Maybe Now (Maybe #2)(29)

She shakes her head. “Not me. I’m grateful I met you. You ended up fulfilling a third of my bucket list.”

I lean away and smile at her, wishing more than anything that I was selfish enough to try to change her mind. But simply knowing the one day I spent with her meant something to her is enough for now. It has to be.

I kiss her one last time. “I can stay until your family gets here.”

Something changes in her expression. She hardens a little. She shakes her head and pulls her hands from my head. “I’ll be fine. You should go.”

I nod, standing up. I don’t even know anything about her family. I know nothing about her parents, or whether she has brothers and sisters. I sort of don’t want to be here when they get here. I don’t want to meet the most important people in her life if I don’t have the chance to someday be one of them.

I squeeze her hand one more time, looking down on her while trying to hide my regret. “I should have brought you a Twix.”

She makes a confused face, but I don’t clarify. I step back, and she gives me a small wave. I wave back, but then I turn without saying goodbye. I walk out of the room as fast as I can.

As someone who has craved the feeling of adrenaline my entire life, I haven’t always made the smartest decisions. Adrenaline makes you do stupid shit without putting too much thought into your actions.

It was stupid of me at thirteen to crash my first dirt bike because I wanted to know what it felt like to break a bone.

It was stupid of me at eighteen to have sex with Chrissy when we didn’t have a condom, simply because it felt thrilling and we ignorantly assumed we were immune to the consequences.

It was stupid of me at twenty-three to jump backward off a cliff I wasn’t familiar with in Cancun, relishing in the buzz of not knowing if there were rocks beneath the surface of the water.

And it would be stupid of me at twenty-nine to beg a girl to jump head-first into a situation that might end up being that maddening love I’ve been craving my whole life. When a person sinks into a love that deep, they don’t come back out of it, even when it ends. It’s like quicksand. You’re in it forever, no matter what.

I think Maggie knows that. And I’m positive that’s why she’s pushing me away again.

She wouldn’t push someone away so adamantly if she weren’t scared her death would also kill them. I can take that assumption with me as I go, at least. The assumption that she saw something in us that had enough potential that she felt the need to end it before we both sank.





I’m at the sink straining pasta, watching Sydney walk around the kitchen and living room as she points at things and signs them. I correct her when she’s wrong, but she’s mostly been right. She points at the lamp and signs, “Lamp.” Then the couch. The pillow, the table, the window. She points at the towel on her head and signs, “Towel.”

When I nod, she grins and then pulls the towel off her head. Her damp hair falls around her shoulders, and I’ve imagined more times than I’d like to admit what her hair smells like fresh out of the shower. I walk over to her and wrap my arms around her, pressing my face against her head so I can inhale the scent of her.

Then I go back to the stove, leaving her standing in the living room, looking at me like I’m weird. I shrug as I pour the Alfredo sauce into the pan of noodles. Someone grips my shoulder from behind me, and I know immediately that it’s Warren. I glance at him.

“Is there enough for me and Bridgette?”

I don’t know why we didn’t do this at Sydney’s apartment. It’s a lot more peaceful over there for me, and I can’t even hear. I can only imagine how much more peaceful it is for Sydney.

“There’s plenty,” I sign, realizing just how much I need to take Sydney out on a real date. I need to get her out of this apartment. I will tomorrow. I’ll take her on a twelve-hour date tomorrow. We’ll eat lunch and then go to the movies and then dinner and we won’t have to see Warren and Bridgette at all.

I’m taking the garlic bread out of the stove when Sydney rushes to the bathroom. At first, it concerns me that she just ran to the bathroom, but then I remember our phones are still on the counter. She must have a phone call.

She returns a moment later to the kitchen with her phone to her ear. She’s laughing as she talks to someone. Probably her mother.

I want to meet her parents. Sydney hasn’t told me a whole lot about them, other than her father is a lawyer and her mother has always been a stay-at-home mom. But she doesn’t seem put out when she speaks to them. The only people I’ve met in her life are Hunter and Tori—and I’d like to forget I ever met them—but her family is different. They’re her people, so I want to know them, even if it’s to tell them they’ve raised an exceptional woman who I love with all my heart.

Sydney smiles at me and signs, “Mom,” as she points to her phone. Then she slides my phone across the bar to me. I press the home button and see that I have a missed call and a voicemail. It’s rare that I get phone calls, because everyone who knows me knows I can’t answer the phone. I usually only receive text messages.

I open my voicemail app to read the transcription, but it says, “Transcription not available.” I put my phone in my pocket and wait for Sydney to finish her phone call. I’ll just have her listen to the voicemail and let me know what it says.