“Divorce?” Maggie asks, sensing the change in the air between Ben and Jo. “Are you guys having problems?”
Ben takes a big swig of his beer. “Nah. Just the usual stuff.”
“He’s stuck with me. I can always have an affair with the tennis pro if I get bored.” Jo smirks.
Maggie assumes she is joking. “You two are one of the few couples I always thought would make it the long haul. You must to stay together or I’ll lose all faith in marriage.” Maggie hugs Jo.
“Okay, we’ll stay together for you.” Jo pets Maggie’s head as if she’s a child.
“Plus, the tennis pro isn’t good looking at all,” Ben says.
“True. He has an extremely hairy back. My matrimonial vows of fidelity are safe as long as he’s at the club.”
“Do women still have affairs with tennis pros at clubs?” Selah asks, rejoining the conversation.
“They do in Connecticut.” Jo nods.
“Such a cliché. I love it. So very Stepford Wives.”
“You have no idea, Selah, no idea at all. Sometimes I forget what year it is.”
“Fascinating. People like their roles and gilded cages,” Selah muses.
“You should get out of Portland more,” Ben says. “Come see how the rest of the country lives.”
“Darien is hardly middle America,” Jo chides.
“Remember when we wanted to take a road trip to Graceland after graduation? Why didn’t we do that?” Quinn steals a cut tomato from Jo’s pile.
“Yeah, why didn’t we ever go to Graceland?” Jo asks.
“French Incident,” Selah says, killing the conversation.
“Oh, right. Someone had to run off to France to be with her lover.” Ben teases.
Gil walks in with the cooler and Maggie diverts the topic to the crabs.
“Should we say a prayer or a blessing before we boil them?” she suggests.
“I’d rather not be witness to the death, but I will melt the butter,” Jo says before tossing two sticks in a bowl and putting it in the microwave. “I’ll be outside with my wine.” She grabs the bottle and chiller, and heads to the deck.
Selah, Quinn, and Ben follow Jo.
“Guess you and I will do the deed. Unless you want to hide outside with the rest of the cowards.” Maggie opens the cooler next to the pot of boiling water.
“Nah, I’ll go down in a blaze of gunfire with you.”
“I knew I loved you, Clyde.” She jokes. She holds her breath for his reaction to her accidental declaration and slowly exhales when he smiles.
“And I love you, Bonnie. Let’s do this thing.”
* * *
After dinner, Quinn rubs his belly and surveys the carnage of empty butter bowls and crab shells littering the newspaper-covered table. “Ryan is going to be bummed he missed this. The good doctor loves himself some shellfish.”
“Isn’t he Jewish?” Jo asks.
“Yes, but he’s a High Holidays kind of Jew who enjoys a delicious pork belly or lobster.”
“I still can’t believe you married a dermatologist,” Jo says with a slight pout in her voice.
“You can get the friends and family discount, sweetie. Come down to the city sometime.”
“Really?” Jo perks up. Her face is smooth and nearly line-free as it is.
“Sure, sure. Have a painting aging in a closet like me and Dorian Gray.” He points to his forehead.
“You get Botox?” Gil asks, not able to hide the surprise in his voice.
“Sure, why not? The youthful appearance of a cutting-edge artist must be maintained.”
“I’ve been trying to convince Ben to get rid of the eleven between his brows, but he refuses.”
“Wrinkles make me look more serious and threatening. I’m keeping them.”
“It’s so not fair men get distinguished,” Selah comments while filling up everyone’s wine glass.
The sun is starting to set and the twinkle lights, along with the candles on the table, cast a soft, flattering glow on everyone.
“I think you are all more beautiful now than you were in college,” Gil says, looking at Maggie. “Your face tells the story of your life—revealing a depth that youth doesn’t have.”
“Lies! But I’ll take them. Candlelight is my friend,” Jo says.
“I mean it. You’ve all come into your own now.” Gil continues. “The women sitting around this table are each gorgeous in their own way.”
