But now I feel like I look weak and pathetic in my family’s eyes. And I don’t like it. It sort of feels like everyone else is on the same page and I’m over here in my own corner, feeling all my own feelings. I feel like no one understands me.
Chelsea looks annoyed now. “It wasn’t intentional. We just all happened to be in Dad’s office and it came up.”
“Well, I would’ve liked to be part of that conversation,” I say, my voice full of frustration. “May seems so far away from now.”
“Yes, well, I think it will work out for the best.”
By “the best,” she means the best for me. They must really think of me as fragile. I hate that so much.
I open my mouth to protest more, but then Devon appears in the doorway, next to Chelsea.
“You tell her?” he asks.
She nods.
“Are you gonna freak out again?” Devon turns toward me.
Chelsea punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Stop it. I’ve already talked to her.”
“What did she say?”
“She’s going to do it.”
“Yeah, but will she really?”
“I’m right here,” I say loudly.
“Right,” Devon says, his face turning toward me again. “And?”
“It’s fine. I’ll be ready.” Even as I say this, though, I feel nervousness swim through me. What if I can’t do it? What if I choke? What if I’m Chicken Maggie indefinitely?
“Good,” Devon says, and Chelsea echoes him with the same word.
“Are we done here?” I ask my siblings after a few seconds of quiet, both of them still standing in my doorway.
“Yeah,” Devon says, and Chelsea nods.
“Good, because I need to tell you that I caught Dad on a dating site the other day.”
“What?” Chelsea and Devon say at the same time.
They both walk into my office and stand near my desk. Without words, we are now in a sibling meeting. It’s something we’ve always done.
When we were younger, we’d get together in Chelsea’s room and sit on the floor, calling our meeting to order so we could discuss things we didn’t like—like the chore chart our mom had started using—or we’d make plans to strike over our allowance (we never followed through with that one). We also used to make detailed, coordinated plans to get our parents to take us places. Like to dinner, or the zoo, or even Disneyland. And it worked, most of the time.
As we grew older, the meetings were less and less frequent, and when we’d have them, they’d mostly be about Mom and Dad. For the past nine months, our meetings had been about health care for my mom, and then what hospice we should use … and eventually funeral planning. My dad wasn’t in a place to make huge decisions, so we’d gather the information, present him with all the options, and let him choose.
Then, after Mom was gone, there were meetings about Dad and what we were going to do for him. How we would take care of him, fill our mom’s shoes as best we could.
“Dad was on a dating site?” Chelsea says, her voice a hoarse whisper, as if saying it fully out loud will make it real.
“Yep,” I say, raising my eyebrows as I look between the two of them.
“Why?” Devon asks.
“To check the weather,” Chelsea says sarcastically.
He looks at her, hands resting on his hips. “I know what a dating site is, believe me.”
Chelsea wrinkles her nose at this information.
“I mean, why would Dad be on one?”
“Apparently, our neighbor June told him to check it out. To see what’s out there,” I say.
“Why would Dad even want to see what’s out there?” Chelsea asks.
“He said he’s lonely.”
We just look at each other, no words, our concerned and questioning eyes doing the talking.
“Maybe I should ask him to move in with me and Mark?” Chelsea says, her voice ending the silence.
“He’s fifty-nine,” Devon points out. “He’s not going to want to do that.”
“Could we get him a dog?” I ask, the idea coming to me just now. A dog would definitely help with loneliness.
We had a dog once. Butch was his name and he was a golden retriever/boxer mix. He regularly ate my mom’s shoes, and I suspect there wasn’t a lot of love lost on her end when he finally passed away at thirteen years old. I, on the other hand, didn’t think I could ever be more sad about a death. Until my mom died. That was much, much worse.
“Yeah, a dog might work,” Chelsea says. “I’ll look into it.”
“We probably shouldn’t spring a dog on him, though. Maybe we should ask first?” Devon says.
“Right,” I agree. But already my heart is feeling a little less heavy. A dog would be a perfect way to keep my dad from feeling alone at the house.
“Okay, I’ll let you know what I can find,” Chelsea says.
Devon and Chelsea both turn to leave, the meeting over. Gone are the days when we used to stand in a circle, put our hands on top of each other’s, and yell “Coopers!” at the top of our lungs before releasing our hands and shooting them up toward the ceiling.
Just as they’re walking out the door, I hear two taps on the wall outside my office and someone saying, “Knock, knock.”
I would know that voice anywhere. The low, soothing, extra sexy tones of Dawson Hargrove.
“Dawson,” Devon says when he sees him, in that “bro” way guys talk to each other. He gives him a fist bump. “What’s up, man?”
Chelsea also offers a greeting—a more professional one—and then leaves.
I watch as Devon and Dawson start up a conversation about something car related. I appreciate this, as it gives me time to get myself together. I’ve got a sweaty palms and pits situation happening right now.
Dawson is the operations manager at Cooper’s—my family’s shop. He’s worked for my dad for about a year now, and he’s been the object of my affection since the day he accepted the position and said those fateful words to me: “You’re stepping on my toes.”
I was literally wordless when I first met him—seeing that perfect chiseled jaw of his and those stark blue eyes. It took my breath away. It was like he’d stepped out of a magazine.
My dad introduced us, Dawson went in for a handshake, I went in for a hug—because I’d temporarily lost my mind—and toes were stepped on. He was very nice about it, and my embarrassment wasn’t enough to put me off him. I don’t think much could, really.
My crush has ebbed and flowed throughout this year and had become nearly nonexistent with all the things in my personal life, but recently there’s been a new development: he’s single.
This is significant. Dawson has been dating Natasha since I met him. Natasha. I’ve only met her a handful of times, but I could never figure the two of them out. She just seemed all wrong for him. Natasha is super wannabe Instagram famous, and Dawson is more reserved … more introspective.
He’s also the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in real life, with that beautifully thick, dark-blond head of hair and that gorgeously structured face. He shouldn’t be wasting that face at Cooper’s; he should be an actor or a model or something. That face is God’s gift to the world. But I’m grateful he’s not any of those things. Because, his looks and my sweaty pits aside, Dawson is a great asset to Cooper’s. He works hard and is dedicated to the company, and he runs the shop better than any other hire we’ve had.