“Jeremy? New lover?”
“Perhaps. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Sounds more like you’ve decided, but haven’t fucked him yet.”
“Who hasn’t fucked who, yet?” Quinn asks as he and Gil return.
“Technically it is ‘who hasn’t fucked whom,” Selah corrects him.
“Whom schmoom, let’s get to the fucking.” Quinn sits next to Maggie at the table, leaving the chair opposite her empty for Gil.
“Crass much, Q?” Gil asks. “Some things never change.”
“Sue me. I’m an old married man now. I need the vicarious thrills and intrigue from my single friends.”
“Selah was telling me about a new prospectus, Jeremy.”
“Jeremy. Sounds like a grad student. Or is he an undergrad?” Quinn asks.
“I don’t sleep with undergrads. Such a cliché, Quinn, and sadly frowned upon by the powers that be these days.”
“Gil, have you ever fucked one of your students?” Quinn enquires.
Gil looks stricken. “No, never.” He visibly shudders. “I stay the same age and they get younger and younger. They hold no appeal for me.”
“Funny. I would think that would be some of the appeal of being an academic.” Quinn tosses an olive in his mouth.
“I haven’t been with an undergraduate since I was one,” Gil replies, glancing at Maggie briefly.
“So anyhoo…” Maggie interjects to avoid the growing awkwardness. “I have salmon and salad for dinner. I thought it was going to be Q and me, but I we can make everything work. Anyone starving?”
“Sounds perfect,” Gil says. “The salmon local caught?”
“Very. My neighbor caught it this morning,” Maggie says with pride.
“Paul Bunyan fishes too?” Quinn asks as he walks over to relight the grill.
“Your neighbor’s name is Paul Bunyan? Like the lumberjack?”
“No, his name is John Day. Quinn calls him that because he works in timber.”
“And wears plaid, and has a beard, and is tall, dark, and handsome…” Quinn practically salivates.
“And his dog’s named Babe,” Selah interjects.
Surprised by this, Maggie gives her a look.
“What? He and I are Facebook friends.” Selah defends.
“John is on Facebook? And since when are you friends?” Selah and John being online friends makes his questions about Selah yesterday make more sense now.
“We exchanged info after your mom’s funeral last year. Good way to keep an eye on you. Plus, he’s hot.”
“Maggie, everyone, but you and Gil, is on Facebook,” Quinn says.
“I hate Facebook,” Gil says.
“Me too,” Maggie agrees.
“See? You two still have so much in common!” Selah claps her hands together in mock enthusiasm.
Maggie rolls her eyes.
“Q, can you handle the grill? I’ll bring out the salmon, and Selah and I will finish the salad.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Quinn salutes. “More beer. Gil, you want another?”
“Sure, I can grab one and bring out the fish,” Gil offers and follows the women inside.
In the kitchen there’s a shuffle to get the fish and beer out of the fridge as well as the couscous. Gil brushes against Maggie more than once. She wonders if it may or may not be intentional on his part, seeing his smile each time they touch. Maggie’s skin tingles in a way she may or may not admit to liking. She does know being close to him makes her want more wine.
“Gil, will you grab the other bottle of Rosé from the door?”
Gil’s hand brushes hers when he hands her the wine.
Yes, there’s definitely a tingle.
“Hey, you never gave Gil the full tour. I can dress the salad and Q will man the grill while you show Gil the rest of the house and where to put our bags.” Selah says.
Maggie gives her a look.
“Okay. I can help with the bags.”
“Nah, I’ll run out and grab them. Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?” Gil asks.
“Of course not! I’m such a bad host. First door on the right as you head toward the front door.”
After Gil walks away Selah comes over and hugs her. “Magpie, relax. It’s only Gil. One of your best friends. He won’t bite. Unless you ask him to, and I suspect you aren’t into the whole vampire fetish.”
Maggie hugs Selah back and exhales. “I’m being weird. Does everyone know I’m being weird? Why am I being so weird? It’s weird that I’m being weird, isn’t it?”
