Chapter 5
It was no secret. Maggie was finally having some fun. “Aaaannnd, action!” she called out, as sand shot up into the sky and her stars began the scene as planned. Her heart sped up like it always did at the start of a shoot or a project or a dream. That the morning’s drama was momentarily disguised by the all-consuming task at hand was icing on the cake.
It was the Ocean Beach Sandcastle Competition, and the Serendipity House didn’t care if it felt juvenile or silly. The friends were determined to win.
Maggie oversaw production as the team’s director/producer, Liz was the production designer / set decorator, Cam and PJ the trusty construction crew. As the guys filled toy buckets with sand, a collection of shapes and cylinders they’d found in the shed outside the rental house, Liz walked the shoreline looking for seashells or seaweed worthy of their palatial design. Brenna called out words of encouragement from her beach chair, a People magazine open on her lap, while Quinn failed to nap through the ordeal despite her best efforts.
When Maggie first saw the flyer advertising the sandcastle competition, a faded piece of paper stapled to an announcement board at the entrance of the beach, she almost didn’t draw attention to it. She wasn’t sure how most of the group would want to spend their first eighty-five-degrees-and-clear-skies Saturday. Georgie was stuck at the house, laptop hooked up to a hot spot because the rental’s internet wasn’t high-speed enough for his law firm’s urgent work.
Mac and Robyn, meanwhile, had disappeared into the bedroom. Liz claimed Robyn was finishing up some work, too, but the noises ricocheting from upstairs sounded definitively like pleasure.
So much for MM’s, Maggie thought.
Maybe Mac hadn’t been sending any subliminal messages after all.
Maybe he was simply craving some candy.
That morning, Liz had been extra quiet, eyes practically glued to her phone, straggling behind with a frown as the group walked toward the beach. As kids, Maggie had been the frazzled one while Liz was always calm. Liz had even learned to meditate in the third grade, teaching it to their friends at recess. Now she looked like she didn’t know the meaning of the word nirvana.
Maybe a sandcastle distraction would help Liz, too. And sure enough, as soon as Maggie pointed out the contest, Liz wholeheartedly agreed: the Serendipity House would compete.
Maggie signed them up.
An hour later, the shoreline was well populated with those competing. The $150 gift certificate to the Sandbar enticed hungover weekenders, groups of grown twentysomethings, to spend their Saturday morning patting down sand and filling moats with ocean water as purpose brimmed in their eyes.
The teamwork of it all put Maggie at ease. A performance of its own. She felt like she was back in the director’s chair of a UCLA film set. She loved the pandemonium of a group working to accomplish a single goal. That feeling of landing a plane while still building the runway. Of getting her hands dirty for a dream. Of trusting in the madness.
Until, of course, Kurt proved that when it came to hard work, there was no point in trusting at all.
“What do you think of these?” Liz asked now. A collection of misshapen shells and sea glass shone against her palm.
“Oh my god, they’re perfect. How’d you even find them?”
“I saw a speck after the waves receded. Went with it.” Liz beamed.
“You still have the best eye,” Maggie said. “It’s insane.”
“Hell yeah she does,” Cam called out from where he was crafting the base of the castle. “That’s my girlfriend—”
“Fiancée!” Brenna reprimanded, eavesdropping from her chair.
“Fiancée,” Cam repeated. “Fiancée. I love hearing that word.”
“Yeah, yeah, hand ’em over.” PJ beckoned for Liz to drop her discoveries onto the pile of shells, waiting for the finished structure to be assembled before she would decorate it all.
“All right, what should I do next?” Liz asked Maggie.
“This is like senior fall all over again,” Cam laughed. “Director Mags.”
“Hopefully with fewer calluses this time,” Quinn called out.
PJ groaned, out of the loop. “Okay, fill me in. What’d I miss?”
“Maggie’s video production class required a short film as a final during our senior year,” Brenna explained.
