She stood up and her clothes were soaking wet as if she too had stood in the rain all night long. She sneezed and started shaking from the cold.
Maggie stood there staring at me, waiting for me to say something more, anything. So many thoughts passed through me as our eyes locked, but they weren’t thoughts I deserved to think. I didn’t think I deserved to miss her. I didn’t think I deserved to hold her. I didn’t think I deserved to love her.
All I did was drink and sleep in my self-pity.
She deserved more than my sadness. How could I show her the world while I was doing my best to avoid it?
“Come inside to dry up,” I said. I saw the small tinge of sadness wash over her as she nodded. It was almost as if she hoped I’d pack up my bag and join her on the journey to complete her to-do list.
It was the first time I felt as if I truly let her down.
We walked into the cabin, and I noticed suitcases in the living room. “Yours?”
She nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” I walked into my bedroom and darted directly toward the bathroom, where I splashed my face with water. “Jesus, Brooks. Pull yourself together.”
Seeing Maggie shook me. Being reminded of something so beautiful when all I felt lately were ugly moments was a hard transition for me. Seeing her made me want to breathe, when for the past few weeks all I’d been able to do was hold my breath.
“How did you get here?” I asked, coming back out to find her drying her hair with a towel and sorting through her suitcase for pajamas.
She scribbled. Cheryl.
I sighed. “It’s late, and I’m a bit drunk, so I can’t drive you back home until tomorrow. You can stay one night, but then you have to go. I’ll show you a room.”
She did as I said, and I took her to the European bedroom.
“You can stay here until the morning, then I’ll take you home. First thing in the morning, Maggie. There’s day-old pizza in the fridge if you want it and some sodas. Night.”
I kept things short. I didn’t want to dive into any kind of conversation with Maggie that night, because she had a way of making things better. I didn’t want to feel better.
I didn’t want to feel at all.
Turning to leave, I shut my eyes as I felt her fingers fall against my forearm. “Maggie,” I whispered then hesitated, but she pulled me back toward her. I met her blue eyes, and she gave me her perfect smile. “I can’t do this right now,” I told her, but she didn’t let me go. I broke my hold from Maggie, turning away. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”
I left her room before turning back to see her reaction. Slamming my bedroom door as I entered the room, I grabbed my bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and tried to forget what it felt like to feel again.
“Why are you cooking? We have to go,” I barked at Maggie the next morning as she stood in the kitchen cooking pancakes. I didn’t understand it. I was short with her the night before. I made it clear that we were leaving first thing in the morning.
She didn’t turn to acknowledge me. She kept cooking.
“Maggie!” I shouted, and still, no response.
I rolled my eyes, went to the fridge, and opened it for a beer. But, there was no beer to be found. “What the…” Fine. I moved over to the liquor cabinet and opened it wide, to find nothing. “Are you shitting me?” I grunted. “Maggie, where’s my alcohol?”
No reply. “Jesus, Maggie. You’re mute not deaf!”
She turned to me, narrowed her eye
s, and gave me a look of death, which somehow forced me to apologize. “Seriously, though. Where’s my stuff?”
She pointed over to the emptied bottles in the sink. My gut tightened, and I drew in a sharp breath. “You need to go home, Maggie. You need to go get your suitcases so I can take you home right now.”
She walked over to me and placed a comforting hand on my cheek. Then her fingers lightly grazed over the scar across my neck. I closed my eyes. Too much. Her touch gave me too much comfort.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said, my hand falling on top of hers. I cleared my throat. “I asked you for space…” I swallowed hard.
She slid her lips against mine and held up her right hand. Five minutes.