Maybe Now (Maybe Someday part two)

by Colleen Hoover

  Sydney: Apparently not as eventful as yours.

  Her text confuses me. I look at Warren, who is walking out of the bathroom. “Did you tell Sydney about the argument last night?”

  “Nope,” Warren says. “I haven’t talked to either one of them today. My guess is that they’re hungover and still in bed.”

  My chest tightens because her text is unlike her.

  Ridge: What do you mean?

  Sydney: Check Instagram.

  I immediately close out my texts to her and open Instagram. I scroll down until I see it.

  Son of a bitch.

  Maggie posted a picture of us. She’s making a silly face up at the camera and I’m next to her. In her bed. Asleep. The caption reads, “Haven’t missed his snoring.”

  I fist my phone in both hands and pull it to my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut. This. This is why I should have stayed home.

  I stand up. “Where’s Maggie?”

  Warren nods toward the hallway and signs, “The laundry room.”

  I walk to her laundry room and find her casually hanging up a shirt like she didn’t just try to sabotage my relationship with Sydney with her petty Instagram post. I hold up my phone. “What’s this?”

  “A picture of you,” she says, matter-of-fact.

  “I see that. But why?”

  She finishes hanging up the shirt and then leans against her washing machine. “I also posted a picture of Warren. Why are you so mad?”

  I roll my head and throw my hands up in frustration. I’m confused why she did it in the first place, and now I’m confused as to why she’s acting like it isn’t a big deal.

  She pushes off her washing machine. “I didn’t realize we had rules to this friendship. I’ve posted pictures of all of us for six years. Are we catering our lives to Sydney now?” She tries to walk toward the door, but I step in front of it.

  “You could show a little respect for our situation.”

  Maggie’s eyes narrow. “Are you serious right now? Did you really just ask me to show respect to the relationship you’re in with the girl you cheated on me with?”

  That is not fair. We’re past that now. At least I thought we were. “You could have posted any picture of me, but you chose to post one of me in your bed. A bed I was in because I stayed up for hours to make sure you were okay. Using that as an opportunity to throw my mistake back in my face is not fair, Maggie.”

  Her jaw hardens. “You want to talk fair? How fair is it that you’re the one who had an emotional affair, but I’m the one who has to be sensitive about what I post on Instagram? How fair is it that I’m the bad guy for eating a Twix? I wanted a fucking Twix, Ridge!” She pushes past me, so I follow her. She spins around when she reaches her living room. “I forgot how I’m never allowed to have any fun when you’re around. Maybe you shouldn’t come back, because this is the worst day I’ve had in months!”

  In all my years of knowing her, I’ve never been this mad at her. I don’t know why I thought this could work. “If you have an actual emergency, let me know, Maggie. I’ll be here for you. But until then, I can’t be friends with you.” I walk to the front door and swing it open, then face Warren. “Let’s go.”

  Warren is standing in the living room, frozen, at a complete loss as to what to say or do. “What about Maggie’s car?”

  “She can take an Uber.” I walk out of Maggie’s house and head for Warren’s car.

  It takes him a few minutes to finally walk outside. I’m sure he was reassuring Maggie. Let him. Maybe he can reassure the unreasonable, but I sure can’t.

  When Warren finally makes it to his car, I open up my texts to Sydney. I don’t even try to justify the picture with an excuse. I’ll explain it all to her when I’m face to face with her.

  Ridge: I’m sorry she posted that, Sydney. I’m on my way back to my apartment now.

  Sydney: No hurry. I won’t even be at your apartment when you get here.

  I get a separate text from Bridgette.

  Bridgette: Dick. You’re a dick. Dick, dick, dick.

  Sydney: And don’t bother coming to my apartment. Me and Bridgette are having another sleepover.

  Bridgette: NO DICKS ALLOWED!

  I close out the texts to both of them and lean my head against the seat. “Drive to Sydney’s apartment first.”

  I sit down on the couch after Warren closes the door. I stare at the floor.

  I bury my face in my hands.

  What is wrong with me?

