Chapter 32
The room went dark, and Maggie gave his hand a gentle squeeze. The same hand she’d held for the first time last night, under the moonlight. The hand she then begrudgingly dragged back to Maguire’s when she remembered she still had a job to do.
Ty.
Maggie wasn’t so naive as to believe this was the inevitable grand telling of their love story. She hadn’t had an “It Had to Be You” revelation as she watched him walk out the door last night. She had, however, realized that he was there for a reason, he had shown up at her best friends’ wedding, and she wanted to know why.
As she walked out the door, she’d also realized he’d dropped his wallet on the floor.
So, naturally, she thought, “To hell with naivete.” She accepted that maybe she was in a love story.
She ran.
And as she ran, she remembered the way his mouth had curved upward when he taught her how to roll calls. How it had felt to sit next to him for an afternoon, the hint of a morning surf still in his hair. How her heart had waltzed down her spine every time she saw him on Fire Island.
She was tipsy from champagne, drunk from wedding joy, but that just made it easier to say yes to a romance that had been building all summer long.
Maggie kissed Ty and it was perfect.
The rest of the night felt like a starry dream. Back at Maguire’s, Ty helped film the wedding so that he and Maggie could take turns on the dance floor, or refilling Liz’s and Cam’s never-empty champagne flutes. At one point, Maggie turned the camera around and angled it just so, to catch her dancing at Ty’s side, a quick peck on his cheek. He pulled her close, tipped her face back toward his, and kissed her square on the mouth. Their own private spotlight, all on them.
She wouldn’t put that in Liz’s reel. Maggie wanted that memory only for herself.
They parted ways after the wedding with coy grins. Maggie hated to leave him, but she didn’t want to miss the last night and the last morning at the house with her friends. There’d be more nights, and hopefully more mornings, too, Ty said. Another kiss goodbye—Maggie’s lips had never felt so lovely yet so tired—and they left with a promise to meet outside the Ocean Beach Village Community House at one o’clock sharp the next day, right in time for the first film.
There were ten films total, all shorts of various genres and topics. The community house had been transformed by way of a custom black-and-orange step-and-repeat sign and a concession stand, even a makeshift marquee announcing the finalists’ names out front. The host was a Fire Island resident, current Yale student and professional actor Jesse Ray Sheps. He’d impressively founded the festival as just a teenager, organizing it as part of a nonprofit fundraiser for St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital.
Now Jesse stood in front of a podium at the base of a projector screen, kicking off the day. He welcomed the room of filmmakers and industry veterans, thanked the Fire Island community for its arts-loving history and sun-kissed support, and gave a special shout-out to his parents, beaming proudly in the back of the room.
And then, without further ado, he lowered the lights and Ty’s film began to play.
Maggie couldn’t stop smiling. One minute in and she knew he’d win. Ty had interviewed famous restaurant owners in the city, following as they each prepared their most popular dish, as well as their favorite one to make. They spoke about the history of their food, their heritage, what had gotten them into the fast-paced world of dining and hospitality in the first place. The stories all ended with hope, some tears. Groups of people doing what they felt they were called to, what they were meant to do. Maggie’s favorite thing.
The pride bubbled off her skin like electricity, her gratitude for knowing him, for finding him again. For sitting next to him once more. She knocked her knee against his.
“You’re amazing at this, you know?” she whispered.
“No talking during the movies,” Ty whispered back, but she could tell he appreciated her words.
His film ended to thunderous applause. The lights turned on, and Brenna and Quinn immediately clapped Ty on the back. George and PJ leaned forward, too, shouting their congratulations from down the row. Almost the entire Serendipity House was here. The Bamboo House was also in full attendance, including Ty’s younger sister, Talia, whom Maggie met this afternoon. Talia wasn’t overly warm, but she wasn’t completely unfriendly.
Ty had rolled his eyes afterward. “Ignore her. She thinks she needs to be some intimidating sibling to make sure you don’t break my heart or something. She does this to everyone.”
“Got it,” Maggie said, cocking her head ever so slightly. “So, what you’re saying is, there’s been many of me before?”
“Actually, the opposite. There has never been anyone like you,” Ty had replied. For a brief second, Maggie let herself sit back and swoon.
Now she was just waiting on Liz, Cam, and Mac. They’d promised they’d be at the festival, but Maggie knew she couldn’t be upset if they bailed. Not after they’d granted her such generosity and forgiveness. Maggie would take what she could get until she’d worked her way all the way back. Maybe in a few months she wouldn’t think this way anymore, finally, but she didn’t want to take any chances too soon. She didn’t want to risk this, any of this, again.
