Geoducks are for Lovers

by Prescott, Daisy

  “Why do I have the feeling if I let you leave this room, whatever enchantment we were under last night will be broken?”

  She looks at him without answering and senses her shell reforming. Wanting to avoid any talk of last night, or confessions, or what next, she moves toward the door, giving him a soft smile.

  “I’ll come back, I promise.” She grabs a short, striped, gray robe from a hook on her door. Biscuit jumps off the bed.

  True to her word, she returns a few minutes later without Biscuit.

  “Looks like we are the first ones awake. The house is still quiet.” She gets back on the bed, but leaves on her robe.

  Stretching his body, he reaches out and touches her leg—the only thing he can touch of her as she perches on the edge of the bed.

  “I guess more sleep is off the table.”

  “I’m wide awake now,” she mumbles, another small yawn escaping.

  “I can tell,” he says, laughing.

  A quiet falls over them as he strokes her leg and she gazes out the window at the water.

  Turning to face him, she opens her mouth to speak at the same time he does.

  “About last night—”

  “So—”

  They laugh.

  “Go first.”

  “No, you go first,” she says, putting her hand over his.

  “This feels awkward.” Brushing his other hand through his hair, he meets her eyes, and gives her a small smile.

  “What is it about the bright light of day?” Her laugh is full of nervous energy.

  His nervous laugh mirrors hers. “Okay, I’ll go first.” Sitting up, he turns toward her, so she can see his face more clearly.

  “What happened last night wasn’t a one-off thing for me. This weekend has been more than I could’ve hoped for. You need to know this. This wasn’t about sex for me. Not after all this time. Not now, not twenty-two years ago.”

  Maggie watches his face while playing with her hands in her lap. She shifts her legs, tucking one leg under the other. Her silence encourages him to continue.

  “I didn’t come here to win you over or back or anything. There was no winning on my mind. I wanted to see you again. Then I saw you and everything came into focus.”

  Maggie reminds herself to stay calm and listen to him. Should she tell him she heard his whispered words last night? Can she pretend she didn’t and hope this isn’t going where she thinks it is? She isn’t ready and feels her anxiety rising at the thought of facing her feelings.

  “Gil…” she says, touching his hand.

  He continues, “I need to say these things and you need to hear them. I’m not waiting another twenty-two years.”

  She braces herself, remembering to breathe in, breathe out.

  “Maggie, I couldn’t tell you when I fell in love with you, but this weekend has reminded me that I can’t remember a time when I haven’t loved you.”

  A breath catches in her throat as she listens to his words.

  “I think you know I love you. Not past tense, not friendly love. Love. Love that lassoes the moon and lays it at your feet.” His heart beats a steady, but nervous cadence.

  Staring at him, she can only blink as his words wash over her.

  “I’ve loved other women and nothing compares to my love for you. Maybe we were meant to go off and love other people. Maybe now we realize what a gift we’ve been given. I love you, Maggie.”

  He sits quietly, watching her face.

  “You love me,” is all she manages. Her vocabulary and ability to string words together abandon her. Thankfully, nothing pithy or joking comes out either.

  “I do love you.”

  More silence fills the space between them.

  “You’ve always loved me,” she continues.

  “Pretty much. Yes.”

  “You’re telling me this now.”

  “I am.”

  Her chest feels too small for the heart beating inside it. Controlling her breath, she tries to think of what she should say. Does she love Gil? Of course she does.

  “You know you love me, too,” he says, reaching out for her hand while looking in her eyes.

  It’s overwhelming. She turns from his look, focusing on the small waves in the water beyond her windows.

  She does love him.

  “You know I love you, Gil. You were one of my best friends at a very intense point in our lives.” It sounds lame even to her own ears. She is too scared to admit more.

  “Yes, we were best friends. This is a different kind of love, though, and you know it.”

  She nods.

  “Maggie, be open. That’s all I ask. It’s a big thing to ask of you, I know.”