  I pushed Jake away. I pushed Ridge away. I even told Warren to get the hell out of my house when he stayed back and tried to get me to tell him why I was acting the way I was.

  I don’t know what’s gotten into me this week. This isn’t me. I, honest to God, don’t want to be in a relationship with Ridge, but when I woke up this morning and saw him asleep next to me, it felt good to have him back. I’ve missed him. But not in a romantic way. I’ve just missed his company. And I started wondering if he missed my company, or if Sydney is all he needs now. Then I started feeling insecure again because he was here, even though he expressed just how much he didn’t want to be here. And as I laid there and stared at him, I started thinking about the day I found all the messages between him and Sydney and I got angry all over again.

  I shouldn’t have posted the picture. I know that. But I think I did it because I thought it would make me feel better in some twisted way. I missed him, I was angry at him, I was angry at myself. I feel like years of just trying to live despite this illness is catching up to me. Because Ridge is right. I don’t take care of myself like I should, but it’s because I’m sick of this illness, and sometimes I don’t care if it wins. I really don’t.

  I pull out my phone and delete the picture; then I open a text to Ridge.

  Maggie: It’s been the shittiest week of my life and I took it out on you and I’m sorry. Tell Sydney I am so sorry. I deleted the picture.

  I hit send and then power off my phone and lie down. I press my face into the couch and I cry.

  The problem with hating yourself when you’re all alone is that you have no one to remind you of any of your good qualities. Then you just hate yourself even more, until you sabotage anything good in your life and in yourself.

  I’m at that point.

  Maggie Carson. Not so much of a badass today.

  I had so much fun last night.

  I ate Bridgette’s disgusting pizza and then she told me all about how she and Warren started dating. That only solidified my opinion of their weirdness. Then we watched Justice League and fast forwarded through all the parts Jason Momoa wasn’t in.

  I don’t remember much after that because we were several bottles of wine in. My sleep and my fun were both cut abruptly short today when Bridgette shook me awake and shoved Maggie’s Instagram post in my face.

  I’m more hurt than angry. I’m sure Ridge will have an excuse. He always does. But what’s Maggie’s excuse? I know, in a sense, I’m the other woman who came between them. I was the Tori in that situation. But I honestly thought we were all beyond that. From the way Warren and Ridge made it sound, she took it well and was even mature about it. But this feels so…petty. Gross, even.

  I couldn’t stand being in Ridge’s apartment after seeing her post. The way I felt reminded me of the stark and pitiful misery I went through while I lived there. And the entire place smelled like pepperoni and anchovies. I told Bridgette I was going back to my place, and she went to her room to grab her stuff and told me she was going with me.

  I think she might be just as upset as I am, because she brought another bottle of wine with her, and now we’re drinking again and it’s barely two o’clock in the afternoon. But I don’t mind that she’s here. I actually prefer it, because I really don’t want to be alone right now or I’ll over-analyze this entire situation and come up with far-fetched reasons for him being on that bed before he can even explain himself.

  Bridgette is sitting cross-legged on my bed. She reaches to the flo
or and grabs her purse, pulling her phone out of it. “That’s it. I can’t take it. I’m commenting on her Instagram post.”

  I try to pull her phone away. “Don’t. I don’t even want her to know I saw it. It’ll serve her purpose.”

  Bridgette rolls onto her stomach to protect her phone from me. “That’s why I said I’ll comment. I’ll say something to make her feel as insecure as she’s trying to make you feel. I’ll tell her she looks healthy. Everyone knows when you tell someone they look healthy, it really means fat.”

  “You can’t say that to someone who is actually sick. And really skinny.”

  Bridgette groans and then rolls onto her back, tossing her phone aside. “She deleted it! Dammit!”

  Thank God. I appreciate Bridgette’s support, but I really don’t need her wedging herself into mine and Ridge’s—and Maggie’s—issues.

  “You want me to call Warren and ask him what happened?” Bridgette almost sounds giddy. She would be one to thrive on drama.

