by Nella Tyler
I met my parents at the restaurant just after 12:30. They were seated in back, near the sushi bar. If I was eating here alone, I sat at the bar and watched the sushi chefs work. It was pretty damned impressive. I sat down at one of two empty chairs at the table across from my folks.
“How did the meeting go?” Dad asked, not bothering to say hello first.
“Hi, dear,” Mom said, smiling indulgently at her husband’s single-minded focus.
“Hi, Mom. How are you?” I asked, but didn’t wait for her to answer. She wouldn’t do that until I answered Dad. “The meeting was great. Mr. Stevens seemed on board. He is going to talk to his partner and call me later in the afternoon.”
Dad nodded, his dark eyes dropping from my face to the menu in front of him. “That’s good news. He wouldn’t even consider bringing it to his partner unless it had some merit.”
The waitress came to the table to take our drink orders. I asked for a Sapporo, Dad sake with some ice water, and Mom ordered green tea.
I was reviewing the menu, trying to decide if I wanted Pad Thai with chicken or pork when Mom made a funny noise. I looked up to find her smiling, her eyes focused on something behind me.
“That’s Maggie,” she said, and lifted her hand to wave.
I turned just as Maggie was returning the wave, a shy smile on her stricken face. Even though her mother was all kinds of loaded, she always acted bashful around my folks, like the sheer reality of their wealth stunned her. Danbury was mostly upper crust anyway, but there were some solidly middle-class parts of the city too, which I found more interesting than the buttoned-up circles I’d grown up in. BJ had come from a middle-class background. His dad was a successful contractor—he’d even built the house Maggie still lived in now—and he’d raised his son and daughter to be kind and fair.
Mom beckoned Maggie over to our table. Her face indicated she’d rather do just about anything but get closer, but she kept smiling and crossed the restaurant to where we were sitting.
“What a pleasant surprise running into you here, Maggie,” Mom said. She got out of her seat to give Maggie a hug and then sat down again. Dad did the same, smiling warmly. No one could meet Maggie and dislike her. It was easy to see how BJ had fallen for her so quickly.
“Yeah, this is one of my favorite places in town,” she said. “I pick up sushi here at least a few times a month.”
“I love it too,” I said, grinning as I rose to give her a hug as well. “I’m here all the time. I can’t believe we’ve never run into each other.”
“Have you already ordered, dear?” Mom asked.
Maggie shook her head. She was wearing a black wool coat that reached past her knees and dark wash jeans. Her brown hair was flowing out from under a knitted cap. The weather had turned icy over the last few days as winter sunk its teeth into New England.
“Why don’t you join us?” Dad said.
“I don’t want to interrupt a family meal…”Maggie started, her voice trailing off at the end, which gave Mom the perfect opportunity to intervene.
“Nonsense,” she replied, waving away those silly words. “We’ve only just ordered our drinks and there’s an empty chair sitting right there that was going unused.” She motioned toward the chair in question, which was right next to me, our coats draped over the back of it. I quickly moved them out of the way. “We would love to have the chance to catch up with you. We haven’t gotten the opportunity to chat with you in some time.”
Maggie’s cheeks reddened and I could see this was the last thing she wanted to do, but I worried she spent too much time by herself since BJ died. And I wanted to be a better friend to her. If I was being honest, I wanted to be more than a friend to her, but that felt really inappropriate. She was my best friend’s girl. It shouldn’t matter that he’d been dead for a year, should it? There were so many other women in the world. Trying to get with this one just seemed insensitive and wrong. But I couldn’t help my feelings.
“I really should be getting back to the shop,” Maggie said, but weakly, in a last-ditch effort to thwart Mom’s plans for catching up.
“I won’t hear another word,” Mom said, smiling in that dangerous way she had. Once she set her mind on something, there was no moving it. “Please sit and let us treat you to lunch.”