“You’re looking at her star-studded cast and crew,” Cam said.
“It was actually pretty fun,” Liz offered.
“You’re just saying that because you two got to be in front of the camera!” Quinn said.
The friends continued bickering, but Maggie revisited the memory. While Cam and Liz had been the only actors in her project (the script required a steamy kiss), the entire group had answered the call for production help that fall weekend. The shoot lasted for two exhausting twelve-hour days. Liz provided the costumes, Cam designed the props, and Brenna funded the snacks, her own version of craft services. Georgie was the sound operator, holding a boom until his right arm nearly fell off. Quinn acted as script coordinator, making sure each line was recited just so. Maggie directed them all.
Mac, too, Maggie remembered. He wasn’t here now, but he had been then, volunteering as her assistant director, ready to do anything she asked. Ready, always ready, to help with her big dreams.
“Everyone was perfect,” Maggie said now. “It was perfect.”
“That’s amazing,” PJ said, looking at her as his eyes glowed with sincerity. “So cool. I’d love to see it sometime.”
Maggie felt her cheeks warm, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Was it from the reminder of how wonderful it felt to be on set? The heat of wanting Mac again by her side?
Or was it a new, spreading intoxication that came with settling back among her group of friends? She soaked in the laughter of the group, grateful that it felt familiar again. Some friendships worked that way, Maggie reasoned, like tattoos. The shape, the texture surviving spans of silent years. This could be her story, too.
This afternoon was already off to a better start than Friday night had suggested. Maybe the rest of the weekend would follow in a similar fashion. She could think of more group-project activities, plan some grand gestures, find her way back into the fold.
“Anyone up for a walk?” Maggie called out, determined to keep up the pace.
Soon, she was leading PJ, Georgie, Cam, and Liz westward down the shoreline, weaving around pairs of Frisbee players and dogs chasing waves, evaluating each sandcastle they passed. Most were admirable, some creative in shape and design (a mermaid and a flip-flop, for instance), but none as lofty in stature as their own. They would win the contest, she dared to hope.
She pulled out her phone, typing and smiling as she walked:
Feet in the sand feels like stepping in a time machine. Youth and happiness as effervescent as the coast. The waves rock in and warn us that the world spins and spins. That we are small, and life goes on. But the sand reminds us that we’ve already been here. We’ve built castles once before; we drank the magic of the sun. Isn’t that refreshing? Even though we’ve grown, we can always find a way back home.
“Watch out!” A voice called, but it was too late.
A Frisbee thwacked against Maggie’s shin. Her balance thrown off, her phone toppled out of her hands, the screen face-planting in the sand. She quickly rushed to pick it up, to save it from the oncoming waves, moving so fast that she forgot to look up and see where the disc had flown from in the first place.
Ty stood there, holding her phone in one hand and a bright green Frisbee in the other.
“Maggie May Monroe. I knew that was you. You always had your head stuck in your notebook. E-notebook, in this case, but still.” Ty grinned. His hair was jet-black, his face tanned.
Meanwhile, Maggie’s face flushed. Thoughts she’d locked away came racing back. “Well, I’ll be taking that.” She grabbed the phone from Ty’s clutches, abandoning any attempt at daintiness or charm. Charm didn’t matter, considering where her brain had started steering.
“I didn’t read anything, I promise,” Ty said with a genuine smile. “I’m sure it’s genius, though. Not as good as my stuff, of course, but you always had promise.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Maggie said. She knew he was teasing, but she had no patience for it then.
“Are you out here all weekend? We should get a drink, catch up on work—”
“Actually, I gotta go.” Maggie quickly pivoted and started briskly walking back toward the direction of Quinn and Brenna until she felt someone grab her arm.
It was Liz, following her, with a concerned look on her face.
“What was that about?” she asked, panting slightly from running to catch up to Maggie. “Who was that?”
Maggie didn’t want to get into it all. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”
Liz’s face remained fixed, unimpressed by Maggie’s obvious lie.
