Chapter 15 Maggie
MAGGIE
My body tenses as the speech bubble blinks on Declan’s fancy phone, indicating he’s typing a reply to the accidental voice text. I didn’t even know that was a feature.
I eye the window, but before I can toss away Declan’s device, it beeps with a message from him, still on my phone.
My Oh Mags: Is there a bird in your room? Is that a figure of speech, or was it an encoded distress call?
The Declan Printz: Everything is fine. Really. I was just, um, trying to get a laugh.
My Oh Mags: That’s the spirit, but if that’s your sense of humor, we’ll have to work on it. We’ve been apart too long. See? No accidents. Here I am, back in your life, to make you laugh.
The bluebirds spin loop-the-loops in my belly. Just please, no laughter at my expense.
Now, he’s being a gentleman or more of a friend.
But during dinner, it was like he was doing everything in his power to defy the rules of the table—chewing with his mouth open, rocking back in his chair, crunching the ice in his drink, and so on.
I groan inwardly. This is going to be a very long month.
The phone remains quiet for several long moments.
While I get my head on straight and my thoughts into order, I take charge.
The Declan Printz: You still awake, Declan? If so, I suggest we press pause on the make Maggie laugh campaign. At least for thirty days. This situation is complicated enough.
My Oh Mags: What’s confusing is you’re texting from my phone and I’m replying from yours. But if we can handle this, we can handle a few chuckles. I promise it’ll be fun.
The Declan Printz: Let’s rethink that. I insist you not try to get me to laugh. It’s completely unprofessional.
My Oh Mags: If you haven’t noticed, I’m not the kind of guy who listens when he’s told what to do.
The Declan Printz: I’ve noticed that you’re very contrary. Shall I try reverse psychology? What if I say yes, by all means, try to get me to laugh? Will you do the opposite?
My Oh Mags: Not. A. Chance.
I can imagine the defiance on his lips as if we were sitting in the room together and he had spoken the words out loud to me. I know Declan all too well.
The image of his mouth lingers. I blink my eyes a few times, but the sight of his full-lipped smirk remains.
His phone vibrates in my hand, reminding me we still have each other’s devices.
My Oh Mags: You may wonder if there’s another reason that I want you to laugh... Because I want to see you smile.
Same Declan as ever, but something is different. He’s never spoken to me this way. We’re just friends. This is flirty Declan, with his heavy eyes and a smolder that’s hot enough to require the use of air conditioning, even in this mountain town. At least in my imagination.
But how did that image get there? I saw glimpses of it at dinner. Was he playing a role or is this real? I’m a former actress, so I should know.
The little bluebirds in my stomach flap their wings, as though trying to throw themselves into his words and get closer to the possibility in the comment.
We’ll have to discuss the rules later. But right now, I’m focused on Declan’s easy smile, his smirk, and the Cheshire cat grin that reveals his teeth—birds, watch out.
But none of them seems like his real smile.
There is more to Declan than he lets on.
Maybe he’s testing out some of his lines on me. Well, I can play back.
The Declan Printz: Why’s that? Why do you want to see my smile?
The twenty seconds that pass while I wait for a response are like when Etta Jo counts One-Mississippi, Two-Mississippi in her southern accent, but when she’s sleepy.
My Oh Mags: Because your smile is the kind that can light up a room.
If he said this to me in person, we’d both crack up, unable to contain our laughter because this is not something Declan would ever say to me in real life. Right? His phone vibrates in my hand with another text.
My Oh Mags: It could light up a city.
My Oh Mags: The whole world.
My heart races, the bluebirds fly in circles, and Etta Jo’s comment about clouds comes to mind. Another text beeps on his phone.
Brandi: Where are you tonight? I miss you.
My heart stills. Cinderella’s bluebirds crash-land in my belly. Declan is probably buttering me up and flattering me so I’ll give him a positive assessment, along with telling his football coach and the commissioner that he passed the program. May as well quit while I’m ahead. I send him a text.
The Declan Printz: Here’s something that will make you smile. Brandi is looking for you.
I send a screenshot of the message.
My Oh Mags: Brandi?
The Declan Printz: She misses you.
My Oh Mags: Should I know who Brandi is?
The Declan Printz: You tell me. She texted you on your phone. She must be someone in your contacts. Oh, wait, she sent another text. She says that it’s lonely in the hot tub without you. Forget my smile, right now, you’d see my gagging face. Ew.
