Chapter 19
Her, on his pillow. Birds chirping. Sunlight breaking in. Like everything in Mac’s life, it was almost perfect. But the mascara stains streaked across the pillowcase were a reminder that nothing was as good as it seemed.
Mac woke up to the sound of Maggie’s gentle breathing pushing toward his ear. Her eyes fluttering, dreams dancing behind her eyelids. Her hair tossed in every direction like a pair of jeans crumpled on the floor.
There were no discarded clothes on Mac’s carpet, though. Maggie was fully dressed, still in her Saturday night outfit. Denim cutoffs and a tank top. Mac had changed into a pajama shirt and gym shorts—it was his room, after all—after Maggie’s tears had transitioned into a steady, sleepy rest. He’d tucked the comforter around her, turned off their TV show, and whispered good night.
Mac liked to fix things. Georgie teased that Mac’s preferred pastime was to play the hero. Mac knew his tendencies to help, to problem-solve, were probably wrapped up in some narcissistic Superman complex, but he didn’t care. He was the kind of person who renewed his CPR training every year, even though he hadn’t used the skills even once since he was seventeen and a lifeguard at the town pool. He obtained his wedding officiant license to help out a coworker whose original presider had come down with food poisoning the morning of the rehearsal dinner. He fostered dogs regularly. Cats, too.
The feeling of taking charge and watching the pieces fall into place, the look on his teammates’ or his friends’ or his coworkers’ faces when he stood up and showed them where to go, told them that everything would be okay.
That was magic to Mac. Total magic.
Ever since his eighth minute of life, he’d been a big brother. That’s how long it took for Cam to join him earth-side, to follow his twin out in the world. Mac felt like their natural leader, their ready-made captain. Cam was generous and wise, but he was naturally shier than Mac. Until Liz came along, Mac felt like it was his duty to make sure Cam was having a good time. He loved feeling like he was the reason that Cam smiled. His little brother happy meant everything was in place.
Mac liked consulting for that same reason. Being a leader, a melder, a problem-solver. He liked to fix things, to feel like he was among the best of the fixers.
Mac didn’t like learning that not everything could be repaired.
Mac didn’t like learning that magic could fade.
His knee ached. The injury had shaken him more than he cared to admit. The reminder of fragility and decay, something so far out of his control. A wrong kick, a wrong slide, and now he was stuck on the sidelines for good. He hadn’t even stretched his knee in weeks.
PT was the first class that Mac had flunked. When had he become this person? Someone who couldn’t nurture, couldn’t lead, couldn’t heal even himself.
He wanted to pull himself together, but he was scared. His soccer team was gone. Cam was getting married, committing officially to a new half. Liz looked at him like he’d morphed into some kind of fool. Robyn wanted more from Mac than he knew how to adequately give right now. She was disappointed in him constantly it seemed.
But Maggie?
She felt like a reset. She reminded him of the before.
Last night, Mac could feel himself coming on too strong, moving without a sensible plan. He regretted the words as soon as he whispered them—it wasn’t even the truth. He had gotten over Maggie years ago, despite what Liz so obviously assumed. It was surprising, of course, seeing her back here. In this house again. He wasn’t sure how best to proceed, how to slot her into his new life. How to grapple with the disconnect between how she used to make him feel and how disappointed he now was in himself.
Robyn had left and Mac was alone and, well, this summer had been the hardest one yet. Maggie reminded him of how easy it had all been, back when they were teenagers. But last night he said those dumb words and he didn’t even really mean them, and she rejected him again.
Where did that leave Mac?
Alone.
It was like Robyn had said. Before she left Ocean Beach, before she slammed her suitcase shut and stormed toward the ferry terminal, she accused Mac of being afraid of being alone. She said he surrounded himself with people and placeholders so he wouldn’t have to face his own disappointment.
Mac had tried to brush it off in the moment, to consider it one of Robyn’s hyperbolic platitudes. When they first started dating, he’d loved how she was so opinionated and perceptive, always making big declarations and assessments, like how representatives of Congress should be required to answer their constituents’ direct messages on Instagram within six hours of receipt. Mondays called for a meatless diet, whereas Thursdays had to begin with caviar and cocktails (preferably at a restaurant that required a jacket). A night’s sleep soundtracked by jazz guaranteed the most fruitful dreams. She believed in and then pursued what she wanted, and Mac found comfort in following her lead.
Now in the Sunday morning light, something about Robyn’s analysis of Mac’s recent behavior, of their breakup, stuck with him like a piece of gum on his shoe. He replayed her words over in his head. Macky, I love you, but I think you’re afraid of being alone.
Afraid of being alone.
Was she right?
Mac reviewed the past few months, the mistakes and the cracks rising to the surface. He’d lost sight of so much, forgotten how to move, it seemed.
One thing was for certain: he had so much growing up to do.
He needed to get out of there. His limbs itched to run but his knee, his knee, his stupid, damn knee ruined it all again.
Maybe just a walk on the beach to clear his mind. To figure out what to do next, one step at a time.
Life was just bandwidth, right? His endurance would expand.
Mac leaned off the mattress, gathered his socks and sneakers as silently as he could. Before heading out, he glanced back at Maggie.
Maggie on his pillow. She looked perfect.
But it wasn’t meant to be.
He turned the knob as softly as he could on his way out the door.