“Fine, just some boy I knew in LA. We worked at the talent agency together, my first job out of college.”
“Oooh. Romantic?”
“He was an assistant already, a few years older than us. I was in the mailroom.”
“I repeat. Romantic?”
“It’s not like that. We were coworkers. He’s fine, he just…reminds me of someone. Something. I don’t want to think about it.”
Liz’s face softened instantly. “Well, let’s not think about it then.”
Growing up, Maggie had always been grateful for the way that Liz seemed to understand a problem despite hearing the bare minimum of words. She had the ability to call her friends on their bullshit, to make them address problems head-on. But she always did so while standing right by their side, sharing a smile and a shoulder, despite the sadness. Maggie’s heart pulled as she realized Liz was doing the same now. How had she ever let a friend as tough yet special as Liz just fall through her fingers?
By the time Maggie and Liz returned to their sandcastle, she was reminded of her answer.
Mac.
In the distance, Mac and Robyn were walking away.
“Sorry guys, you just missed them,” Brenna said, tracking Maggie’s and Liz’s eyelines.
“Robyn sat down for maybe three minutes before saying her ‘relaxation window’ had ended and it was time to go back to work,” Quinn said.
“Did they say where they were going?” Liz asked.
“To the bay, I think? Some photo shoot for Mood-y or Mood Ring or Ring My Mood, or whatever she calls it,” Brenna said.
“Wait. Do you think the ring is a play on, like, how phones ring? I didn’t know she appreciated puns,” Quinn said.
“And Mac went with her?” Liz asked, ignoring Quinn’s question.
“Robyn said he had to model. Or take photos. Or both,” Brenna said.
“Robyn is intense,” Quinn said.
“Agreed,” Brenna said.
“She’s just entrepreneurial,” Liz said. “Can’t sit still. Some people are like that.”
“But is Mac like that?” Maggie asked. “I’ve never seen him leave the beach so early. It feels wrong.”
Then she instantly regretted it.
Liz turned to her, her lips tight, her face suddenly cold. Any rekindled kindness drained away. “You haven’t seen Mac in years. How would you have the slightest idea of what’s right or wrong for him?”
Maggie had struck a nerve. “I’m just saying he never used to—” she started, trying to backtrack, but it was too late. She had overstepped.
“Leave Mac alone, okay? He’s over you. Finally. Just let him be,” Liz snapped. She grabbed her beach bag and started walking back to the house before anyone could stop her.
With Liz gone, Maggie fell into her chair, head in her hands. Brenna and Quinn resumed their reading and nap, respectively, giving Maggie an awkward privacy.
Maggie knew her place. Mac and Cam were the friend group’s lifeblood, but Liz was the real leader. And Liz was loyal. How could Maggie have forgotten that? Ever since Maggie had picked LA over all of them, Liz had drawn a line. Maggie was foolish for thinking that she would forgive and forget.
Now she remembered what Liz had said, when she came back home from UCLA for the first time. After their freshman year ended, Maggie dove headfirst into the film industry, moving to LA for a summer internship at Paramount.
As such, it was winter break of their sophomore year before she returned home to East Meadow. Even ahead of her plane touching down at JFK, Maggie knew she was in fragile friend territory. All semester long, she’d barely answered the East Meadow group chats, she’d missed all the Skype calls. She’d wanted to participate, but she was drowning. The three-hour time difference between LA and New York was just enough to make it feel like Maggie was always ever so slightly behind. She’d wake up when her old friends were already in their classes, or get home from a long day right as her East Coast–based loved ones were about to fall asleep. As a transfer student, it felt even harder to catch up with new campus maps and assignments amid classmates who’d already found their footing. She loved her new film curriculum and the California air, but she hated to admit that she was struggling.
That winter, that rush of returning to her roots after her first semester spent so far away, left Maggie homesick and hungry at the same time. So when she was invited to Mac and Cam’s holiday basement party, she went.
