I’m walking around my apartment on eggshells, afraid to open doors, afraid to eat food out of the refrigerator, afraid to go to sleep. It’s Warren’s turn to prank me, so I’m expecting it every hour and with everything I eat or drink. But it never comes. Which makes me even more paranoid.
Maybe not pranking me is the prank. No, he’s not that clever.
I wish I could stay over at Sydney’s place tonight just to get rid of this paranoia, but she works at the library until close, so she won’t even be home until after midnight. Then she has class at eight in the morning.
I haven’t seen her since Saturday. Or Sunday, really, but I slept so hard I don’t even remember her leaving for breakfast or writing me the note. But it’s Tuesday now, and I’m going through Sydney withdrawals.
I’m finally caught up on work, though. And I’ve sent Brennan lyrics to a whole new song. Now I’m Googling new ways to prank Warren because I feel like I need to stay a step ahead of him, but the best Google can come up with are the Post-it Note pranks we refuse to stoop to. Everything else, we’ve tried.
I’m watching a video compilation on YouTube of roommates pranking each other when I feel my phone vibrate on my bed.
Sydney: I’m tired of restocking books. They really should have robots for this by now. Ridge: But then you’d be out of a job.
Sydney: Unless I was an engineer. Then I could be in charge of the robot. Ridge: Maybe you should switch your major.
Sydney: What are you doing right now?
Ridge: Googling ways to prank Warren. I’m out of ideas. You got any?
Sydney: You should fill a box with five kittens and put it in his bedroom. Because buying your friend one kitten is kind of sweet, but buying them five kittens is terrible.
Ridge: I’m not sure that would be funny for me because he’d probably keep all five of them and I’d end up having to pay five pet deposits.
Sydney: Yeah, that was a terrible prank idea.
Ridge: I see nothing has changed. I’m still the prank master.
Sydney: Says the guy who’s experiencing a bad case of pranker’s block. Ridge: Touché. Hey, do you get a lunch break tonight?
Sydney: Just took it at six. :/
Ridge: Dammit. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. You want me to come to your place?
Sydney: Yes, please. I want you all to myself for the night. Ridge: Then I am yours. I love you. See you tomorrow.
Sydney: Love you.
I close out our texts and open up the missed text from Bridgette I just received while I was saying goodbye to Sydney. Bridgette never texts me unless it’s to tell me something in the apartment is broken. Not this time, though. Her text simply says, Someone is at the door, like she’s too busy to get up and answer it. She never does answer the door, though. I wonder if that’s because she doesn’t really feel like this is her apartment.
I walk to my closet and grab a T-shirt, pulling it over my head as I make my way to the front door. I look through the peephole while my hand is turning the doorknob, but I stop turning it as soon as I recognize Maggie. She’s standing in front of the door, hugging herself as the wind whips her hair around.
The next few seconds are a little bizarre for me. I watch her for a moment, wondering what she wants, but not wondering enough to open the door in a hurry. I turn around and face the living room, needing a second to focus on my next move. This is the first time she’s shown up at my apartment as something other than my girlfriend. I’ve never opened the door for her and not immediately kissed her. I’ve never opened the door for her without pulling her to my bedroom. I have no desire to do either of those things, nor do I feel a loss because it’s no longer our routine. I just feel…different.
I turn and open the door, just as she gives up and walks toward the apartment stairs. She glances up at me and pauses her foot over the first step, then slowly turns around and faces me. Her expression is calm. She isn’t looking at me like she can’t stand me—like she was looking at me this past weekend. She lifts her hand and pushes her hair from her face, waiting for me to invite her in. There’s an air of humility about her as she glances down at her feet for a few seconds. When our eyes meet again, I step back and hold the door open. She stares at her feet as she walks into the apartment.
I slide my phone out of my pocket as Maggie stands in the middle of the living room. I don’t want this becoming anything it isn’t, so I text Sydney.
Ridge: Maggie just showed up unannounced. Not sure what she’s here for yet, but I wanted you to know.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and look up at Maggie. She motions to the refrigerator and asks if she can grab something to drink. It’s odd, because she would have never asked before. She would have just grabbed a drink. I nod and say, “Of course.”
She walks to the refrigerator and opens the door, but she just stares inside blankly for a moment. That’s when I realize I don’t have any Dr. Pepper for her. I used to keep the refrigerator stocked with Dr. Pepper for whenever she showed up, but it’s been months since she’s been here. I stopped buying Dr. Pepper after we broke up. It was odd at first, not grabbing the usual 12-pack I used to get every time I went grocery shopping, but I don’t even think about it anymore. Now I just make sure I have water and tea.