When Jesse announced a ten-minute intermission until the next film was set to play, Ty went to the concession stand to refill their Diet Cokes and popcorn bags. Maggie bit a loose cuticle. She was nervous—really nervous—for an audience to see her film, but also for something she knew might or might not appear on her phone screen.
“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” she said to Brenna and Quinn before walking out into the main hallway. There was a spare bench, the perfect place to momentarily collapse.
Maggie wanted to write, but she was afraid to check her phone.
She’d missed a call from her mom this morning. Maggie saw it ringing, surely an answer to the text she’d sent last night, but suddenly, she felt scared and anxious, nervous for all the things that could happen when she and her mom finally connected again. There was so much to say. Where would she begin?
Instead of calling back later in the day, she had sent her mom a photo of the festival program, bright orange paper with her name in bold capital letters among the list of finalists. It was daring, a risk she knew could wind up pushing her mom even further away.
Maggie had tried to give up storytelling. Her parents would have been proud, probably for the first time in years, she hated to realize. But no matter how hard it was to face what she’d been through, there was no silencing the voice inside her that demanded she write. That craved it. When she needed them most, stories were there to pick her up and wipe her face and encourage her to keep fighting. To trust again.
Ocean Beach had rocked her back to life.
She finally felt like herself again.
Now she took a deep breath in and turned her phone around.
1 new voicemail from Mom
Maggie felt every emotion swirl through her body as she dug for her AirPods, connected the Bluetooth, and hit play.
Hi Maggie. It’s Mom. Sorry I missed you, just wanted to call…we hadn’t realized you were in a festival. That’s…exciting. Next time, let us know and we’ll, uh, your father and I will try to be there. Listen, come over this week for dinner? We, uh, we need to talk about your awful boss. We want to help in any way. Maybe we can sue? And, well. To think you were alone out there, for so long…. We never want you to feel that far again. See you soon.
The voicemail ended and Maggie crumpled. It was years too late, she knew that. They had so much terrain to climb. But if she had learned anything this summer, it was that nothing could be rebuilt without a first brick.
Words swirled through her mind. She opened her Notes app, tears fully formed and falling down her cheeks. She went to type, to make sense of everything in the only way she knew how, when she heard a voice.
“Mags! Are you okay?”
She looked up and saw Liz’s face. Sunglasses tucked up into her bright red hair. Sundress flowing to the ground, moving with the wind as she rushed to Maggie’s side.
Wordlessly, Maggie transferred her AirPods over to Liz’s ears and pressed play on the voicemail. She let her head fall against Liz’s shoulder as she heard Liz gasp.
“Wow, Mags. That’s probably the most emotion I’ve ever heard from your mom,” she said, holding her friend until the sadness passed. Maggie almost laughed. Instead, she dried her face. “Everything will be okay,” Liz whispered.
“There she is! Hollywood’s finest,” Roseanne’s voice suddenly called out.
Maggie looked up and saw the Peters posse heading their way. “I hope you don’t mind that we tagged along with the kids,” Roseanne said. “We can’t wait to see your film.”
Grandma Peach held an extra-large, extra-buttery bucket of popcorn beside Roseanne. Her smile was fixed in a grin. “You know, I was cast as an extra in Fame. If you look closely, one hour and forty-eight seconds in, I’m there. Watching those kids dance in the streets! Swear to God. Boy oh boy, do I love the movies.”
“Me, too,” Maggie said, smiling.
“Everyone made it!” Ty rounded the corner with a grin, taking in the sight of the Peters family. “There’s still a bunch of seats near us. I’ll show you.”
“So excited for you, Mags,” Mac said with a wave.
“Break a leg,” Cam added.
“You ready to go do this?” Liz asked, pulling Maggie up with an outstretched hand.
“Not even a little.” Maggie laughed. “But that’s my favorite part.”
The friends found their seats, Maggie sandwiched between Liz and Ty. She held both of their hands, which rippled in a chain reaction throughout the row. PJ and George and Mac and Cam, Brenna and Quinn and Grandma Peach, too. Even Mr. and Mrs. Peters joined in, knees dancing and voices whispering with excitement. Hands interlocked and fingers squeezing in anticipation for Maggie, their returned friend. Their best friends, all one tier.
Maggie had to laugh. A group of adults, holding hands in a movie theater. Just like the spectacularly strange, loyal, perfect friends they were, that they had always been. Her parents might not be here, not yet, but maybe one day.
The lights dimmed, but Maggie had never felt brighter.
How could she have ever thought there was anything regular, anything mediocre, about finding her way back home?