Maybe Someday (Maybe, #1)(20)

Or maybe not. I’ll give this place a couple of weeks in order to see how things turn out.

Ridge: Oh, and btw, I didn’t write that on your forehead.

What?

I run to the dresser and look in the mirror for the first time today. Written across my forehead in black ink, it says: Someone wrote on your forehead.


Ridge

Me: Morning. How’s the thesis coming along?

Maggie: Do you want me to sugar-coat it, or are you honestly giving me an opening to vent?

Me: Wide open. Vent away.

Maggie: I’m miserable, Ridge. I hate it. I work on it for hours every day, and I just want to take a bat to my computer and go all Office Space on it. If this thesis were a child, I’d put it up for adoption and not even think twice about it. If this thesis were a cute, fuzzy puppy, I’d drop it off in the middle of a busy intersection and speed away.

Me: And then you would do a U-turn and go back and pick it up and play with it all night.

Maggie: I’m serious, Ridge. I think I’m losing my mind.

Me: Well, you already know what I think.

Maggie: Yes, I know what you think. Let’s not get into that right now.

Me: You’re the one who wanted to vent. You don’t need this kind of stress.

Maggie: Stop.

Me: I can’t, Maggie. You know how I feel, and I’m not keeping my opinion to myself when we both know I’m right.

Maggie: This is exactly why I never whine to you about it, because it always comes back to this same thing. I asked you to stop. Please, Ridge. Stop.

Me: Okay.

Me: I’m sorry. . . .

Me: Now is when you return a text that says, “It’s okay, Ridge. I love you.” . . .

Me: Hello? . . .

Me: Don’t do this, Maggie.

Maggie: Give a girl a minute to pee! Dang. I’m not mad. I just don’t want to talk about it anymore. How are you?

Me: Phew. Good. We got a new roommate.

Maggie: I thought she wasn’t moving in until next month.

Me: No, it’s not Bridgette’s sister. It’s Sydney. The one I was telling you about a few days ago? After I decided to break the news to her about her boyfriend, it left her with nowhere to go. Warren and I are letting her stay here until she finds her own place. You’ll like her.

Maggie: So I guess she believed you about her boyfriend?

Me: Yeah. She was pretty pissed at first that I didn’t tell her sooner, but she’s had a few days to let it sink in, so I think she gets it. So what time will you be here Friday?

Maggie: Not sure. I would say it depends on whether I get enough work done on my thesis, but I’m not mentioning my thesis to you ever again. I guess I’ll get there when I get there.

Me: Well, then, I guess I’ll see you when I see you. Love you. Let me know when you’re on your way.

Maggie: Love you, too. And I know you’re just concerned. I don’t expect you to agree with my decisions, but I do want you to understand them.

Me: I do understand, babe. I do. I love you.

Maggie: Love you, too.

I drop my head forcefully against the headboard and rub my palms up and down my face out of sheer frustration. Of course, I understand her decision, but I’ll never feel good about it. She’s so frustratingly determined I seriously don’t see how I’ll ever get through to her.

I stand up and put my phone into my back pocket, then walk to my bedroom door. When I swing it open, I’m met with a smell that I’m positive is exactly what heaven will smell like.

Bacon.

Warren looks up at me from the dining-room table and grins, pointing to his plate full of food. “She’s a keeper,” he signs. “The eggs suck, though. I’m only eating them because I don’t want to complain, or she might never cook for us again. Everything else is great.” He signs everything he’s saying without verbalizing it. Warren usually verbalizes all of his signed communication, out of respect for others around us. When he doesn’t verbalize, I know he wants our conversation to remain between the two of us.

Like the silent one we’re having right now while Sydney’s in the kitchen.

“And she even asked how we liked our coffee,” he signs.

I glance into the kitchen. Sydney smiles, so I smile back. I’m shocked to see her in a good mood today. After we got back from our trip to the store a few days ago, she’s been spending most of the time in her room. At one point yesterday, Warren went in to ask her if she wanted any dinner, and he said she was on her bed crying, so he backed out and left her alone. I’ve wanted to check on her, but there isn’t really anything I can do to make her feel better. All she can do is give it time, so I’m glad she’s at least out of bed today.

“And don’t look right now, Ridge. But did you see what she’s wearing? Did you see that dress?” He bites the knuckles on his fist and winces, as if simply looking at her is causing him actual physical pain.

I shake my head and take a seat across from him. “I’ll look later.”

He grins. “I’m so glad her boyfriend cheated on her. Otherwise, I’d be eating leftover toothpaste-filled Oreos for breakfast.”

I laugh. “At least you wouldn’t have to brush your teeth.”

“This was the best decision we’ve ever made,” he says. “Maybe later we can talk her into vacuuming in that dress while we sit on the couch and watch.”