She grabs two waters and hands me one of them. “Thank you,” I say. She points to the kitchen table and signs, “Do you have a minute?”
I nod, but am very aware my phone hasn’t buzzed in my pocket. Either Sydney hasn’t read my text yet, or she’s upset that Maggie showed up here. I’m hoping it’s the former. I’m sure it is. Sydney is the most reasonable person I’ve ever met. Even if it upset her that Maggie showed up here, she would still text me back.
We’re both at the table now, me at the head of it and her in the chair to my right. She takes her jacket off and then folds her hands together in front of her, resting her elbows on the table. She’s staring down at them, inhaling a calming breath. Her eyes swing in my direction when she begins to sign. “I would have come by sooner, but my grandfather died two days ago. Sunday night.”
I immediately blow out a breath and grab her hand. I squeeze it, then pull her in for a hug. I feel like such an asshole right now. I knew he was sick. No matter how things were left between us Saturday morning, I should have checked in with her about her grandfather. He died two days ago and I had no idea. Why wouldn’t she at least tell Warren?
I pull back to ask her if she’s okay, but she answers the question before I’m even able to ask it. “I’m okay,” she signs. “You know it’s been expected for a while now. My aunt flew in from Tennessee and helped with the arrangements today. We decided against a service.”
Her eyes are red and a little puffy, like she’s already cried enough about it. “That’s not why I’m here, though. I was in Austin and wanted to stop by because…” She pauses to take a drink and to gather herself. It’s a big jump going from the death of her grandfather to another subject entirely. She seems a little jarred, so I give her a minute. She wipes her mouth with her sleeve and then looks at me again. “I’m here because I have a lot to say, and I’d like the opportunity to get it all out before you interrupt me, okay? You know how hard it is for me to apologize.”
She’s here to apologize? Wow. This isn’t what I was expecting, because she’s right. It’s very hard for her to apologize. It’s one of the things that are so different about Maggie and Sydney; it’s difficult getting used to. Sydney is quick to forgive and quick to ask for forgiveness, whereas with Maggie, everything needs a period of adjustment.
Like right now. She takes an entire minute to adjust to what she’s about to say before she actually says it.
“You told me once that when you wore hearing aids, they were a constant reminder that you couldn’t hear. And that when you didn’t wear them, you didn’t even think about it,” she signs. “That’s how I’ve always felt about my illness, Ridge. About doctors and hospitals and medications and my vest. It’s all a constant reminder that I have this illness, but when I’m able to avoid those things, I don’t even think about it. And it’s nice, being able to have those moments of normalcy sometimes. And being with you in the beginning was part of my cherished moments of normalcy. We had just begun dating, and we couldn’t get enough of each other. But the longer we were together, you started to notice that I would skip treatments or doctors’ visits in favor of being with you.”
She pauses a moment, like what she’s trying to say is taking a huge amount of courage. And it is. So, I wait patiently without interrupting like I promised her I would.
“After a while, you started to worry about me,” she says. “You took over my schedule to make sure I was on time to every appointment. You texted me several times a day to tell me it was time for my treatments. I even caught you counting my pills once so you could be positive I was taking them like I was supposed to. And I know that every single one of those things was for my benefit, because you loved me. But I started lumping you in with all the things I wanted to avoid, like doctor’s appointments and breathing treatments.” She looks me in the eyes. “You became one of the constant reminders that I was living with this illness. And I didn’t know how to deal with that.”
A tear falls out of her eye and she swipes it away with her sleeve.
“I know I sometimes didn’t show it, but I did appreciate you. I do appreciate you. So much. It’s just so confusing for me because I also resented you, but my resentment had everything to do with me and nothing at all to do with you. I know that everything you did for me is because you wanted the best for me. I know that you loved me. The things I said to you the other day came from a part of me that I’m not proud of. And…” Her lips are quivering, and tears are beginning to fall down her cheeks in pairs. “I’m sorry, Ridge. I really am. For everything.”
I blow out a quick, shaky breath. I need out of this chair.
I stand up and walk to the kitchen and grab her a napkin, then take it back to her. But I can’t sit down. I wasn’t expecting this, and I don’t even know how to respond to her. Sometimes I don’t say the right things to her and it upsets her. She’s already upset enough. I put my hands on the back of my neck and pace the living room a couple of times. I come to a pause when I feel my phone vibrate. I grab it.
