“I’m Maggie.”
The two shake hands, and it’s only now I realize what I’ve done by bringing her here. Sure, she gets to see the best parts of my life, like Vi and my sisters, when they aren’t betting against me. But she’s going to see the other parts, too, everything I’ve always hidden from anyone who knows me, one of the reasons I keep everything outside of the Reed family simple, easy. Scotland was also a good lesson—in the art of pretending. Letting myself fall for Jordan, someone who loved someone else—I was such an asshole. No. The show I put on suits me better, enough that I’ve started to believe it. How could I be anyone other than who I trained myself to be?
I know better now. Self-preservation wins every time. So what am I doing letting my life outside these doors collide with what lies within? Self-preservation in the form of self-sabotage? The me of only a week ago wouldn’t have called her after the first night. Up until now, I thought I knew my own agenda—to let her get a glimpse and then send her running. But that’s not it.
Last night when I asked her to come here, all I could think about was wanting her with me for a few more hours, for another day. To soak up whatever time we had before everything went south, as it always does. As I know it will.
I lace my fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. She squeezes back.
I want her here because I want her here. That’s the only conscious reason I can think of, and my chest constricts at the thought of it. I want her here.
The second our hands relax, Violet pulls her from me and toward the kitchen.
“You need to come meet everyone else,” she says.
Maggie moves away from me, looking back over her shoulder, and I shrug as she flashes me a confused-but-resigned smile, waving with her free hand, the one that was just in mine. My imagination twists the meaning of her look—as if she knows me so well already—into one of pity.
I shake my head free of this thought, forcing myself to remember her in my bed a little more than an hour ago. No such pity existed then.
“Griffin.” The voice comes from my right, the foyer entrance to the great room.
“Hey, Dad.” I shove my hands into my front pockets—my automatic response to seeing him—to avoid the awkwardness of feeling like our greeting should include some sort of familial gesture like a hug or a handshake when neither of us has the inclination to do it.
For a second I think he’s about to do it anyway, his right hand leaving his side, but instead his fingers rake through his thick mix of sandy-gray hair. He almost looks younger when he does this, something I know is a reflex of mine. But I tell myself our similarities end there, at the surface.
“Did I hear Violet say there was someone to meet?”
I open my mouth to answer him, to tell him about Maggie, but he doesn’t want an answer.
“I was hoping you’d stay for a bit after your sisters leave so we could talk about your applications. I know you haven’t received any responses yet, but we should start prioritizing, strategizing where we can get you some internships based on where you’ll be getting that MBA.”
I free my hands from my pockets, clasping them behind my neck as I muster my best apologetic grin.
“I’m really sorry, Dad. Maggie needs to be at work in a couple hours, and I promised I’d drop her off.” And there it is, my out. As much as I tell myself I wanted Maggie here because I wanted her here, a part of me cringes at my selfishness, at how I just used her without her knowledge. Even though she’s not a witness to it, I want to take back my deflection, to fucking say what I should have said two years ago.
This isn’t what I want. It’s never been what I wanted. Oh, and by the way. I don’t actually know what I want since I’ve always been expected to be you. But thanks for the thousands of dollars you’ve thrown at me to keep me in place. Much appreciated.
Instead I say, “Maybe next week, Dad,” knowing it will never happen because Black Friday is reunion day, and for some inexplicable reason, I decided to spend Thanksgiving weekend with Jordan and Noah. I’ll exchange standing up to my father for spending an evening with the girl I fell for and the guy she wanted instead of me.
There will be a hotel and a bar and everything I need to blot out the memories when they get too real. And maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to do it alone.
…
Maggie
Jen, Megan, Natalie. Jen, Megan, Natalie. I repeat the silent mantra in my head, his sisters’ names in birth-order sequence, over and over while silverware clanks against dishes, while Griffin bears the constant ribbing of his siblings, yet all in fun. And love. So much love between them all. Even his dad—about whom he hasn’t said much beyond that night in the parking garage—softens whenever his granddaughter looks his way.