29. Maggie
TWENTY-NINE
MAGGIE
“I thought you said we were getting massages,” I said to Violet once she checked us in at the local spa for what the receptionist very clearly called Brazilians.
After two hours sitting on the patio at Pizza Patty’s catching up with some of my favorite humans, Violet split off from her husband and kids to treat me to the spa.
But a sugaring treatment wasn’t the relaxing experience I had in mind when I was promised a deep-tissue massage.
“I’m eight months pregnant.” She waddled toward the corner with cushy mint-green chairs and sank into one. “How exactly did you think I was going to get a massage?”
“They have prenatal massages.” I pointed to the flyer displayed on a round table to prove my point.
“Well, massage was code word for mama needs to take a machete to the jungle before she’s spread eagle in the delivery room.
And since I know you canceled your own appointment with the whole calling-off-the-wedding thing, I thought I’d treat you to one so we could bond.
” She flashed me a cheeky grin. “You know, before baby number three destroys my vagina.”
“Interesting choice for said bonding activity,” I said, debating whether I would sit this one out.
Then again, after what unexpectedly happened last night, maybe a little downstairs maintenance wasn’t the worst idea.
I got the distinct impression that Luke wouldn’t care if I was hairless or not, but I much preferred things bare.
Better to be prepared, just in case . . .
Just in case what, Maggie?
Friends weren’t supposed to make out like horny teenagers. Friends didn’t have naughty hardware store dreams about the other, either. But last night in bed, that seemed out of my control. At least this time, Ellie didn’t wake me up from the good part.
This morning, I briefly entertained an irrational temptation to invite myself over to Luke’s kitchen for breakfast wearing nothing but the Star Wars T-shirt he loaned me.
Maybe we’d simply enjoy a friendly breakfast together, or maybe he’d discover I was sans panties when I crawled back into his lap.
That naughty fantasy lured me back to deep, lustful sleep.
When Ellie finally woke me, I discovered I slept right through my alarm and was running an hour late.
“If you don’t want a Brazilian, you can just come keep me company,” Violet offered. “Just know that even if I have to strong-arm you, I’m not going back there alone.”
“I don’t know which choose-my-own-adventure option would be more awkward—getting a Brazilian next to my sister or sitting in a corner watching her get one.”
“You’ve seen me naked hundreds of times. We used to take baths together.”
“You were six; I was eight.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“And what is the point, exactly?”
“That I have a break from my incredibly lovable but currently overbearing family after being cooped up with them on this road trip for eleven days, and I’m choosing to spend it with my favorite sister.”
“I’m your only sister,” I said flatly.
“Doesn’t mean you can’t be demoted.”
“You’re just saying that because I can no longer downgrade you from being my maid of honor.”
“Hey, I think I’m going above and beyond my maid of honor duties by making sure you don’t let yourself fall into ruin. I’m supporting your glow-up. If anything, I should get a promotion.”
“That glow-up could’ve started with a pedicure, or something less painful,” I pointed out.
“Why? It’s not like I can see my toes anyway.”
As I scrolled through my phone, a calendar reminder ironically popped up for bridal mani-pedis.
I panicked, searching my memory for whether I’d canceled that appointment.
But then I remembered Luanne did that for me so she could book somewhere more upscale.
It was just one of the many pre-wedding activities she hijacked.
“Hey, talk to me, Noles.”
I wanted to brush it off, but Violet would stubbornly push until I broke.
“We were supposed to be getting our nails done right now.”
I waited for tears to prick the corners of my eyes, but they didn’t surface. The wedding I called off would’ve happened tomorrow had I just swallowed my pride and found a new dress. Oddly, that was the one thing Luanne never offered to pay for.
“On a scale from ready to jump off a cliff to three margaritas in and giving zero shits, where are you?”
“Do you think it’s weird that I’m more heartbroken over a dress than my actual engagement being called off?”
“It’s not about the dress, Noles. But I think you know that.”
An esthetician called our names before I could fully process what my sister was saying, but whispers of the truth came to me during our walk down the narrow, dark hallway. If we hadn’t passed doors labeled massage room, I’d be a little leerier about the lighting situation.
The dress was only thing in that whole damn wedding that was mine.
The only element that felt like Maggie Holland.
Because the insanely expensive out-of-season peonies, the herb-crusted rack of lamb with rosemary jus, and the elaborate castle-style venue were all Luanne.
She had seen that dress as a threat to her vision.
And when she eliminated said threat, Jason took her side.
“Go ahead and disrobe from the waist down,” the esthetician instructed after showing us to our room. “You can cover up with the towels on your table. I’ll be back with my partner momentarily to get started.”
“Last chance to chicken out,” Violet said to me, causing the esthetician to pause in the doorway.
“I’m already here,” I said. “Might as well bite the bullet.”
“If you don’t want to do this—”
“It’ll be good for me,” I said, kicking off my shoes and tucking them beneath a chair. “Ironic, but good.”
“What’s ironic about having your pubes ripped out with your baby sister?”
“If I’d gone through with the wedding, a Brazilian would’ve been wasted.”