Maggie hesitated for another second, looking back in the direction she’d come, before her shoulders dropped and she pulled the empty chair out so she could sit down. She unbuttoned her jacket and slid it off of her shoulders, and then pulled the knit cap off of her head. The waitress returned right about then with our drinks, and Maggie asked for a Diet Coke and then went ahead and placed an order for a rainbow roll and an appetizer portion of vegetable spring rolls. The rest of us ordered right after she did, all sushi besides my addition of the Pad Thai to go with my spider roll. Once the waitress left, Mom and Dad turned the full strength of their collective attention on Maggie, who shrank just a little in her chair. I knew how intense my folks could be. Growing up as an only child, I never managed to get a slight break that a sibling or two might have afforded me. They were extremely attentive and involved in my life, almost aggressively so.
“How are things going at the garage?” Dad asked. “Your team did an excellent job on the Series 60. I can’t believe the transformation between how it looked when Banks towed it home and how it looks now.”
At the mention of the shop, Maggie lit right up, her green eyes gleaming. “Things are going really well. I met with the accountant the other day, who confirmed I’m not running the place into the ground, so that’s good.” She laughed nervously as Mom lifted her pencil thin eyebrows with mild interest. I forced a chuckle too so Maggie wouldn’t feel like an outcast. “I know Jackson was very happy with the way the Cadillac turned out. He put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into that restoration. It was the last big project BJ brought to the shop, so I know he wanted to make sure it was perfect in every way.”
“He did an outstanding job,” Dad confirmed. “You should’ve heard some of the offers Banks received at the car show. I couldn’t believe he didn’t sell it on the spot.”
Maggie looked over at me questioningly—we’d always sold the other restored cars as soon as we received a reasonable offer—and I shrugged.
“I just got her back. I want to enjoy her for a few weeks before I turn her over.” I didn’t say the rest—that it was the last car BJ and I had picked out together. I knew I needed to unload it—that was what I did; I found old cars, BJ fixed them, and then we sold them for a profit—but I just couldn’t right now. I had enough of my own vehicles to keep me occupied but, for right now, I counted the Caddy as one of mine.
Maggie smiled sweetly, the dimples showing in her rounded cheeks as she kept her eyes on me for a moment more before turning to look at my parents again.
“I don’t think I could part with that beauty so quickly either,” she admitted. “I even considered keeping it myself instead of giving it to Banks.”
The table erupted with laughter at the sound of that.
“How’s Philippa doing?” Mom asked after we’d quieted down again.
“Mom’s doing great,” Maggie said. “We went out shopping the other day for Christmas, which I’m not a huge fan of doing before Thanksgiving, but it was nice to get out of the shop for a bit. I feel like my life has been nonstop cars lately, and I don’t even know that much about them.” She tittered nervously again.
“What are you doing for the holiday this year?” Dad asked. “Banks said you went to Brian Sr.’s last year. Are you going over there again on Thursday?”
Maggie shook her head. “No, Brian is going to visit his daughter Judy in Maine. Her husband is out of the country and she’s alone for the holiday with two small kids. It’ll be good for him to get out of Danbury, I think. I love that man to death and I know he’s had a hard year.”
“You have too, dear,” Mom said matter-of-factly. She pursed her light pink mouth as she kept her scrutinizing gaze on Magg
ie’s face, the thoughts in her head buzzing so loudly I could hear them from across the table. “You should come to our house for Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. Mom has a standing reservation at the steakhouse. I’ll just eat with her there. It’s no problem.” She smiled weakly, the ends of her mouth twitching with the effort. “But I appreciate you both for the offer.”
“I won’t take no for an answer,” Mom informed her, as though nothing she’d said had registered. “We always have a gorgeous meal prepared by our chef. He is a master in the kitchen, but he’s unable to bring a service down below 20 people for a big meal like this. He purchased a 25-pound turkey, for crying out loud.” She let out an amused laugh, blue eyes shining.
Maggie seemed unable to say a word in protest. I felt sorry for her because I knew firsthand how overpowering Mom’s personality could be.
“We’ll have every kind of pie imaginable and side dishes like you wouldn’t believe,” Mom said, visibly encouraged by Maggie’s continued silence, which she always took as agreement. Hell, she took vocal disagreement as agreement. “Until you’ve had the pleasure of a holiday meal cooked by James, you have not lived. We always end up with way too much food left over that we donate to those less fortunate.”