  Conscious she is anything but open right now, she pulls her robe tighter and curls into herself. Her physical self mirrors her emotions.

  “Open?”

  “Yeah, the exact opposite of what you are right now.” Tugging on her robe sash, he leans in toward her. “Let me in, Maggie.”

  “You’ve been in, if I remember correctly.” She blushes at the double meaning.

  “Yes, I have. But I was talking about your heart, not your body.”

  “My head is spinning. I just… I never expected all this.”

  He still holds the tie to her robe. They both look down to where he is tethered to her.

  “I need coffee. I need a shower. I need to think.”

  “Coffee and shower sound good. It’s the thinking I’m worried about.” He releases the tie of her robe. “Hop in the shower and I’ll go start the coffee.” Getting up, he kisses her forehead and she leans into his touch.

  * * *

  Mind spinning, heart clenching, she walks into the bathroom and starts the shower. Facing the mirror, she reminds herself she is not a fickle twenty-something. She is a grown woman. She is wise. Hear her roar.

  Gil loves her.

  Hot water pours over her, steam rises and fogs the mirror. She contemplates staying in the shower forever. It’s safe here, nothing has changed. Same soap, same shampoo, and the same pouf, which should have been replaced three months ago. Everything is same as it was yesterday, last week, last month. Safe.

  Her fingers are beginning to prune while she stands under the water.

  Gil.

  His name repeats on a loop in her head along with memories of his touch, his smell, and his taste.

  Gil loves her.

  Foggy memories from college flicker in between the clear memories of last night. They weren’t drunk last night. There is no excuse she can blame. She simply wanted him in her bed again.

  When she remembers her house full of guests who might want showers, she turns off the faucet before she depletes all the hot water. She’s going to have to face Gil. She can do this. As long as he supports her plan to play it cool and not discuss it, she’ll be fine. She won’t freak out. She nods. Fine. Cool. Got it.

  Fine.

  Cool.

  Gil.

  Gil loves her.

  * * *

  Maggie finds a quiet kitchen when she walks downstairs. Biscuit basks in the sun out on the deck. The water is running in the outdoor shower. It must be Gil.

  Grabbing two cups for coffee, she makes one for herself and takes a long sip. The sound of the water shutting off alerts her to Gil finishing. She faces out the window above the sink, feeling shy, and wanting to give him some privacy. Yet she peeks when she hears him open the door.

  “I wasn’t sure you were ever going to get out of the shower, so I figured I should bathe while there was hot water.” Walking into the kitchen, he dries his hair with the towel wrapped around his neck. He’s wearing his jeans from last night, but no shirt.

  Her eyes wander the paths of water drops on his chest.

  “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” Breaking her trance, the realization she’s been sighing and staring at his chest flames her cheeks. “Not that I mind the staring. Just wasn’t sure where t
hings stood this morning.” He ducks his head to catch her eye, smiling.

  “Hi.”

  Taking the mug she offers, he makes a cup for himself then leans against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankle—the picture of relaxed.

  “Hi. Good shower?”

  “Yeah. Sorry about the hot water. Was there enough?”

  “There was, but if you weren’t downstairs when I finished I was going to break down the door to make sure you hadn’t fallen, and couldn’t get up.”

  Attempting a laugh, she makes an off sound that is a cough crossed with a snort.

  “So, this is awkward. Yes?” He stares at her over his cup as he drinks his coffee.

  “It doesn’t have to be. I mean it shouldn’t be. It isn’t. Not really. Okay, maybe a little. Or a lot. Why is this awkward?” She babbles on for a bit before he stops her.

  “It doesn’t have to be. You were right the first time. I like you, you like me. We both liked what happened last night. We almost had a repeat of last night this morning. None of that was awkward. What changed?”

  I love you, Maggie.

  That’s what happened. How does she tell him she’s overwhelmed, and her head is too full, and her heart is scared?

  Walking around to the other side of the island, she puts some distance between them, while drinking her coffee buys her a minute.

  “So?” he asks.