Selah pats her arm.
“It is a little weird. The word vomit is so not like you. Why are you nervous around him?”
“I guess it’s been a long time. Plus, he’s gorgeous. I think I forgot how gorgeous he is.”
They hear the bathroom door open and Gil’s footsteps in the hall.
“I’ll grab the bags from the car and be right back,” Gil calls from the front door.
Selah gives her another half hug, and says, “You’re gorgeous, too.”
Six
When Gil comes back, Maggie makes a sweeping gesture, and says, “I’ll give you the tour. You’ve seen the kitchen, dining area, living room, and hall bath.”
She loves that neither of her parents ever updated the house other than to replace the avocado kitchen appliances with stainless. A few coats of paint on walls, cupboards, and floors upstairs, new furniture mixed with the old, and the removal of the aged wall-to-wall carpet that was more sand than carpet—these are Maggie’s main additions to the cabin.
“Down here is a bedroom that’s a TV-room-slash-den with a fold-out sofa. Selah will be in this room tonight. When I thought you were Selah’s date, I figured I’d put you both in here, giving Ben and Jo the upstairs room with the twin beds. But now I’m going to have to shuffle people around.”
“I feel guilty for causing any inconvenience.”
“Don’t worry about it. At all. I’m glad you showed up.” She gives him a genuine smile. “Do you and Selah mind sharing a room tomorrow night?”
Maggie walks toward the door on the left, across from the bathroom.
“I’m happy to sleep with Gil,” Selah calls from the kitchen. Something in her tone is teasing, but also has an undercurrent of double entendre that makes Maggie feel possessive of Gil.
“I’m fine sharing with Selah. She snores like a bear. I might need ear plugs.”
“I heard that, and I do not snore!”
“She so does,” they both say at the same time, and then laugh.
“I’ll find ear plugs for you.”
Gil brushes past her and drops Selah’s bags in the den. “This is cozy. I didn’t notice a TV in the living room and thought you became one of those anti-TV recluse types for a minute.” He teases her.
“Lord no! I’m addicted to horrible, embarrassing television. I like to hide my shame from company,” Maggie explains.
“So, this is where you watch porn?” Gil gestures around.
He’s flirting with her. Or at least she thinks he is. Two can play at this.
“No, silly. I watch my porn online in my bedroom like most people.” She winks at him.
Apparently momentarily stunned by the thought of her watching porn in her bedroom, in her bed, Gil takes a few seconds to react. She chuckles that she stunned him into silence. His shocked expression pleases her.
“Your room is upstairs next to Quinn’s. Ryan arrives Saturday, so you’re in the room with the two twin beds. Hope you don’t mind.”
Maggie walks up the stairs with Gil following behind her. She swears she senses his eyes on her but she’s afraid to look back. Instead, she adds a little extra swing in case he’s looking.
Gil pauses on the landing and picks up a rock on the windowsill. “Why do all these rocks have white lines around them? I saw some downstairs, too.”
“They’re wishing rocks.”
He
quirks an eyebrow at her. “Wishing rocks? Like magical rocks?”
“Sure, mock the island traditions. You find a rock with an unbroken white ring, make a wish, and throw it into the water.”
“Do the mermaids and Selkies grant your wishes?”
“Ha ha. Not sure either are in the Sound. Wishing rocks are something my grandmother taught me.”
“They’re cool. Definitely.” Gil strokes his finger over the ring. “If you throw them in the water to make your wish, why do you have so many here? Hoarding wishes?”
She tugs on the sleeve of his ancient concert T-shirt. “You’re one to talk about holding onto things. I collect the rocks. You never know when you’ll need a little extra hope and faith. Plus, they’re pretty. I love how nature creates something perfect.”
He leans against the wall and nods at her words. “We’ll have to find you more tomorrow,” he says softly, watching her face.
“They’re everywhere if you keep your eyes open.”
“Kind of like wishes,” he says.
