She stills against me, which means she’s not running away, at least from the picture.
Our server clears his throat. “I’m really sorry. I have another table’s order I was about to pick up. I can come right back…”
Duncan stills Elaina against him in an embrace, placing her left hand, ringed finger and all, on his right shoulder facing the camera. Jordan and Noah stand, arms locked around one another, and I straighten, my hands clasped around Maggie’s middle, enjoying the rise and fall of her slowly steadying breaths.
“Aye,” Duncan says. “We’re ready, mate. Sorry for that.”
“Take three pictures, if that’s okay,” I tell him. “We’re all going home to different places tomorrow. I think each couple would like a copy.”
I don’t realize the implication of the word couple until it comes out of my mouth. For years it has scared the shit out of me. But here I am, saying it and not wanting to swallow the word back up before anyone registers any meaning.
“Sure thing,” waiter guy says, and I squeeze Maggie against me. She yelps with laughter, and I’m not far behind. He snaps three photos, waiting long enough for each to spit out the front of the camera. Each of the girls grabs her copy to watch it develop while waiter dude rushes off to his next table.
“See?” I ask, as the image of our combined laughter jumps off the face of the photo. “Right where you belong.”
Chapter Nineteen
Maggie
Watching Griffin with these four friends, he’s the most comfortable with himself I’ve ever seen. This is him removed from the bullshit—the real Griffin. And it hits me. He can be who he wants to be if he can get out from under the crap he lets weigh him down. He has choices I don’t. It’s not that I begrudge him this, not one bit. But when I look at him, at the smile shining in his eyes, I want to think he can be more than the expectations he lets others put on him. What scares me is wanting to be a part of it all. If he chooses happiness, does that mean me? Could I give him what he deserves?
Most of the other attendees of the small reunion are Aberdeen representatives and students from years other than when Griffin was there. The only people he knows are the ones we are already with, so we crowd around a small table, ready to toast the newly engaged couple.
“Who’s celebrating?” Duncan holds up a bottle of champagne, foam bubbling over the top. “I just spent one hundred fifty American dollars on this, so it must be good. But if it’s rubbish, I won’t know the difference because I’ve never had champagne.”
We all stare at him.
“What? They don’t have the bubbly stuff on tap where I come from.”
Elaina laughs, patting him on the cheek with her palm.
Everyone holds up a flute. My hand rests on the stem of the glass in front of me, and when Duncan’s brows raise in question, Griffin answers before I can.
“Maggie doesn’t drink.” He says it so matter-of-fact, like it’s no big deal. So why does it feel like a big deal? Like maybe I was finding a place where I belong only to be reminded of all my restrictions, of not being like everyone else—like I was before all of my bullshit.
My doctor never told me I couldn’t drink, only to avoid foods and beverages I thought could trigger or worsen a migraine. Sometimes I get one even when avoiding triggers. I’m well-rested, well-hydrated, and in case of emergency, I have my injection cartridges ready to go in my bag. All signs point to stepping out of my safety zone.
“Tonight I do,” I say, raising my flute. “It’s a celebration. I can’t say no to what probably costs more than a dollar a sip.” I smile at Duncan, and he beams. When I look to Griffin, he does the same.
“And here I thought you judged me when I drank,” he says.
“I don’t judge you. But I can’t stand to see you abuse your body in a way that’s self-destructive instead of celebratory.”
“Hmmm…” he muses, his grin turning wicked. “Abusing my body for celebration. I kinda like the sound of that, especially if you’re involved.”
“Stop,” I say, sliding my glass of bubbly toward me, waiting for everyone else to get filled and for what I expect will be a short toast from Duncan.
“Stop talking about it, or thinking about it? Because I can do one, but not the other.”
I snort, and thank God Griffin is the only one who hears, but then he says, “You’re sexy when you make barnyard animal sounds,” and my skin catches on fire, both with embarrassment and with the thought of his bringing out sounds and sensations in me I’ve never experienced before.
He leans in, making sure I’m the only one who hears him. “You’re sexy no matter what sound you make, Maggie. Everything about you drives me crazy.”
I suck in a breath, unable to respond, relief flooding me when Duncan begins his toast.