My Oh Mags: Show me.
I have to read those two simple words a half dozen times for them to make sense.
The Declan Printz: You do know this is Maggie, right? Not Brandi.
My Oh Mags: Even though all your texts come in with my name on them, yes, I know that I’m texting Margaret Pearl Byrne. My question is, why the gagging face? You don’t want to picture me in a hot tub?
If we were having this conversation face to face, my mouth would open and then close, open and then close at a loss for words.
Is Declan flirting with me? Does he think I’m Brandi, his girlfriend? Is this a dream? I’m so far from the girls he usually dates, it’s laughable.
Ah! I see what he did there. He wanted me to laugh...at myself. I get it now.
The Declan Printz: Nice try. I’m not taking the bait. Want me to tell Brandi that you miss her, too?
I’ll show him just what he’s missing. Using his phone, I search on the internet browser for Declan Printz’s girlfriend.
The tab quickly populates with photos of him and a string of different women on his arm in each one.
Still gripping the device, my hand falls heavily onto the bed. I regret that search immensely.
My Oh Mags: No. Do not text her. I repeat, do not text Brandi. Please.
Seems like a strong response, but if Brandi is the jealous type, he probably doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea.
The Declan Printz: I should bring you your phone. You probably want to reply to Brandi yourself.
Declan and Brandi don’t quite have a ring to it, but I hope they’re happy.
Truly, that’s what friends want for each other.
If Brandi has his heart, so be it. I can live with that.
Mostly. As long as she lets him eat pizza, wear what he wants to instead of that nauseating neon suit, and when it’s warm out, puts the car windows down and belts out old Journey and Bob Seger songs with him.
My Oh Mags: Sure, but on the subject of getting you to laugh, open up the Photos app.
Open the photo app on his phone? No. I’d rather staple my fingers together. There are probably pictures of him and Brandi looking cute on vacation, both of them dressed up for fancy football-related events, and celeb photo opps.
My face squished up tight, I wage a mini battle of whether to do it. Declan is my best friend, surely he’s not out to crush my spirit. Knowing him, there are probably some silly photos on there, and if not, some blackmail material. He he.
I tap the app. The most recent photo, dated earlier today, catches my eye. Declan stands with a teenager with scars on his face. A sign in the background indicates it’s a recovery center here in Concordia. The timestamp indicates it was taken shortly before he was supposed to meet me for dinner.
Never mind blackmail, he has an alibi. I can no longer be mad at him for arriving late, but nothing about the image makes me laugh. Instead, my heart thumps, reminding me how precious life is.
My Oh Mags: Scroll up and you should find a picture of me wearing a face mask. They say charcoal is good for the skin. Got to keep up my good looks. You know?
There is an image of Declan wearing a bright blue robe with a gray mask on his face.
It appears as if he’s at a spa. Involuntarily, the space around my eyes crinkles as I smile, reminding me that I, too have on a face mask.
It’s tight now and I imagine it looks like a parched desert.
I send Declan a selfie with my face mask.
The Declan Printz: You almost got a smile out of me.
My Oh Mags: You’re adorable.
The Declan Printz: If by adorable, you mean straight off the set of Attack of the Mud People, then sure.
My Oh Mags: Get Maggie to smile and laugh, take two. Action! Now, keep scrolling. There’s a photo of me in Indonesia. You’ll know you’re there when you see me in a pair of Bruisers-branded board shorts. Reply when you’re done laughing.
I feel weirdly snoopy being on his phone, but I could use a laugh, so I scroll. I slide past loads of photos of him and other celebrities, football players, and him on the field. However, I don’t see any with him and other women, or family for that matter. Not that I’m looking that carefully.
Okay, fine. I am because I’m wondering how Declan and I managed to maintain our friendship all these years without me noticing how, um, attractive he is.
There. I said it. Thought it. Whatever. Now, I can’t unthink it. Or unsee the manly athletic build without an ounce of body fat. Muscles everywhere. Soft brown eyes at odds with everything else about him. Blond hair with a hint of strawberry—my favorite fruit.
At last, I come to a string of photos with sunsets, beaches, and a waterfall.
I stop at an image of Declan seated on a rock, face twisted, wide-eyed, and next to a monkey wearing the same expression.
..and strangely enough, wearing the same Boston Bruiser’s Bruisers-branded boardshorts.
I guess he’s not the only prankster on the team because someone got those on the monkey.