“I…”but Maggie didn’t get the chance to finish, because the waitress had come back with our food. She set the plates down in front of us while Mom, Dad, and I smiled at Maggie, who just stared at us, looking mildly bewildered. I felt for her—Mom could be an experience—but I was also thrilled to be sitting at the same table with her and my parents. It felt like a normal family dinner, with us talking about our lives and enjoying each other. Mom could dial it back a little, but I found I agreed with her about Maggie attending Thanksgiving lunch at their house. She shouldn’t spend the holiday at some restaurant when she could be with people who knew and loved her.
Mom kept going about all the great things James had planned for the menu, from stuffing to fresh asparagus to every single kind of pie. I let myself imagine that we actually were family, planning to spend the holiday together the way families did. It gave me a warm feeling, even if Maggie was fidgeting in the seat next to me, so uncomfortable the anxiety was coming off of her in waves.
Maggie
The Same Wednesday
I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Honestly, it wasn’t a new feeling when being stared down by Eloise Wheaton. Banks’s mother was a no-nonsense woman who always got what she wanted. I admired that about her, except when she was using those powers for evil, like she was now.
I stuffed a piece of my sushi roll in my mouth without even dipping it in soy sauce first just to have a reason not to answer right away. I needed to gather my thoughts. I wasn’t sure why the Wheatons were so dead set on having me spend Thanksgiving with them, but I couldn’t think of anything that would be more awkward. If I had my way, I’d be spending it in Brian Sr.’s cozy house where I never felt any pressure. I could relax with him in a way I just couldn’t with anyone else, even Mom. We had twin holes torn into our hearts over losing BJ. We might not always connect so easily without even saying a word, but I wanted to bask in that feeling as much as I could before it dried up. But he would be in Maine with Judy. He’d called me back a few minutes after I’d hung up with him after the shopping trip to invite me to come along, saying he’d checked with Judy first and she’d told him it was okay. I said no and thanked him. I didn’t want to crash the reunion with Judy and the kids. He needed that time away from Connecticut and the grief that lived in every corner. Bringing me along would only be a reminder of that wealth of pain.
“This is magnificent,” Mrs. Wheaton said, after chewing her mouthful of sushi. She’d gotten some kind of roll with eel.
“I’m quite enjoying mine as well,” Mr. Wheaton said. Half of his roll was gone. They were going to need to order more at the rate they were going. I was hoping they’d stay so enthralled with the food that they’d forget to focus on little old me again. I’d finish my meal as quickly as I could and slip away before anyone mentioned another word about Thanksgiving.
“You see?” Banks said, grinning at the corner of my vision as he looked over at his parents. “It’s a good idea to go to a different restaurant every now and then.”
They both chuckled, his dad low in his throat and his mom so it sounded like tinkling music. She reminded me a little of Mom, in that they were both the result of finishing schools, money, and culture. Apparently, that skipped a generation, because I hadn’t been able to pick up any of that easy grace. I married a mechanic, had tattoos, and went to college to be a schoolteacher. High society just wasn’t the place for me. I didn’t feel comfortable at some of the snooty places Mom liked—the country club, restaurants where a meal and a bottle of wine cost more than I spent on groceries in a month, the boutiques that I never even bothered to pick anything up because I’d just be shocked by the price. I was a complete mystery to her, because I’d been raised with all the glitz and glamour, but that upbringing had only solidified that this wasn’t the life I wanted to lead. I wanted to be successful and have enough money to live comfortably, but I had no interest in the life Mom led. She knew that, and she let me live the way I wanted. She made comments—she was my mom, after all, so she had the right—but she didn’t push. Ms. Wheaton was another story. I could see that once she set her mind on something or someone, she was going to make it work by any means necessary.