Sydney: Thanks for letting me know. Be patient with her, Ridge. I’m sure it took a lot of courage for her to show up there.
I stare at Sydney’s text and shake my head, wondering how in the hell she’s more understanding of my own situation than even I am. I honestly don’t know why she’s majoring in music. Her real talent is psychology.
I slide the phone back into my pocket and look over at Maggie, who is still sitting at the table, dabbing at her tearful eyes. This had to be hard for her. Sydney is right. Being here and then saying everything she just said has to be taking a huge amount of courage.
I walk back to my seat, and I reach across the table and take her hand. I hold it between both of mine. “I’m sorry, too,” I say, squeezing her hand so that she can feel the sincerity in that statement. “I should have been more of a boyfriend to you and less of a…dictator.”
My word choice makes her laugh through her tears. She shakes her head. “You weren’t a dictator,” she signs. “Maybe more of a mild authoritarian.”
I laugh with her. Which is something I never thought would happen again after leaving her house Saturday morning.
Maggie’s head swings in the other direction, so I look up to see Bridgette. She’s leaving for work, but pauses when she sees Maggie in our living room, sitting next to me at the table. She glances at Maggie for a moment, then at me. Her eyes narrow.
“Dick.”
She marches to the front door, and I’m pretty sure she probably slams it when she leaves. I look back at Maggie, and she’s staring at the door. “What was that all about?”
I shrug. “She’s become oddly protective of Sydney now. It’s been… interesting.”
Maggie arches a brow. “Maybe you should text Sydney and let her know I’m here. Before Bridgette does.”
I smile. “I already did.”
Maggie nods knowingly. “Of course you did,” she signs. She’s smiling now, and the tears are no longer invading her eyes. She takes another sip of water and then leans back in her chair. “So. Is Sydney the one?”
I don’t respond for a moment, because it’s odd. I don’t want Maggie
thinking she lacked anything, but it’s simply different with Sydney. It’s more. It’s deeper and better, and I crave it like I’ve never craved anything, but how do I express that without being insensitive to what Maggie and I had? I nod, slowly, and sign, “She is definitely the last one.”
Maggie nods, and a sadness enters her eyes. I hate it. But I can’t do anything to change it. Things are how they’re supposed to be now, even if Maggie might sometimes feel regret for that.
“I wish life came with a handbook,” she says. “Seeing what you and Sydney have makes me realize what an idiot I am for pushing away a really great guy. I’m almost positive I ruined that chance for good.”
I shift in my seat with those words. I don’t even know what to say. Did she think coming here would open up an opportunity to get back together with me? If so, I’ve been treating this entire conversation as something it isn’t. “Maggie. I’m not—we’re not—ever getting back together.”
Maggie’s eyes narrow, and she gives me one of the looks she used to give me when I was being an idiot. “I’m not talking about you, Ridge.” She laughs. “I’m referring to my hot doctor-slash-skydiving instructor.”
I tilt my head, feeling both relieved and embarrassed. “Oh. Well. That was awkward.”
She starts to laugh again. She swings a finger back and forth between us. “You thought… When I said great guy… You immediately thought of yourself?” She’s laughing even harder now. I’m trying not to crack a smile, but I can’t help it. I love that she’s laughing, and I love even more that she’s talking about someone else.
This is good.
Maggie stands up. “Will Warren be here Saturday?” I nod and stand as well. “Yeah, he should be. Why?”
“I want us all to sit down together and talk. I feel like we need to map out a plan going forward.”
“Yeah. Of course. I’d love it if we could do that. Do you mind if Sydney comes?”
Maggie puts on her jacket. “She already has it on her schedule,” Maggie says, winking at me.
Okay, now I’m confused. “You’ve talked to Sydney?”
Maggie nods. “For some reason, she felt like she owed me an apology. And…I owed her one. We had a good chat.” Maggie walks toward the door, but pauses before opening it. “She’s very…diplomatic.”
I nod, but I’m still confused about when they had this chat. Or why I didn’t know about it. “Yeah,” I say. “She is definitely diplomatic.”
Maggie opens the door. “Don’t let Bridgette ruin her,” she says. “See you Saturday.”
“See you Saturday.” I hold the door open for her. “And Maggie. I’m really
sorry about your grandfather.” She smiles. “Thank you.”
