I have my hopes up, I know. Maggie seemed reluctant, but there was something there in her eyes that tells me that she wants this. She’s scared, but she wants this.
At least that’s what I’m convincing myself of.
I stare up at the clock, feeling at loose ends. Maggie should be here in a little while with our son. She called and said she’d get Terry and head my way. She asked if I’d rather her pick up dinner instead of having to cook. We decided on a pizza. I’ll make pasta for Maggie tomorrow.
For a minute, I let myself imagine that this is my life. Home, my wife calling when she gets off work… Christ, I have no idea how things got so fucked up and even less of an idea how it came to the point that I’m getting my ex-mother-in-law to help me.
On that note, I pick up the phone and reluctantly dial the number of my partner in crime. Of all the scenarios I’ve pictured over the years when it came to getting Maggie back, I never once dreamed of this one.
“Hello?”
I take a breath as Ida Sue answers her phone.
“It’s done,” I mumble, wondering how pissed Maggie’s going to be when she finds everything out.
“She agreed to it?” Ida Sue almost screeches in my ear.
“Yeah, probably too easily. I thought she was going to tell me to go fuck myself—”
“Language, Red.”
“Red?”
“It’s time you have a family name.”
“Ida Sue, you get I hate that name, right?”
“Red, you get that I hate the fact my girl is miserable and my grandson misses having his mommy and daddy living in one house? Besides, your hair has a red tint.”
“Don’t talk to me. It’s your daughter, and my hair is not red.”
“Yeah, whatever, and I’m not claiming Maggie today. So, technically, she’s your wife.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not true,” I sigh, leaning back on the couch, my gaze going up to stare at the clock.
“That’s your own damn fault, boy. You should have thrown my girl over your shoulder years ago and made her see sense.”
“If you think me doing that would have done any good then, you underestimate just how much your daughter is like you, Ida Sue.”
I smile because it’s almost possible to hear her scowl through the phone.
“What exactly are you saying, Red Matthews?” she snaps.
And I snort, my lips moving into a small smile while I shake my head.
“Just that there’s a reason you’re not wearing Jansen’s ring on your finger, Ida Sue.”
“The Good Lord frowns upon smart-asses, son,” she snaps. “Just see to it that you stick to the plan, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am, I hear.”
“Good.”
She hangs up before I can say anything else, not that I’d know what to say anyhow. I hope Ida Sue is right and I’m doing the right thing here. I’m worried that I’m fucking everything up worse once Maggie finds out exactly what we’re doing….
Fuck.
I don’t even want to think about that. Ida Sue is right, however, in her own colorful way. I do have to do something. Things with Maggie aren’t getting any better. In fact, I think she’s grown so used to the way things are that she’s come to accept this as normal. I can’t let that happen.
I love Maggie.
I want her forever, not as some kind of weekend fuck. Hell, lately I’m not even getting her on weekends, more like once or twice a month and I can’t keep living like this. I don’t understand her beautiful mind. I do know I should have seen that our marriage was falling apart long before I did. I was too wrapped up in my own pain to see she wasn’t coping and falling deeper and deeper into the blackness. That’s not an excuse. It’s just the sorry truth. I let her down when she needed me the most, and in the years since, I can’t seem to prove to her that she can have faith in me.
In us.
I don’t know if this is going to work, and I sure as hell don’t want to move to Washington…but there is one thing about it.
Ida Sue was right.
It’s time I either shit or get off the pot.
Fucking hell. I’m starting to sound like Ida Sue. Maybe Maggie is right, and I should be scared of having to deal with her mother…I’m even starting to sound like her in my damn head.
10
Maggie
“Aw! Dad!”
Bryant throws his head back in laughter as Terry loses again and the whipped cream hits him in the face. I laugh, too, of course. This pie in the face game is funny—as long as you’re not the one getting pied. Right now, my gaze is fixed on my son and his father. My heart squeezes in my chest. I love them both with all my heart. Sometimes the love nearly overwhelms me.
I watch Bryant, his throat moving, stretching with his laughter, tightening the skin. The corner of his eyes are crinkled, and his brown hair has a couple of strands of gray starting along his sideburns. He’s beautiful.
Inside and out.
I fell in love with him when I was sixteen. We were in high school and it was picture day. Bryant was dressed in a suit for some reason that I can’t even remember. I was standing at my locker and he walked by. He was so tall, the tallest man I had ever seen and since, really. I’d never been attracted to the guys who dressed in sweaters or any kind of pullovers. I was a strictly jeans and faded t-shirts kind of girl. Yet, when I saw Bryant walk by talking to his buddy David, my heart sped up. My palms were sweaty, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. Then, he looked at me, our eyes met, and it felt like something out of a damn movie.
I don’t know how I knew it, but in that moment, I was sure I had met the man that would be mine forever. It was silly, maybe, but Bryant once confessed he felt the same way about me even before then. Maybe I did, too. After all, we’d known each other and been close since grade school. Yet, it wasn’t until that day that I fell irrevocably in love.
Now, I wonder if Bryant curses the day he met me. It’s not like I could even blame him. If I were in his shoes, I’d curse it. I’d hate me for the hell I’ve put him through, but he doesn’t hate me. Even after all of this time, he loves me. He’s never stopped, and I know I put him through hell. I’ve put us both through it. Nothing like wondering if you’re going to die to figure out how much time you’ve wasted.
Shit, I’m lucky that I haven’t scarred my child for life. Instead, he’s happy, well-adjusted and just a great kid.
Will that continue if Bryant leaves and moves to Washington? What if I don’t survive this? What if I really am sick?
My stomach churns at the mere thought.
“You okay, Maggie May?”
“Yeah, you okay, Mom?” Terry asks, and I force myself to turn off my thoughts and focus my attention on my son—and on Bryant.
“Yeah, just thinking how blessed I am,” I tell them, which is mostly the truth. “How about we get you in the shower and cleaned up for bedtime?” I ask my boy, reaching over to ruffle his whip cream dampened locks.
“But Mom! I want to play again!”
“We can play tomorrow, son. You’re going to spend the day with me, and I don’t have to go to work.”