“Go on.” Maggie flirts. The wine and good company make her more relaxed than she’s been in ages. The house is full of laughter and love again. She smiles, looking at her friends.
Jo is still as beautiful as she was at nineteen, even if her looks today are helped with injections and a talented colorist. Ben has the swagger of his Most-Likely-to-Succeed title, only now he has gray at his temples along with more than a few frown and laugh lines. Maggie laughs to herself over the thought he is indeed what you could call ‘distinguished.’ Quinn looks exactly the same as he did in college without the ponytail. Thank God. Selah no longer sports her black, short, spiky cut, but otherwise she hasn’t change much at all, except for bigger curves, which suit her larger than life personality.
Sweet, gorgeous Gil sits directly across from Maggie. He has gray in his brown hair now, but in the low light of the candles and twinkle lights, looks like he did when they first met freshman year. It also could be the flannel shirt he’s wearing over a gray thermal.
Why has she kept him at arm’s length all these years? Right now Maggie can’t imagine not having him back in her life.
Snapping herself out of her musings, Maggie realizes she’s no longer following the conversation. She glances around and sees expectant faces.
“Dessert?” Selah repeats.
“Oops. I almost forgot dessert. Frozen berries with warm white chocolate sauce. I’ll go make the sauce and we’ll be all set.” Maggie gets up from the table.
“Marry me?” She hears Quinn call from the deck as she starts the stove. At least she thinks it’s Quinn.
The quickest dessert ever is assembled before all the dishes are in the sink and the crab detritus disappears.
“I know Quinn already proposed, but if you are up for the whole sister-wives thing, I’d marry you for this dessert alone.” Selah scrapes her spoon around her glass dish.
Quinn moans and uses his finger to get the last of the berry-infused chocolate sauce out of his bowl.
Ben claps his hands together. “Before this turns into some sort of food induced orgy, should we build a beach fire?”
“Right, beach fire orgy would be much hotter,” Selah deadpans.
Ben rolls his eyes and groans.
“Punny, Dr. Elmore.” Quinn chuckles.
Gil once again offers to handle washing dishes while the rest grab drinks, cups and blankets, and then head down to the beach.
“Are you sure I can’t help?” Maggie asks before following the others outside. “I am a bad hostess making one of my guests do the dishes. My mother wouldn’t approve.”
“I’m sure. Washing dishes is the least I can do. I’ll be down to the beach in a few minutes.”
“If you’re sure, then okay.”
“I’m sure. Now off with you.” Gil waves his soap covered hands in her direction. “Scoot.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” Maggie salutes him.
Seventeen
Once everyone is settled by the fire, Quinn suggests playing I Never. Along with the game of Three Huts, this is one of his favorite games from college. Road trips, boring Monday nights, parents' weekend, dinner parties—Quinn loves a good game of I Never.
Sitting by a fire on the beach with a bottle of Jameson reminds Maggie of college. Looking around at everyone, she realizes they’ve known each other more than half their lives. Decades. Their friendships now measured in blocks of years instead of weeks, months or even days. The fact they are drinking cans of ‘Oly’ might
be adding to the nostalgia. She can't believe Ben bought a case of the stuff in honor of old times.
Selah flops down beside Maggie and tosses her a blanket. “Brr. I forgot how cold the nights are here even in summer.”
Quinn claps and lifts the bottle of Jameson. “Everyone remember the rules? If you are guilty, you drink. If you’re an innocent babe in the woods, you abstain. And if some scandalous revelation occurs, even better. I'll go first. I never saw Nirvana play live.”
Everyone else drinks.
“How’s it possible you never saw them live?” Ben asks. “We all went to their show at the Paramount in ‘91.”
“Not me. I was in San Francisco that weekend for Halloween. Like I was going to miss the Castro on Halloween.”
They all stare at him, mouths open.
“Shut your mouths. I know. Greatest band of our generation, not to mention practically local, and I never saw them play live.”
“At least you saw Hootie live,” Ben teases.
“Yay for Hootie.” Quinn raises his cup and drinks.