“Maybe.” She smiles at him before continuing up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs, she points to the left. “My room’s down that way. Two bedrooms on the hall share a bathroom. Your room is here.” She gestures to her immediate right. “Quinn and Ryan have the room closer to me.”
Gil walks into the small, gray-painted bedroom. The room’s eclectic style is all Maggie. The pair of white twin beds are made up with white linens and folded Hudson Bay striped blankets lay over the footboards. A collection of sand dollars and beach rocks line the window. Above the beds hangs a group of amateur paintings of the island. He drops his bag on the navy wingback chair in the corner next to a small dresser.
“I hope the bed isn’t too short for you. These were my grandmother’s and I think those older beds were smaller since people were shorter.” Maggie babbles.
“I’ll be fine. It’s only for a few nights and I’d happily sleep on a sofa. I like the room, it has character.”
“Thanks. Okay, let me show you the bathroom.”
Maggie walks out of the room and down the hall to the door on the left. “Your basic bathroom.”
Inside is more beach flotsam and island decor. White tiles and walls are accented with a driftwood frame around the mirror and sea glass in a large jar on the counter. The Magpie’s collection of natural treasures matches the style of the guest room.
“Nice,” he says.
She moves down the hall to the other guest room.
He pokes his head into the room. “Nice.”
‘Quinn’s room’ is another airy space with white walls and a queen bed in pale blue sheets and a white coverlet. A large piece of driftwood hangs on the wall above the bed. Under the window sits a small desk holding a spyglass and a collection of old books.
“And finally my room.” Maggie’s voice sounds nervous.
“Perfect.”
The early evening sun streams in through the oversized picture windows facing the water and bluff, giving the room a golden glow. A king bed in white linens faces the view. The floors are white-painted wood covered with a few small, vintage rugs. Another vintage desk, similar to the one in Quinn’s room, sits below a picture window, and a telescope stands next to it. The pile of papers and the comfortable chair make it obvious this is a place where Maggie does some of her writing. An old love seat with a Biscuit-shaped indent in the cushion sits below the other window. Through a door behind the wall with the bed is another bathroom.
“Great set up. I love the rugs. These are kilims, right?”
His knowledge of the kilims surprises her. Then again, he has traveled everywhere and teaches history. Figures he knows Turkish rugs.
“They are. My mother bought them in Seattle years ago. I love how sun-bleached and faded they are now.”
“Me too. I love things that show their age. It only makes them more beautiful.”
Maggie smiles at his words. “Says the history professor.”
Gil laughs. “Good point. Do you use the telescope to spy on the neighbors?”
She wonders why he frowns when he mentions her neighbors. “Tempting, but no. The telescope is perfect for star gazing, whale watching, and following the container ships in the Sound. I like to imagine what’s in all those containers.”
Gil walks over and looks out the telescope that is, in fact, pointed at the shipping channel. “What do you imagine inside them?”
“Sometimes random stuff. If the ship is bound for port in Seattle, then I assume it’s something from Asia like squid flavored candies or Apple products. Outbound ships are probably filled with Starbucks and geoducks.”
“Do they even ship their coffee from Seattle?”
“Good point. I don’t know.”
“Where are the geoducks going?”
“Japan and China, of course. They’re an expensive delicacy in Asia and thought to improve male virility.” Maggie scrunches up her nose.
“Not a fan of the giant clam?” Gil says, clearly amused by her reaction. “Geoducks are resolutely phallic.”
“Visually, not so much. They’re pornographic.” Maggie laughs at the fact she’s standing in her bedroom talking about phallic bivalves with Gil.
“You have a dirty mind, Maggie May. They’re our alma mater’s mascot.” He points at the stuffed Speedy the Geoduck on her desk.
“Hmm.” She hums. “No one has called me Maggie May since college. Actually, no one but you has ever called me that.” Her cheeks warm at the familiarity and small thrill she has from the name.
“That makes me happy to hear.” Gil turns and faces her with a small smile tugging at his lips.