  And I’m not gonna lie. I’ve thought about calling Warren myself because I have so many questions. I know they’re driving back right now and Ridge will probably come over and try to explain himself, but it would be nice to be a little enlightened beforehand so I know exactly how much and how loud I should yell at him when he arrives. Not that the decibel of my voice will matter in our argument, but it might make me feel better to scream at him.

  Bridgette calls Warren and puts the phone on speaker.

  “Hey, Babe,” he says as he answers.

  “So, what the fuck happened last night?” Bridgette says.

  Yeah, she doesn’t know how to do anything with tact. Warren clears his throat, but before he starts speaking, I interrupt him.

  “Are you signing this conversation for Ridge? I really don’t want to talk to him right now.”

  “I’m driving,” Warren says. “Kind of hard for me to drive, hold my phone, eat this cheeseburger and sign everything I’m saying. Besides, he’s staring out the passenger window, brooding.”

  Bridgette leans toward the phone. “Sydney and Ridge’s relationship is in jeopardy, yet you guys had time to stop for burgers?”

  “I stopped for a burger. Ridge won’t eat until all is right in the world of Ridney.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, then, he’s gonna be really hungry by tonight.”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong, Sydney,” Warren says. “I swear. That was all Maggie.”

  “He was asleep on her bed!” Bridgette says.

  “Yeah, because he spent two hours repairing the generator to her vest and then had to hold the cord so she could use it. He didn’t sleep all night and when he finally did get a few hours of sleep, Maggie took a picture of him and went and pulled some really shady shit. I’m telling you, it was all Maggie. I’ve never seen her like this.”

  I glance up at Bridgette. I don’t know if I can trust Warren. As if she can sense what I’m thinking, she says, “We’re not stupid, Warren. Bros before hos. You would defend Ridge even if he murdered you.”

  “Hold on,” Warren says. “I need to take a drink.”

  Bridgette and I wait and listen as he slurps down a drink. I fall back onto my bed, frustrated with Warren. With Ridge. With Maggie. But for once, I’m not at all frustrated with Bridgette.

  “Okay,” Warren says. “Here’s what happened. After we left the hospital and got back to Maggie’s house last night, it was an entire hour of them screaming at each other. It’s like they both released years of aggression all at once, and there were so many insults coming from both sides. All of the—”

  “Wait,” Bridgette says. “Now I know for a fact you’re lying.”

  “I’m not lying!” Warren says defensively.

  “You said they were screaming at each other. Ridge can’t scream, you idiot.”

  I press my hand to my forehead. “It’s sort of a figure of speech in this situation, Bridgette. He was angry and he was signing. Warren refers to it as screaming.” Bridgette shoots me a look of suspicion, like she still doesn’t trust what Warren is saying. I give my attention back to the phone. “Why were they fighting?”

  “Why weren’t they fighting? Ridge was mad because he was there and she wasn’t even that sick. He was mad she isn’t taking her health seriously, and it’s starting to inconvenience those around her. She was mad because he brought up the fact that she was inconveniencing you and was putting a strain on your relationship with Ridge. I’m telling you, I’ve never seen them like this. And it wasn’t the kind of fighting that me and Bridgette do, where we’re just trying to get under each other’s skin. This was legit—I’m fucking angry at you—fighting.”

  I close my eyes, hating the entire situation. I’m not pleased that they’re fighting. That’s helping no one. But it does explain why she posted that picture. It wasn’t to get back at me. She was pissed at Ridge, and her best form of revenge on him is to involve me.

  “And then they both got mad at me,” he says. “All the yelling caused her to start vomiting, and then Ridge made her wear her vest, and he fell asleep on her bed during one of her treatments. As soon as he woke up, he went to the couch and slept for four hours until I woke him up and InstaGate happened. And that’s the whole story.”

  I kick my legs on the mattress. “Ugh! I don’t know who to be mad at! I just need to be mad at someone!”

  Bridgette points to the phone and whispers, “Be mad at Warren. It’s a great stress reliever.” She raises her voice so he can hear her. “Why did they get mad at you?”

  “Not important,” Warren says. “We’re pulling up to your apartment right now, Sydney. Let us in.”