A few rounds of ‘I’ve never voted Republican’ (Selah) and ‘I’ve never eaten veal’ (Gil) later, it's Quinn’s turn again. He looks at Maggie with a glint in his eye that means he’s definitely feeling the effects of the whiskey, and says, “I've never had sex with Maggie.”
No. He didn't. He really didn't. Maggie stares at Quinn with her best bitch face.
He has the audacity to wink.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Gil slowly raise his cup and drain the contents.
Maggie is clearly not the only one to notice, because Quinn emits a sound that can best be described as a triumphant snort. He is bouncing.
Selah elbows Maggie, who stares at Gil, who is staring back at her now. Maggie can barely meet his eyes.
Gil gives Maggie his shy, sweet smile that melted her heart in college, and raises his empty cup in a toast.
“At least we've finally cleared up the big mystery.” Ben sighs. “Anyone here have any money in the pool that Gil and Maggie didn't sleep together?” He looks around. “No? Okay, then. My turn. I’ve never kissed Maggie.”
Everyone but Ben drinks. Ben’s mouth drops open when he sees Jo toast to Maggie and take a sip. Jo smiles at her husband and pats his arm.
Maggie drains her glass and changes the topic. “I've never been to Nepal.”
The only person to drink is Gil. He smiles. “Three weeks of hiking the Annapurna Circuit was the perfect thing before starting a doctoral program.”
Quinn refills everyone's cup while Gil gets up to stoke the fire. Selah moves over to the seat abandoned by Gil, muttering “white rabbits,” and complaining about the smoke.
Maggie doesn’t buy Selah’s excuse.
Since his old seat is now occupied, Gil sits next to Maggie on the sand. Reclining against the driftwood, he stretches his long legs out toward the fire.
“Sorry about that. But you know Quinn and the absolute truth of I Never. Are you mad?” he asks her in a low voice.
Maggie thinks for a few seconds. Her first reaction is she’s mad and embarrassed over their silly secret being revealed after all these years. There might be a little shame in there, too. Mostly she is relieved, she’s always suspected everyone has known since she left for France—or at least by senior year.
“No, not mad. Seems silly to be mad over a skeleton being dragged out of the closet after twenty-two years. Plus, it was only one time.”
“Yeah, only one night twenty-two years ago. Nothing life changing or anything.”
Maggie glances at Gil. Something in the way he says ‘life changing’ makes her think he’s being sarcastic.
Gil continues: “It's not like finally sleeping with the girl you had a crush on since she showed up in the library wearing Kermit slippers during winter finals would be any big deal.”
Maggie snorts. “I forgot about those stupid slippers. God, I lived in those things.”
“I know. We all know how much you loved those monstrosities,” Gil says.
“Monstrosities? Those were über cool back in the day.”
“Oh, sure. Maybe if the day was 1982 and you were twelve.” Jo laughs.
“Hey now, don't dis the lovers, the dreamers and me.”
“Quinn, was it your idea to burn the Kermit slippers after finals sophomore year? Gil asks.
“Nope, that was all Ben. He declared them a bio-hazard when the last eyeball fell off.”
“So much hate for Kermit. Jim Henson, rest his soul, would be appalled.” Maggie crosses her arms.
Gil takes his beer and pours a little out on the sand. “To Henson and all the Muppet slippers who have died.”
They all crack up, and pour some of their drinks on the sand.
Ben frowns and says, “And to all our friends who are no longer here.”
The mood becomes somber.
“To Lizzy.” Gil raises his cup.
“To Lizzy,” everyone repeats in hushed voices. A quiet settles over them.
“Fucking cancer,” Ben says.
“Fucking cancer,” Selah echoes.
Although it has been five years, Lizzy's losing battle against ovarian cancer at thirty-seven still doesn't seem real to Maggie. Maybe because they don't all see each other on a regular basis to miss her presence in the group. Maybe it’s difficult to accept the loss of one of your best friends when you are really starting to live your life.
