Maybe Now (Maybe #2)(35)

“Have you cussed out loud yet?” I sign.

He laughs, wiping the corner of his mouth with his finger. “Shit was my first cuss word.”

I laugh. Of course it was. He liked watching me say that word when I was angry. I realize speaking words out loud without being able to hear them probably isn’t as satisfying as being able to hear your own voice, but it has to feel a little good, finally being able to cuss out loud.

“Call Warren an asshole,” I say.

Ridge looks at the back of Warren’s head. “You’re an asshole.”

I cover my mouth with my hand, completely in shock that Ridge Lawson is verbalizing. It’s like he’s this whole new person.

Warren looks over at me, taking the steering wheel with his knee so that he can sign what he’s saying for Ridge. “He isn’t a toddler. Or a parrot.”

I punch Warren in the shoulder. “Shut up. Let me enjoy this.” I look back at Ridge and rest my chin on the head rest. “Say fuck.”

“Fuck,” he says, laughing at my immaturity. “Anything else? Damn. Goddamn. Mother-fucker. Hell. Son of a bitch. Bridgette.”

I die with laughter as soon as he includes her name in his string of profanity. Warren flips him off. I turn around and face the road again, still laughing. I take a sip of my drink and then relax against the seat with a sigh.

“I’ve missed you guys,” I say. Only Warren knows I’ve said it.

“We’ve missed you, too, Maggot.”

I roll my eyes, hearing that nickname again. I look over at him but make sure my headrest is a barrier between me and Ridge so that he can’t read my lips. “Is Sydney mad that he came?”

Warren glances over at me briefly and then stares back at the road. “Mad isn’t the right word. She did react, but not like most people would have reacted.” He pauses for a moment and then says, “She’s good for him, Maggie. She’s just…good. Period. And if this whole situation weren’t so damn weird, I feel like you would really like her.”

“I don’t dislike her.”

Warren looks at me out of the corner of his eye. He smirks. “Yeah, but you won’t be getting manicures together and going on road trips with her anytime soon.”

I laugh in agreement. “That’s for damn sure.”

Ridge leans forward between the seats and grips both the front headrests. He looks at me and then he looks at Warren. “Rearview mirrors,” he says. “It’s like a sound system for deaf people.” He leans back in his seat. “Stop talking about us like I’m not right here.”

Warren laughs a little. I just sink into my seat, ruminating over that last sentence.

“Stop talking about us like I’m not right here.”

“Stop talking about us…”

“Us.”

He refers to himself and Sydney as an us now. And he speaks out loud. And…I take another sip of my drink because this isn’t quite as easy to swallow as I assumed it would be.





I don’t know what’s more awkward: watching Ridge leave to go stay the night with his ex-girlfriend, or sitting in his apartment, alone with Bridgette.

As soon as Warren and Ridge left, Bridgette’s phone rang. She answered it and walked to her bedroom without acknowledging me. It sounded like she may have been talking to her sister, but that was an hour ago. Then I heard her shower start running.

Now, here I am, cleaning their kitchen and doing their dishes. I know Ridge told me not to worry about it, but I won’t be able to sleep if I know there’s food out all over the counter.

I load the last of the silverware when Bridgette walks out of her room with pajamas on. Her phone is to her ear again, but this time she’s looking at me. “You aren’t like gluten-free or vegetarian, are you?”

Wow. We’re really doing this. And wow. I’m actually a little bit excited. I shake my head. “I’ve never met a slice of pizza I didn’t like.”

Bridgette puts the phone on the bar and puts it on speaker as she opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. She hands it to me, expecting me to open it, so I take it and look for the bottle opener.

“Pizza Shack,” a guy says, answering her call. “Will this be carry-out or delivery?”

“Delivery.”

“What can I get you?”

“Two large pizzas with everything. One thick crust, one thin.”

I open the wine bottle while she continues to order.

“Do you want all the meats?”

“Yeah,” Bridgette says. “Everything.”

“You also want feta cheese added?”

“I said I want everything.”

There’s a tapping sound, like fingers against keys while the guy takes a moment to enter the order. “Do you want pineapple?”

Bridgette rolls her eyes. “I’ve said everything like three times. All the meats, all the vegetables, all the fruits. Whatever you have, just put it on there and bring us the damn pizza!”

I pause and glance over at her. She makes a face at me like she’s on the phone with the biggest idiot in the world. Poor guy. He doesn’t ask her any more questions. He takes her address, and she gives him Warren’s debit card number before she ends the call.

I’m curious to see what kind of pizzas we’re about to get. I pray that restaurant doesn’t have sardines or anchovies. I pour two glasses of wine and hand Bridgette one. She takes a sip and then folds her arms over her chest, holding the wine glass to her lips as she looks me up and down.