  He ends the call, and I don’t even know if I feel any better. I never thought Ridge was in Maggie’s bed because he was cheating on me. I knew he probably had a valid excuse related to her health. But why couldn’t they have been on the couch together, instead? Or the floor? Why did he have to fall asleep in a place where they’ve probably been intimate with each other for years?

  I stand up. “I need more wine.”

  “Yep, yep. Wine,” Bridgette says, following me to my kitchen.

  When Ridge and Warren finally make it inside, I’ve just downed my second glass for the day. Warren walks in first, and then Ridge walks in. I hate how Ridge frantically searches for me and then looks relieved when he sees me. I just want to stay mad at him, but he makes it so hard with those kissable lips and apologetic eyes.

  I know what I’ll do. I just won’t look at him. That way I won’t succumb so easily to my forgiveness. I spin around so that I can’t see Ridge or the door. I can only see Warren as he tries to hug Bridgette, but she pushes against his forehead.

  Turning my back on Ridge doesn’t do me any good, because he walks up behind me and wraps his arms around me, tucking his face into the space between my neck and shoulder. He kisses me softly on the neck and keeps his arms wrapped around me, apologizing without words.

  I don’t accept this apology. I’m still mad, so I remain stiff and don’t react to his touch. Externally, anyway. Internally, I just combusted.

  Bridgette downs the rest of her wine, then gives her attention to Warren. “Why were Ridge and Maggie mad at you?”

  I want to hear Warren’s answer, but Ridge releases me, turning me so that I’m face to face with him. He slides his hands to my cheeks and looks at me very seriously. “I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “Still hurts.”

  Warren ignores Bridgette’s question and walks toward me and Ridge. I glance over Ridge’s shoulder as Warren touches his chest, looking somewhat guilty. “It was mostly my fault, Sydney. I’m really sorry.”

  “Figures,” Bridgette says, walking to the kitchen for more wine. She walks right between Ridge and me, separating us completely. “Just spill it, Warren.”

  Warren squeezes the back of his neck with his hand as he winces. “Well. Funny story…”

  “I bet it’s a riot,” Bridgette deadpans.

  Warren ignores her an
d continues. “I might have exaggerated about the phone call with Maggie. She wasn’t crying, and she technically didn’t beg us to come. I just knew if I didn’t stretch the truth a little, Ridge wouldn’t have gone.”

  Bridgette’s mouth drops open. She makes a shocked sound and then looks at me, then back at Warren. “You wanted a sleepover with your ex-girlfriend so you lied to everyone?”

  “You’re such an asshole, Warren,” I say. Why would he lie and put Ridge in that situation yesterday? God, I am so angry at him. It feels good to finally have a solid target for my anger.

  “Look,” Warren says, throwing his hands up in the air. “Ridge and Maggie were way overdue for a conversation about this. I wasn’t doing it to be malicious. I was trying to be helpful!”

  “Yeah, sounds like the entire trip was a success,” I say.

  Warren shrugs, placing his hands on his hips. “There may not be a resolution yet, but Maggie needed to hear everything Ridge had to say. In fact, I think you’d be proud of him. After last night and everything he said to defend you, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that he’s one hundred percent aboard the Sydney train.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “You mean you had doubts before last night?”

  Warren looks up at the ceiling. “Not what I meant.” He looks at Bridgette, and I can tell he’s done with this day already. “Let’s go. They need privacy. So do we.”

  Bridgette pulls out a chair at the bar and takes a seat. “No. I’m not finished with my wine.”

  Warren walks to the counter and grabs the bottle of wine. Then he takes her glass out of her hands and walks out the front door with it. Bridgette looks at the door and then at me. Then at the door and then at me again. Her eyes are full of panic. She points helplessly at the door. “Wine.”

  “Go,” I say, walking around Ridge, toward the door.

  She rushes to the door and I shut it behind her. When I turn back around, Ridge is leaning his head against the refrigerator, staring at me. I sigh and stare back at him, hating how tired he looks. As irritated as I am at Warren, I’m relieved he explained everything. I’m not as angry at Ridge.