“Before this gets all Big Chill and Selah asks Ben to impregnate her, let's get back to the game. Or we can play Hut Island. Lizzy would hate being the party pooper.” Quinn changes the subject.
They all groan at his movie reference.
“My money is more on Gil and Maggie having sex in the boathouse,” Jo says.
“We don't have a boathouse.” Maggie realizes too late she hasn't objected to the idea of fooling around with Gil.
Gil arches an eyebrow. “So it's the lack of boathouse you object to? I can work with this.” He waggles his eyebrows at her in a cheesy Lothario kind of way. He leans closer to her against the driftwood and she can feel the heat from his body along her side. It is familiar and not unwelcome.
Quinn raises his beer and toasts, “To Maggie and her brilliant family for buying this beach house all those years ago, but not having the foresight to build a boathouse. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty.”
Maggie sticks her tongue out at Quinn. She senses herself becoming overwhelmed by the big revelations and everyone’s not-so-subtle hints. Following her instinct to escape situations that make her uncomfortable, she gets up and dusts the sand off her butt. “I'm going to put my feet in the water.”
“Getting too hot and heavy for you already?” Selah asks. She’s almost as bad as Quinn this weekend with her blatant attempts to push Gil and Maggie together.
Maggie ignores her as she walks down the beach to the water's edge. The cold waves lap at her ankles. She knows Gil follows her by Quinn's wolf whistle.
“Hey, you know we are mostly teasing you, right? It's easy to fall into the same old patterns when we all get together again,” Gil says, reaching her side.
Maggie nods in response. This weekend is different. For the first time in decades, she and Gil are both single. If she ever had a chance, a second shot at something... she stops herself. She isn’t ready for something with anyone until she sorts out herself first.
Gil drapes his arm around her shoulders.
His presence has always been a comfort. She might be feeling the Jameson more than she thought as she sighs and leans into his side.
“I know. It seems all so long ago. We're forty. How did we get to be forty? Where did the past two decades go? I mean, it's been five years since Lizzy died. Half a decade. Fuck.” She breathes deeply, trying to squelch her rising emotions.
“Who’s forty? Some of us are forty-two and others…” He nudges her. “…are forty-one.”
“Reminding me of my a
ge isn't making me feel any better, you know.” She tries to break away from his embrace, but he pulls her in tighter.
“We are older, Maggie May. Fact of life. Can't change it. But that doesn't change how much we all still care about each other. How much we care about you.”
His words seem weighted with more than group affection and nostalgia. She turns and gazes up at him. In the dark with a sliver of moon and the fire, he’s the same twenty-year-old boy she loved, but never told. Her heart flutters at the thought the same way it did back then.
Gil rubs her shoulder as he returns her gaze. “What are you thinking about? Or should I ask what are you overthinking?”
“It's been a very long time since you called me Maggie May.”
“I called you that at the fire and I'm pretty sure I used it yesterday and the day before.”
“I meant in the grander scheme of time. You stopped calling me Maggie May after the summer we all lived together.”
“This is true. I wish I never had stopped, but it didn't seem right anymore.” He pulls her closer to him. “But now it feels right. Something about us all being together again.” He tilts his head down, trying to catch her eye. “Do you agree?”
She looks up at him, their faces close together. She nods. Her old nickname does feel right. Being in Gil’s arms feels right. She wraps her arm around his waist, and turns her body to face him.
He pulls her into a hug, wrapping his other arm around her back. They stay still a moment or two.
Laughter coming from the fire brings them out of the past and back to the present, and their potential audience on the beach.
“We should probably head back,” Gil suggests.
Maggie is reluctant to leave their little bubble. “Can we continue this later?”
“I’d like nothing better.” Gil takes her hand and squeezes, before leading her over to the fire.
They are greeted with cheers.
“At least this time you caught Maggie before she got too far away,” Quinn says, handing them their plastic cups refilled with Jameson.
Maggie gives Quinn the stink eye.
Quinn ignores her. “Who wants to play the hut game?”
Geoducks are for Lovers Page 13