  Exhaling a deep breath, she meets his eyes.

  “You did hear me last night, Fakey Fakesleeper. I can see it in your eyes. You have that scared rabbit look you get.”

  Caught. She nods.

  “I did. I woke up this morning and thought maybe it was a dream, maybe I misheard you.”

  “Okay, Ms. Fakesleeper, don’t add liar to your name. I thought you were still awake. That’s why I said it. I shouldn’t have said it last night.”

  “It was nice you said it. Don’t take it back.” Shifting on the stool, she stares into her coffee cup.

  “Oh, I’m not taking it back. There are no do overs, Maggie. I meant it. I. Mean. It. Past and present tense. Then and now. I’m not talking about last night and this morning. I mean the first night we slept together.”

  “You didn’t tell me you loved me back then. I would remember.”

  “I did say it. Only I was scared to say it when you were awake, and made absolutely sure you were asleep. I guess I hoped it somehow sunk in subconsciously, so when you woke you’d know I loved you. Bad plan.”

  This confession surprises her. She never heard his words that night. Would things have been different if she had?

  “So?”

  “What do you mean ‘so’? You drop the bomb that you confessed your love to me then. You tell me you love me last night, and repeated it this morning. All this love is a lot to process. Two days ago, I still believed you were in a relationship.” Her heart races.

  “So?”

  “So?”

  “So now my feelings are out in the open, are you going to return the favor? What’s going on in that mind of yours this morning?”

  “I can’t. I don’t know. I just…” her words fade away as she acknowledges Gil loves her and he isn’t playing it cool. All his cards are on the table, so she asks, “Do you want us to be a couple or date or whatever?”

  “Maybe. It seems a little silly to date someone who you’ve known and loved for years, but sure we can date. I’ll call you up and ask you out for three days later. Dinner, entertainment, kisses at your door.” Gil jumps up on the counter next to the stove. Swinging his legs, his bare feet bump against the lower cabinets. She’s staring at his chest again and she can tell he is barely hiding his smug amusement. His swinging legs and the grin behind his twitching lips give him away.

  “We don’t even live in the same place. You are going to drive all the way up here for ‘dinner and entertainment’?”

  “I’d very much be willing to drive up here to take you out. I’m serious. Take a chance on me.”

  Blood rushes in her ears. Love? Dating? Gil? All of this is not part of her plan—her quiet life and ‘Maggie on the Island’ plan. Her defend and protect instincts kick in as she tries to process his happy declarations and teasing.

  “What do you want me to say? We haven't seen or spoken to each other in how many years? Five? It's not exactly like we've kept in close touch. This all seems a little out of nowhere and convenient to tell me the morning after we sleep together. Honestly, what do you want from me?” Maggie begins pacing around the kitchen, her anxiety bubbling.

  “I want you to be open to the possibility. Of us. Of us being together. It isn't out of the blue for me. This is something I thought about for decades. Decades. I fucked up by not telling you ages ago. I get it. I think us all coming together here, now, isn't a coincidence. We wasted years. Decades. God, how can it be decades? I don't want to waste more time.”

  “I can't process this now. I can't.”

  “Don't shut down, don't shut me out again. Please.” From his perch on the counter, he grabs her hand to stop her pacing.

  She stares at Gil. His eyes are pleading and what appears to be genuine emotion is all over his face. Is it love? Lust? Guilt? Hope?

  Quinn with his perfect timing walks into the kitchen wearing an ancient Inflammable Flannel band T-shirt and boxers. Maggie pulls her hand from Gil’s and walks over to the window. Gil groans and hits the back of his head against the cupboard a few times. Quinn moves between them to the coffee maker, shaking his ass for Gil. “You can look at the pretty, but you can't touch this.”

  “Did you quote M C Hammer? Before noon? In the 21st century?” Gil asks.

  “Yep,” Quinn says, filling two cups with the last of the coffee in the carafe.

  “Hey, you finish the coffee, you make more. House rules,” Maggie tells him.