I watch as she walks down the stairs to her car. Once she pulls away, I don’t close my door. I rush to my counter and grab my keys, then slip on my shoes.
I drive straight to the library.
•••
I spot her in the back corner of the library. She’s next to a cart, holding a marker in her hand, crossing things out on a list as she restocks the shelves from her library cart. Her back is to me, so I watch her for an entire minute as she works. The place is mostly empty, so I don’t feel like anyone will notice that I’m staring at her. I just can’t understand when or how she and Maggie would have had a conversation. Or why. I pull out my phone and I text her.
Ridge: You and Maggie had a conversation and you didn’t tell me?
I watch her reaction as she reads the text. She freezes, staring down at the phone, and then she rubs her forehead. She leans against the library shelf and inhales a deep breath.
Sydney: Yes. I should have told you. I just wanted the two of you to have the chance to speak before I brought it up, but I drove to her house on Sunday. Not to start drama, I swear. I just had some things I needed to say to her. I’m sorry, Ridge.
I look back up at her, and everything about her is on edge now. She’s worried, rubbing the back of her neck now, refusing to pull her eyes away from her phone until I text her back.
I hold up my phone and snap a picture of her, then text it to her. It takes a moment for the picture to come through on her end, but as soon as it does, she spins around. Our eyes lock.
I shake my head, just barely, but not because I’m upset with her in any way, shape, or form. I shake my head in slight disbelief that this woman would take it upon herself to drive to my ex-girlfriend’s house because she wanted to make things better between us.
I have never felt this amount of appreciation for anyone or anything in my entire life.
I begin to walk toward her. She pushes off the bookshelf when I get closer and she stands, stiff, anticipating my next move. When I reach her, I don’t say or sign a single word. I don’t have to. She knows exactly what I’m thinking,
because with Sydney, all she has to do is be near me for us to communicate. She looks up at me and I look down at her, and as if we’re in perfect sync, she takes two steps back and I take two steps forward, so that we’re hidden between two walls of books.
I love you.
I don’t say or sign those words. I only feel them, but she hears it.
I lift my hands and run the backs of my fingers down her cheeks. I try to touch her with the same softness that she uses to touch me. I run my thumbs over her lips, admiring her mouth and every gentle word that comes out of it. I slide my hands down to her neck and press my thumbs against her throat. I can feel her rapid pulse beneath my fingertips.
I lower my forehead to hers, and I close my eyes. I just want to feel her heartbeat against my thumbs. I want to feel her breath against my lips. I take a moment and do these things while I silently thank her, our foreheads still pressed together.
I wish we weren’t in public right now. I would thank her in so many more ways, and without using a single word.
I keep my hands on her throat and press myself against her to turn and position her against the bookshelves behind her. When her back meets the books, I keep her face tilted up toward mine, while drawing our mouths closer together, barely connecting mine to hers. I can feel her rapid breaths crashing against my lips, so I hold still and swallow a few of them before I slip my tongue inside her mouth and coax even more of those rapid breaths out of her. Her mouth is warmer and more inviting than it’s ever been.
She brings her hands to my chest, slapping the paper and the marker against my shirt while she steadies herself. The paper falls to the floor. She tilts her head up to mine even more and opens her mouth a little wider, wanting more of our kiss. I curve my right hand around the back of her head as I close my mouth over hers and inhale.
I kiss her. I love her. I love her. I kiss her. I kiss her.
I am so very in love with her.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do when I pull away from her mouth. Her hands are clenched in fists around my shirt. Her eyes are still closed when I pull back, so I stare down at her for a moment, convinced that Karma might actually know what she’s doing after all. Maybe there was a reason so many shitty things had to happen in my life. It wouldn’t have been a balanced life if I’d had a beautiful childhood, only to grow up and share a life like the one I know I’m going to share with Sydney. I think my childhood was the balance I needed so that I could have her. She is so good and so perfect, maybe I was made to suffer first before earning a reward of this magnitude.
I slide my hands to hers, which are still clenching my shirt. The paper she was holding has long since fallen to the floor, but the marker is still in her fist. I pry it from her fingers and she opens her eyes, just as I slip my fingers beneath the collar of her shirt. I pull it down, exposing the skin over her heart. I pull the cap off the marker with my teeth and then press the marker to her chest. I write four letters directly over her heart.
MINE
I put the cap back on the marker, and then I kiss her one last time before I turn and walk away.
It’s the most we’ve ever communicated and the least we’ve ever said.