I just listened as the Wheatons discussed their plans for the rest of the week and the business that Banks had taken over more than a year ago after his father retired. It sounded like he was doing well. I was happy for him. I knew through BJ that Banks had been worried about messing things up right off the bat, though he’d worked at the company under his father since graduating from college and knew the business inside and out. He’d worked so hard in the last year to keep things on track and, much like me and my work in the garage, it sounded like all those hours and lost weekends were paying off.
Mrs. Wheaton’s ice blue eyes were on me again with a suddenness that stole my breath away for about the hundredth time in the last 10 minutes. She just had that effect on people.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you, Maggie. You still need to commit to doing us the honor of having Thanksgiving dinner at our house. I’m sure Banks would enjoy the company.”
“I would,” Banks said, turning to look at me, his gray eyes wide. The steel color of his eyes always pushed me off balance. They were just so out of the ordinary, like Banks himself. Together with his chiseled features and blond hair, it made him quite attractive. He could’ve burned through women like he was running a race. He was great-looking, rich, and well-dressed. But he didn’t. In all the years I’d known him, he’d only dated two or three women, and each one as an actual relationship, not just a quick hookup. He had no interest in the playboy life. I respected him a great deal for that.
I looked down at my empty plate, already knowing there was nothing to save me down there, only a lonely ball of wasabi. I looked up at Mrs. Wheaton, forcing a smile that felt completely fake.
“I’m not sure about that. Let me talk to Mom first. She might want me to eat with her. She’s been very interested in spending as much time as she can with me lately. It’s nice.” I added the last part as an afterthought. It wasn’t exactly a lie—we were spending more time with each other—but it wasn’t because she was making more of an effort. It was just that, before, I had BJ to spend time with and often turned down her offers to meet for lunch or go shopping all day in the city because I wanted to be with my husband.
“I’ll tell the chef to expect one more until I hear otherwise from you, dear,” Mrs. Wheaton said, and it felt like things were decided. I hadn’t committed though, so I had that going for me. Not that it mattered in the face of this woman’s ironclad determination.
I shrugged back on my wool coat and then fumbled for my purse, which was hanging off the back of my chair. “I really need to get going,”
I stammered, pulling out my wallet. “I’ll just leave the money for my sushi—”
“Put your money away,” Mr. Wheaton said, smiling kindly, the way Banks always did. I could see the middle-aged man he’d become one day by looking at his father’s face. “This was our treat. Are you sure you can’t stay? The green tea ice cream sounds rather good.”
I knew better than to argue or leave a 20 on the table. Banks would just show up at the garage and leave it in my office. It’d happened before.
“No, I have some things to do around the house before getting back to the shop. I was only supposed to drop by here, not stay to eat. Thank you both so much. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s no trouble at all, Maggie,” Mrs. Wheaton said, pretty eyes wide. “We consider you family. I’ll expect you at Thanksgiving lunch unless I hear otherwise.” She lifted a challenging eyebrow. I felt much too weak to fight it at this point.
“I’ll let you know.” I stood and left the restaurant without another word, buttoning my jacket as I went along. I sighed as I stepped out into the chilly air. I liked this time of the year, when the weather turned cool enough to comfortably wear a jacket and a hat but wasn’t as bitterly cold as it would get in the New Year. I felt like I’d narrowly escaped some form of torture. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the Wheatons, but I felt pressure from everyone I spoke to except Brian Sr.—pressure to prove how okay I was—and it was just exhausting sometimes.
“Maggie, wait up!”
I kept walking, but looked over my shoulder to see Banks running after me, alone. I’d walked to the restaurant—it wasn’t far from my house, only about 10 minutes if I kept a quick, steady pace—and I was pretty sure he’d driven, but he was following me anyway. I turned back to watch where I was going and let up on the pace a little to give him time to catch up.
“Thanks,” he said, as soon as he fell into step with me. I picked up the pace again, and he matched my steps easily with his long, muscular legs. We didn’t say a word to each other as we walked, just kept our eyes forward on the sidewalk in front of us until we got to my house. I hadn’t cleaned in weeks, so I didn’t really want him to come inside. I dropped down onto the porch the way BJ and I used to do for hours sometimes, just talking and laughing, him sipping on a Guinness and me drinking a glass of wine.