  “Fine, fine.” Quinn grabs the bag and begins feeding the beans into the coffee grinder on the machine. When he goes to the sink to rinse out the carafe and fill it with water, he looks at Maggie, and then glances between Gil and Maggie a few times.

  “Oh wait. Did I interrupt something between you two?”

  “No!” they both say at the same time.

  “Jinx.” Quinn eyes them with suspicion.

  “Hey, what are you two doing up this early anyway? Maggie never gets up early on the weekends and it’s barely past 8:30.” He notices her wet hair. “Up and showered. Wait a second, wait a sweet second...” He looks at Gil. “…did you two finally consummate?”

  Maggie blushes. Damnit. Who blushes this much?

  “Why, Maid Marrion, I do believe you are blushing.” Quinn teases.

  “Shut up.” Maggie can't look at either of them, but hears Quinn humming as he pours the water into the coffee machine. If they were eight, she would swear he was humming “sitting in a tree.”

  Maggie senses Gil jump off the counter and move toward her. She pretends she's looking out the window, but all she's really doing is trying to peer his reflection in the glass.

  Her shoulders tense. Worried he is going to touch her. Afraid he won't. She’s completely confused about what she wants and what she is too scared to admit.

  She catches Quinn’s eye and he gives her a questioning look.

  He clears his throat dramatically, and mumbling something about seeing a man about a geoduck, he heads back upstairs.

  Once Quinn makes his exit, Gil closes the distance between them, trapping her against the counter. She can smell everything that is good and Gil.

  “Please.”

  “Please what?” she asks.

  “Please don't let this all be nothing once we leave the beach. Please say we have a chance to make this more.”

  She closes her eyes, breathing in Gil, soap, and freshly brewing coffee. What is she afraid of? She has a job she can do anywhere, she doesn’t have anything tying her down. Can she do this? Can she risk passing up a second chance?

  She remains quiet a
nd still, avoiding giving an answer she isn’t ready to give.

  Behind her, she hears Gil sigh and walk outside. Her own sigh echoes his.

  What is wrong with her?

  Maggie does the only thing that makes sense right now. She runs upstairs, puts on her running gear, whistles for Biscuit, and runs out the door.

  Twenty-six

  Maggie’s calves burn as she sprints up the hill, pushing herself past her normal pace. Her breathing becomes ragged, and her head starts to spin. Turning up the volume on her iPod, angry music blasts in her earbuds.

  Running on little sleep and only coffee is not the smartest idea she’s had. Neither is sleeping with Gil. Her body aches in places that have nothing to do with running and her mind flashes back to his hands skimming down her back and hitching her leg over his hip. She remembers the way his scruff dragged along her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

  Stop!

  She tries to clear her thoughts and focus on her breathing. Sleeping with Gil isn’t the issue. He isn’t a real thing. He’s nostalgic because of the upcoming reunion. There is no way he has loved her since college. Who says things like that? He married Judith, didn’t he?

  Maggie nods.

  How dare he put everything on her. Her anger begins to simmer. She didn’t run away to France. Her year abroad was a done deal before they even lived together for the summer. She doesn’t run away from confrontation.

  Except now.

  She’s literally running away from Gil and her house to avoid him. The irony isn’t lost on Maggie and she begins to laugh. Biscuit gives her an odd look.

  “Listen mister, don’t judge me. I’m not losing my mind.”

  Realizing she is talking to the dog, Maggie adds, “Talking to you doesn’t prove I’m a nutter.” She sticks her tongue out at the dog. Biscuit looks away in what she interprets as doubt. “Okay, you’re right. I am a nutter.”

  She accepts she can’t literally run away right now. A house full of friends who are probably wondering where she’s gone.

  Turning for home, Maggie slows her pace, thinking about her ability to avoid what she doesn’t want to face and what she’s going to do about Gil. Does she pretend nothing happened again? That’s not possible since Quinn sussed them out this morning. He’s probably filled in the others already.