And even though everything was different, just for one night, she let herself pretend nothing had changed. Like life was still easy and simple, known. She sang along to Taylor Swift with Brenna and Quinn, quoted all the best parts of the latest season of Brooklyn Nine-Nine with Georgie. But the easiest, most natural part was finding her way back to Mac.
It didn’t take long. Seeing him again felt like pressing play on a movie she’d seen one hundred times.
They stayed close all night, teaming up as beer pong partners, like they always had in high school. Mac could make anyone feel welcome, his smile was easy, and he was quick to laugh at any joke. He loved to make others comfortable. With Maggie, he displayed no drama, no awkwardness, despite the fact they hadn’t seen each other since she’d moved away. He was welcoming, which was classic Mac.
Then his arm kept accidentally grazing hers. Shoulders touching, fingers overlapping as they restacked cups. Maggie felt herself lean into it, like muscle memory. It was as if their bodies were magnets, an electric pulse keeping them near. It felt like old times.
Flirty and easy and fun.
Right?
An hour into the party, after refusing to make eye contact with Maggie all night, Liz pulled her upstairs.
“I know what you’re doing,” Liz said, once they’d gotten to the quiet, darkened living room. “And it’s low, even for you.”
Maggie bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t think we can all tell that you’re leading him on? After ignoring him since summer? After breaking his heart?” Liz’s voice cracked.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know what it’s like—”
“How could I? You’ve barely answered any of my calls, and now you’re just showing up, pretending like everything is fine again?”
“We’re just catching up, hanging out. Look, Liz, I’m sorry about NYU, really, but it wasn’t about you—”
“Save it, Maggie. Honestly. Forget about me. You clearly already have.” Liz’s chin crumpled. “But unless you’re coming home anytime soon, or unless you’ve suddenly changed your mind about long distance, about breaking up with him? Do me one last favor and leave Mac out of your identity crisis.”
There are only a few moments in life that sear into your soul, that leave an imprint you can remember verbatim simply by closing your eyes.
This was one of those moments for Maggie.
She had been left stunned. Liz had read her like a textbook, and Maggie felt mortified. She did already have spring and summer internships lined up in LA. There was no intention of coming back to New York, other than the occasional academic calendar break. She didn’t have proper prospects of her and Mac getting back together. Not in a real way.
Not in a relationship way.
Not in anything more than a hometown hookup.
Suddenly, she felt like the worst person in the world for thinking this was okay. Mac was more than a rebound. He had been her best friend. He was the twin brother of her other best friend’s boyfriend. It was messy, and Maggie was only making it worse.
She went home that night in tears. Chastised, and rightfully so. But beginning that next morning, she had accepted that Liz was right.
They were better off without her. By that sophomore spring, Maggie’s parents moved to a new house, on the waterfront in Oyster Bay, a different town on Long Island. If and when Maggie did fly east—and that count only declined year by year—it was easy to avoid East Meadow entirely.
She gave them all their space, as promised. Eventually, there was enough space to fill six years.
Maggie had hoped that after all that time, she could come home to a fresh start, a blank slate. That they could act like adults about it. That she could try to fit in again. But it seemed her former best friends’ walls were still built high against her. She had well-deserved grudges to undo.
That’s okay, Maggie resolved. She could pivot. She was flexible. She could rewrite this, too. Her specialty. She’d just have to work harder than ever if she wanted to manifest what her New York life might have been. The path not taken that she felt desperate to carry through. A summer-long experiment to prove that LA hadn’t been a colossal waste of time, a massive mistake. That she could pick up the pieces, retry it all.
Even if she’d chosen the wrong route once, maybe she could still find her way back on course.
Where else did she have left to go?
Three Ocean Beach weekends. Three months in New York.
Maggie was older now; she would be wiser.
She had to prove that this time, their stories could all end differently.