelve seconds before bolting for the staircase, feeling too much urgency to waste even seconds of time that could be spent reconciling with Brody.
Taking the steps two at a time and thanking my past self for the strict cardio routine I’d endured for the past ten years, I reached our floor in record time.
Turning to the right, I saw our door already wedged open, like a sign from the universe.
I bolted right through the door, into the apartment and smack into a solid chest. I dropped the flowers, trying to brace against the collision.
“Maggie?” Brody’s voice was shocked as his hands moved to steady me. “What are you doing here?”
“Brody.” I breathed out in relief, allowing myself the pleasure of sinking into his touch. “I was looking for you.”
I felt myself burning with all the love I’d been silently carrying around for him, knowing it was finally about to be released one way or another.
I practically felt my eyes shining as I stared up at him, looking like the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. I must’ve looked like a lovestruck fool, but I didn’t care. I was.
I was ready to show him all of me. I didn’t need to be scared of vulnerability. I was safe with Brody, I’d always been safe with Brody, I’d always be—
“Wait, why does the apartment look weird?”
I stepped around him, taking in every detail of the space, or rather the glaring absence of detail.
“Your stuff is gone.” I turned to him slowly. Numbly. Processing the unfathomable.
I looked around to reconfirm that I wasn’t mistaken, but it was true. His stereo was gone. His framed picture of Bobby Orr securing the Stanley Cup. His collection of duffel bags that I always thought cluttered up the doorway area and now realized just left it depressingly empty without them.
“Yeah,” he said uncomfortably, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I just finished packing up. Figured I’d get a head start on sending it over to my new place.”
“Your new place?” I said numbly. “You already got a new place? In Michigan?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged, looking away.
Maybe I was too pitiful to look at, standing there in the ashes of my life, my arms hugging myself as if I could keep myself from crumbling.
“I didn’t know it was official. I just thought it was something you were thinking about.” I mumbled. “I didn’t think it would be this fast.”
I thought I had time to change your mind.
But of course it was happening this fast. That was Brody. He made a decision and he stuck with it. He wasn’t the one plagued by uncertainty and indecisiveness. He wasn’t the one who was so afraid of screwing up that he wouldn’t take a step in any one direction. That was me.
I’d been the one holding him back.
“Yeah, well, you know we’ve played a shit season. It’s not like we’ll be making the playoffs. So after our last game in a few days, I figure I should just be on my way.”
“Is this what you want?” My voice was a weak, feeble thing. I heard the pitiful crack and could only just barely stop myself from crying right then and there.
He hesitated for a beat, staring at me. He opened his mouth, then shut it.
“It’s for the best,” he said finally.
I nodded. Accepting that. I wanted what was best for him. I didn’t want to stand in his way anymore. So even though it killed me, even though it tasted like glass going down, I swallowed all the words I’d come to say.
But I couldn’t stop myself from asking—
“You weren’t even going to say goodbye?”
“I couldn’t.” His face contorted into an expression of utter devastation. “I just… couldn’t.”
I crossed my arms around my body, trying to hold myself upright although the pain threatened to bring me to my knees.
“I left you a letter,” he said, nodding toward the coffee table. “You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to. I just needed to say it.”
“Fine.” I said, looking away to that thick envelope on the coffee table.
“I just want you to know,” he said, gripping the door as though it were the only thing anchoring him in that moment, “I don’t regret any of it.
Even if this is how it was always going to end, I would do it all over again for the time we had together.
I—” he paused, looking away. Blinking. “I just wanted you to know that.”
And then he left.
And true to his word, he didn’t say goodbye, as if it were truly too hard for him to utter. But honestly, I might not have been able to handle it if he did.
The lump in my throat sat heavy and unmoving, and I wondered if it might be there forever.
Moving toward the coffee table, I grabbed the envelope, tearing it open, desperate to hear the last parting words I’d ever get from Brody Callahan.
Maggie,
I’m not very good with words, but still I couldn’t leave without having something said between us. After all these years, a letter seems a pretty shitty way of concluding our story, but I’m too much of a coward to say goodbye in person. I hope you’ll forgive me for that. Or at least understand.
Now here comes my second apology. As you’ll see, most of what I have to say in this letter aren’t my words at all, but I hope you’ll forgive me, because our friend Nicholas Sparks managed to perfectly capture how I’m feeling better than I ever could.
(I have a feeling you’ll recognize the passage I’m including below.)
Now listen Maggie, just because these aren’t my words doesn’t make them any less true. I mean them. Sincerely. Every last one.
So, I’ll stop rambling and get to it.
My Dearest Maggie, “I couldn’t sleep last night because I know that it’s over between us, I’m not bitter anymore because I know that what we had was real—”
I paused, eyes welling up with tears as I read the paragraph he included.
He’d written Noah’s last letter to Allie. That bastard was quoting my favorite movie in his goodbye letter to me, and all I could do was sit here on the floor of the home we once lived in and bawl my eyes out.
Using my blouse sleeve, I rubbed an arm across my eyes, staining the white fabric black with makeup. But I couldn’t bear the thought of ruining this letter with tears.
The last piece of Brody I’d ever have.
I sat there, savoring his words, thinking of the beautiful boy who wrote them. The boy who’d only ever wanted me to be happy. The boy who had never done a thing to hurt me in his entire existence. The boy who lived and breathed for the people he loved.
And I wondered how I could have ever been so afraid of that gentle boy hurting me when all along I should’ve known it was my own hand that would cause my heart to bleed.