His familiar smile stirs something in Maggie. It’s the same smile nineteen-year-old Gil used to give her. Part shy, part stunning… it was irresistible then and it’s pretty irresistible now. She smiles back at him.
“It’s wonderful to hear you laugh again. I love your house. It’s very you. Thanks for making me feel welcome and not like the crasher I am.”
Maggie looks around at the room with its white-washed wood walls and simple furnishings. It is very her.
“Thanks. I love this room. And it’s good to have you here. Like no time has passed at all.” She means it as she imagines how much his absence would have been noted this weekend. Maybe the wine makes her a little more than nostalgic.
“We should make sure Quinn hasn’t charred the fish.”
“Charred fish sounds like one of his studio art pieces.”
“It does.” She laughs as they walk downstairs.
* * *
Selah pours herself a glass of wine as Gil and Maggie walk into the kitchen.
“Who needs refills?” she asks, holding up the bottle.
“I’ll grab another beer,” Gil says, opening the fridge.
Maggie pours another glass for herself and walks outside to check on Quinn.
Selah and Gil follow shortly after, carrying table settings, the salad, and wine.
“Dinner is served,” Quinn says with a flourish toward the perfectly grilled, not charred, salmon on a cedar plank in his hand.
The rest applaud.
Once everyone serves themselves, Maggie makes a toast. Raising her glass, she says, “To old friends.”
The others echo her and clink their glasses. She glances over the top of her glass at Gil, who sits opposite her. To long lost friends found again, she thinks. As if he could read her mind, Gil winks, and she smiles in response.
It might be the wine or the wink, but Maggie feels warm and happy, and maybe a little hopeful for the first time in ages.
An hour later, her guests compliment her about the amazing food as Maggie clears the table after telling them to sit and enjoy the sunset. She carries the plates and salad bowl into the kitchen with a promise Gil can help her wash the dishes later.
Not ready to think about dessert yet, she grabs a bottle of wine and another beer f
or Gil. She flips the switch for the twinkle lights hung around the railing of the deck, giving enough light outside to balance the creeping darkness. Selah lights a cigarette and moves to sit on the deck railing, with Gil’s empty bottle as her ashtray.
“Quinn was nicely pointing out I’m the last person on the planet to smoke,” Selah says from her perch. Thankfully she’s down wind. “Back in the day, you all smoked. Quitters.”
Quinn laughs. “Yes, and ‘back in the day’ we all thought forty was old age.”
“Forty is the new thirty, don’t you know?” Selah quips and blows smoke rings. “At this rate, by the time we’re fifty, we’ll be forever thirty and twenty will be the new fourteen.”
“Ugh, don’t mention fifty,” Maggie moans. “We’re closer to fifty than twenty.”
“How did that happen?” Gil asks.
“We got boring and married, and grew paunchy.” Quinn pats his belly, which is almost as flat as it was in college. “And by we, I mean all of you.”
“Perpetual youthful teenager is no way to go through life, Quinn,” Selah says, jokingly.
“I’ve made a career of pandering to the base of youth obsessed culture,” Quinn replies.
Maggie sips her wine and observes the sparring between Q and Selah.
“How’s the poster business, Q?” Gil asks.
“Now, now don’t you start. Poster business?” Quinn laughs.
“Plastic and printable satire? What did the critics call your show earlier this year?” Selah interjects.
Maggie has to suppress a grin. That line had particularly irked Q when he read it to her over the phone.
“Hush, woman. Let it be known, I sold out most of the show before the opening. Lars was interviewing collectors to determine who was worthy to own one of my masterpieces.”
Selah puts out her cigarette and snorts.
“Tiara-wearing honey bears are hardly masterpieces.”
“Selah, you teach about art filled with the nakedness and nudity of the old ages. This is contemporary art, conceptual. Those bears were eighteen-carat gold-plated.”
“I prefer my ‘Liza Loves Me’ puffy heart box from your first show,” Maggie interjects.
“Art is in the eye of the beholder,” Gil adds.
Geoducks are for Lovers Page 4