Round Thirty-Three
MAGGIE
I drop my things as I walk upstairs: my sweater on the railing, my purse on the steps.
I toe my shoes off and leave them where they lay, and because this isn’t the first time I’ve littered on my way upstairs, I snag yesterday’s claw clip and twist my hair up to get the locks off the back of my neck.
My legs ache after pulling a twelve-hour shift. My feet throb, because today was especially busy at the diner, and my period cramps tear me apart, despite the pain-relief I’ve been swallowing every four hours since I woke up this morning.
Still, I make a beeline for my bedroom, through the doorway and across the room until I can whip the curtains aside. Lowering to my knees as tears itch the backs of my eyes, I rest with my arms on the sill and study the collage of perfection Jeremy gifts me with.
His letter states, “I miss you” in giant, block scrawl.
He drew a picture of us in the garden, the edges completely covered in purple, with two people in the foreground, him and me, a small purple spray of lavender in my hair, and in the background, a two-story house sits proudly, while a man waits on the porch.
Just a shadow, really. He didn’t even warrant Jeremy’s attention to the details.
He’s present, but he doesn’t get to be a part of us.
I swallow a deep breath and sniffle the emotion from my nose, and because this has become a three-day tradition for us now, I glance down at the supplies I keep within easy reach on the floor.
Snagging a piece of paper and a thick black marker, I turn from the window and sit with my back against the wall.
I draw an entire page of cookies. They’re just circles with dots in them, because I never claimed to be an artist, but they’re cookies just for the little boy who deserves a million of them.
I fill the page until there’s no room left, then I grab another sheet of paper, and I write my response.
I miss you, too. How was school? I have cookies for you. I’ll set the container on my porch, so you can come over any time you like and get them. You can even share them with your dad if you want.
Re-capping the marker and setting my supplies aside, I snatch up the tape dispenser and twist back to my knees, take down this morning’s note where I told him to have a great day at school, and replace it with my new messages.
My phone chimes in my pocket, followed by a single vibration, so I snatch it out and sit against the wall once more. Exhaling a long sigh, I scan the barrage of texts I’ve been ignoring for the last hour throughout my drive home.
One is from a guy named Stuart—he’s coming to my house in an hour.
He’s left Barlespy already and is on his way, so I hit reply and send a quick ‘see you soon’.
Then I move to Eliza’s texts; she wants to know about my next speed dating event, so I type a response out for her, too: ‘next weekend, in Barlespy. I’ll send you the details. ’
Billy’s texts are the hardest to ignore.
Hey. I miss you.
Can we talk?
Who was that guy at your house last night? He was driving a silver Honda Pilot. I haven’t seen that car around before, so I guess he was from out of town?
Jeremy keeps coming home with desserts. He SWEARS you’re giving them to him, but I dunno, Magnolia. I’m finding it difficult to believe we even have a neighbor, since I never see you.
I might be off base, but I think maybe you’re mad about the Plan B thing. If you are, I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I’d really like a chance to talk to you about it, so call me back.
No thanks.
Finally, I get a text from a woman who, similarly to me, attended Plainview Elementary School.
She was there at the same time I was there, and just like I did, she moved away before middle school.
Now she’s back—well, in Barlespy, anyway—and the only reason I know any of that at all is because she wandered into Brienne’s diner a few days ago.
Kismet, maybe. Or perhaps it’s the universe intent on hurting me.
Luciana:
Fine. I accept. Friday at seven?
My heart both shatters and swells. It aches and soars. Because I’m doing my job, setting Billy Caster up with a beautiful, brown-haired, honey-eyed, successful, professional woman who neither has kids, nor wants kids of her own.
She’s perfect for him.
Drawing a long breath, I tap out a response confirming her date, then navigating back to the inbox I share with Billy, I consider informing him exactly as I have with others in the past.
Name. Bio. Description. I would tell him where he’s taking her, and what time to be there.
I could even tell him what to wear and slip in a fast ‘how’s Jeremy?
’ and hope for a response. It would be so easy to do.
So cowardly. But just as I tap the screen, too weak not to choose the easy way out, Jeremy’s shouting voice makes me jump.
I surge up and twist, slamming my elbows to the sill and scouring the window across from mine. But he’s not in his room. He’s not even in his house.