“You really think Jason wouldn’t have slept with you on your wedding night?” Violet asked.
I slipped off my jeans and panties, folding them before I set them on the chair.
“Probably not. Luanne booked the room right next to the bridal suite. Considering he refused to touch me if she was anywhere in the house, there’s no way the wedding night would’ve been anything but disappointing.”
“I love my boys to death. I’d upend mountains for them. But I would not, under any circumstance, ever book a room with a shared wall on their wedding night. What the fuck is wrong with that woman? She needs to have her head examined.”
I almost told Violet that both Jason and his mom had been harassing me for money, but the esthetician returned, bringing a second with her. No point in worrying Violet over nothing, I decided. Besides, the minute Luanne realized I had video evidence of her in my dress, she’d sing a different tune.
“Is this your first time?” my esthetician—Naomi—asked.
“No, but it’s been a while.”
Fuck, I was really doing this.
The last time I had a Brazilian, I was headed to Hawaii.
The weekend Jason proposed. The weekend the course of my life permanently altered.
Would we still be together if there’d never been a ring?
Would we still be meeting up every three or four months in vacation destinations to spend long, romantic weekends together away from real-life obligations?
Or would I have grown tired of waiting for our relationship to be more and left anyway?
“I think I’m a four,” I said to Violet once we were butterflied open on the tables. I was thankful the tables sat beside one another so I could look over without getting a full-on view of her vagina.
“Only a four?” she said, eyebrows drawn in skepticism. “When I found you in that Legion Hall, you were glowing. Or maybe that had something do with the man walking your dog. You want to tell me again that you’re not sleeping with Officer McGrumpy?”
“I’m not sleeping with him.” I sucked in a tight breath when the esthetician yanked the first time.
“Sorry,” she mouthed, covering the spot with her hand to help the sting.
“You left out the yet. And don’t bullshit me,” Violet scolded.
“I know you better than anyone. Maybe he hasn’t penetrated you yet, but I know something happened.
You might as well fess up before the torturing begins—and I don’t mean the Brazilian.
You know I’ll get it out of you eventually.
It’s up to you how embarrassing you want me to be about it. ”
“How are you so mean? As the oldest, I thought that was my job.”
I winced again at the second pull. Sugaring wasn’t nearly as painful as waxing, but it still wasn’t what I’d consider a pleasant activity.
Unless you were Violet, apparently. My sister hadn’t flinched once.
But she’d also delivered two kids without epidurals, so I was fairly certain she was Superwoman in disguise.
“There’s not a mean bone in your body. Your damn blood type is empathy.”
“Fine,” I said, relenting. “He kissed me.”
“When?”
“The night after ice cream. We were walking back, and well, it just sort of happened.”
“And you didn’t immediately send me a video message after you got home to tell me all about it?”
“I was too mad.”
The last word came out an octave higher as a particularly sensitive area was ripped free of hair. Breathe through it, Maggie.
“You good?” Naomi asked.
“Yep.” I left out the part where I was currently regretting my life choices.
“Was he a bad kisser?” Violet asked.
“Unfortunately, he’s an amazing kisser.”
Who knew your toes could actually curl? Until Luke pushed me up against the log exterior of the bookstore and kissed me senseless, I thought that was something that only happened in romcoms. Not once in the three years I was with Jason did he ever kiss me like that.
Not even the night we met in Cancun, when we thought our encounter would be just a fun, one-night stand.
“I don’t follow your logic.”
“I was supposed to get married tomorrow, in case you forgot.”
Violet turned as much as she could to look at me, which, with her legs butterflied open and her giant belly holding her down like an anchor, wasn’t much. But her intense stare left me feeling naked regardless.
“You like him.”
“We’re friends. And I think you skipped over the part where I said I was mad at him. He was the one who called the kiss a mistake.”
“And yet, he took your dog for a walk.”
“I was busy.”
“He walked two blocks out of the way to get her favorite treats.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m your sister. I know things.”
“We agreed to just be friends,” I told her, leaving out the part where I ended up in his lap last night, grinding shamelessly against what was definitely not a lightsaber. “I just called off my wedding two weeks ago, Vi.”
“You’re right,” she relented, shimmying until her head and shoulders were once more flat against the table. “I have no concept of time these days. Is it Tuesday or Friday? Hell, I’m lucky if I remember it’s October.”
“It’s September.”
I started to laugh, but it was abruptly interrupted by a hiss of pain. Fuck me, that one hurt.
“Sorry,” the esthetician said for what had to be the tenth time since she started—once for every pull, apparently. “If you keep up on it, it’s not always this bad.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I lied.
Violet’s phone pinged from the corner chair, and her esthetician handed it to her.
“Change of plans for tonight,” she said.
“Luke offered to grill burgers and hot dogs, so the whole lot of them are at the grocery store stocking up. There’s going to be s’mores too.
” Violet looked over. “You want to tell me again how you’re just friends with this guy? ”
Before I could answer, Naomi gave one particularly vicious yank.
“Son of a bitch,” I hissed.
I didn’t have to see Violet’s smirk. I could feel it.
She didn’t believe me.
Hell, I wasn’t sure I believed me anymore.