As soon as Mark said the name, she felt a stab of disbelief that nearly a quarter century had passed since the months she’d spent in Ocracoke.
“Are you really interested in the rest of it?”
“I am,” he admitted.
“Why?”
“Because it helps me understand a bit more about you.”
She took another drink of her melting smoothie, and suddenly flashed on her most recent discussion with Dr. Brodigan. One moment, she observed cynically, you’re having a pleasant conversation with someone, and the next, all you can think about is the fact that you’re dying. She tried and failed to push the realization away before suddenly wondering if Mark was mirroring her thoughts. “I know you speak with Abigail every day. You’re welcome to tell her about my prognosis.”
“I wouldn’t do that. That’s…your business.”
“Does she watch the videos?”
“Yes.”
“Then she’ll find out anyway. I was planning on posting about this latest development after I tell my parents and my sister.”
“You haven’t told them yet?”
“I’ve decided to wait until after Christmas.”
“Why?”
“If I told them now, they’d probably either want me to immediately fly back to Seattle—which I don’t want to do—or they’d insist on coming out here, and I don’t want that, either. They’d stress and need to wrestle with their grief, and it would be harder for all of us. As an added bonus, it would ruin all their future Christmases. I’d rather not do that.”
“It’s going to be hard no matter when you tell them.”
“I know. But my family and I have a…unique relationship.”
“How so?”
“I haven’t exactly lived the kind of life my parents anticipated. I always had the feeling that I was born into the wrong family somehow, and I learned a long time ago that our relationship works best when we maintain some distance between us. They haven’t understood my choices. As for my sister, she’s more like my parents. She did the whole marriage, kids, suburbs thing, and she’s still as beautiful as ever. It’s hard to compete with someone like that.”
“But look at all you’ve done.”
“In my family, I’m not sure that matters.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” In the silence that followed, Maggie suddenly yawned and Mark cleared his throat. “Why don’t you go ahead and take off if you’re tired,” he said. “I’ll make sure everything is logged properly and handle all the shipments.”
In the past, she would have insisted on staying. Now she knew it wouldn’t serve any purpose. “Are you sure?”
“You’re taking me to the ballet. It’s the least I can do.”
After she bundled up, Mark followed her to the door and pulled it open, ready to lock up behind her. The wind was harsh, biting her cheeks.
“Thanks again for the smoothie.”
“Do you want me to get you an Uber or a cab? It’s cold out there.”
“It’s not that far. I’ll be fine.”
“See you tomorrow?”
She didn’t want to lie; who knew how she would feel? “Maybe,” she said.
When he nodded, his lips a grim line, she could see he understood.
* * *
By the time she reached the corner, Maggie knew she’d made a mistake. It wasn’t just biting outside; it felt arctic, and she was shivering hard even after entering her apartment. Feeling as if a block of ice were lodged in her chest, she huddled on the couch beneath a blanket for nearly half an hour before she summoned the energy to move again.
In the kitchen, she made chamomile tea. She thought about taking a warm bath as well, but it was too much effort. Instead, she went to her bedroom, slipped into a pair of thick flannel pajamas, a sweatshirt, two pairs of socks, and a nightcap to keep her head warm, and crawled under the covers. After finishing half a cup of the tea, she dozed off and slept for sixteen hours.
* * *
She woke feeling awful, as though she’d just pulled an all-nighter. Worse, pain seemed to radiate from various organs, sharpening with every beat of her heart. Steeling herself, she was somehow able to rise from bed and make it to the bathroom, where she kept the painkillers Dr. Brodigan had prescribed.
She washed two of the pills down with water, then sat on the edge of the bed, still and concentrating, until she was sure she would keep them down. Only then was she ready to start her day.
Drawing a bath because showering now felt like being stabbed, she soaked in the warm, soapy water for nearly an hour. Afterward she texted Mark, letting him know that she wouldn’t make it to the gallery today but would touch base tomorrow regarding the time and place to meet for the ballet.
After dressing in comfy clothing, she made breakfast, even though it was already afternoon. She forced down an egg and half a piece of toast, both of which tasted like salted cardboard, and then—as had become a habit in the last week and a half—she settled onto the couch to watch the world outside her window.
There were snow flurries, the tiny flakes flickering against the glass, the movements hypnotic. Catching a glimpse of poinsettias in an apartment window across the street, she recalled her first Christmas back in Seattle after she’d returned from Ocracoke. Though she’d wanted to be excited for the holiday, she’d spent much of December simply going through the motions. Even on Christmas morning, she remembered opening her gifts with feigned enthusiasm.
She knew that part of that had to do with getting older. Gone were the beliefs from her childhood, and she’d reached the stage where even smelling a cookie meant calculating calories. But it was more than that. Her months in Ocracoke had turned her into someone she no longer recognized, and there were times when Seattle no longer felt like home. In retrospect, she understood that even back then, she’d been counting the days until she could finally leave for good.
Then again, she’d been feeling that way for months by that point. Not long after returning to Seattle, once she began to feel vaguely back to normal, Madison and Jodie had been eager to pick up where they had left off. On the surface, not much had changed. Yet the more time she spent with them, the more she felt like she’d grown up while they’d stayed exactly the same. They had the same interests and insecurities they’d always had, the same sorts of crushes on boys, felt the same thrill at hanging out in the food court at the mall on Saturday afternoons. They were familiar and comfortable, and yet, little by little, Maggie began to understand they would eventually drift from her life entirely, in the same way Maggie sometimes felt as though she were drifting through her own.
She’d also spent much of those first few months back at home thinking about Ocracoke and missing it more than she’d imagined. She’d thought about her aunt and the desolate, windswept beach, the ferry rides and garage sales. It amazed her when she reflected on all that had happened while she was there, so much so that even now it sometimes took her breath away.
* * *
Maggie watched a drama on Netflix—something starring Nicole Kidman, though she couldn’t remember the title—took a late-afternoon nap, and then ordered two smoothies for delivery. She knew she wouldn’t be able to finish both, but she felt bad ordering only one, since the check was so small. And really, what did it matter if she threw one away?