“Maggie!” His sweet voice carries all the way through my home despite the closed front door. “Maggie! I’m in the garden. You gotta come out.”
My heart skitters with anticipation. With excitement, even at the risk of seeing his father.
I bound to my feet and scramble through my room.
I dart barefoot onto the stairs, and race down, exhilaration chasing me with every step.
Then I crash against my front door with a grunt, pulling back and whipping it open to reveal the evening sky outside.
I step onto my porch and find him waiting at our boundary garden, his hands cupped around his mouth as though prepared to shout again, but when our eyes meet, he drops his arms and gifts me with his most beautiful, sweetest grin.
Remembering my cookie promise, I spin on my heels and dart back inside to snatch up the container, then I stride onto the porch and slip my feet into a pair of boots.
I wrap my arms across my chest to combat the chill in the air, then I skip down the steps and study the boy from his shoes to the top of his messy hair.
“Oh my gosh. You are the best thing I’ve laid eyes on today, Jeremy Caster.” I cross my yard and pretend the itchiness in the backs of my eyes is because of the cold, and not because my heart aches. “Here. I brought you cookies.”
His face lights up with happiness. “For me?”
“For you.” I reach across the garden and grin as he shakily accepts them. “I left a note in my window about them, so you can ignore that when you go upstairs if you like.”
“Thanks!” He hugs his goodies against his chest with one hand, then he extends the other. “I’ve got something for you, too.”
Against my better judgment, I open my palm and accept the barely-there, a-little-bit-wet gift without thinking. The instant he hands it over, Jeremy turns on his heels and dashes back to his house, only to set the cookies down and snatch up a couple of folded camp chairs.
“Look at it!” He walks straight across the garden and plops the first chair on my side of our boundary line, then he goes back for the second, but instead of putting it on his side of the yard, he sets it beside mine.
Impatiently grabbing my hand, he drags me down, then he climbs into his seat and leans into my space.
“Don’t be afraid or anything.” He looks down at my tightly gripped fist. “It’s not a spider or anything. ”
“I’m nervous.” I choke out a bubbling laugh, because this boy is absolutely the kind to set a baby spider in my palm without telling me. But he’s also the little boy I spend all day long thinking about.
Is he well? Is he happy? Sad? Hurt?
What does he think about his mom? What does he think about me?
What does he think about me and his dad sleeping in the same bed?
Uneasy, I study his glittering eyes, even in the relative darkness. “Why don’t you give me a hint?”
“Just open it!” he giggles, peeling my fingers open. “My tooth came out!”
“Your tooth?” I stare down at the tiny thing and work hard not to make the ick face… too much. “You gave me your tooth? Ew!” Laughing, I try to force it back into his hand. “Don’t hand me your tooth, Jeremy! That’s gross.”
“It’s not gross.” He bounces with laughter, bumping my shoulder with his. “It’s just a tooth! Do you know what that means?”
“That you won’t be able to eat meat for the next couple of weeks?”
“No! It means the Tooth Fairy is coming tonight! And that means I’ll get more money for you.”
“For me?” My eyes water in spite of my willing them not to. Emotion thickens in my throat and burns my nostrils. “I don’t need your money, cutie. It’s yours.”
“But Molly’s mom gets taken care of by her dad, remember? This is my first tooth that fell out since I was telling you that, so maybe you forgot. I’m gonna take care of you now, too.”
“You’re such a sweet, sweet boy.” I wrap my arm over his shoulder and pull him in as close as two separate chairs allow. “I have never in all my life met such an amazing boy.”
“Really?” He inches back and searches my eyes. “The most amazing of them all?”
“Of them all. But honey, I want you to save your money.”
“I am—”
“For yourself.” I carefully place his tooth back in his palm and gently close his fingers around it.
“I know you want to take care of me, because you’re just that amazing, but I don’t need to be taken care of.
I’m all grown up. I work, I have a house, and money in the bank. I’m doing just fine, sweetheart.”
“But—”
“It would make me a million times happier to see you save all your money for yourself.” I lean a little closer, conspiratorially lowering my voice. “You know the house next to mine on the other side? The Smiths?”
His bobs his head in confirmation.
“Well, how cool would it be if you saved all your money and bought that house when you were a grown up? You could live next door to me forever. And even though I bet your dad will be sad when you move out someday, I just know he’d be less sad if you only moved two doors down.”