MAGPIE

by Reyes, M. A.

  I ran through my list as we savored our lattes. I shared my childhood memories of Christmas and how Jack and I created new ones, especially after Michael was born. Bill talked about his childhood, and though not as idyllic as mine, he had a few funny stories of Christmas morning with his rambunctious younger brothers.

  More painful memories followed: His father was an alcoholic who abused his mother. He also abused Bill, the eldest of five boys. He and the next oldest drew the majority of the beatings and tried like hell to protect their younger brothers. As soon as he graduated from high school, he joined the Navy. The Vietnam War was over and the military was not well favored by most Americans, yet he saw it as a way to pay for college. Once back home, he earned a business degree at Edinboro University, which was close enough to Pittsburgh to check in with his mother and younger brothers, but far enough away from his father to avoid his wrath. Bill graduated summa cum laude and went on to earn his MBA at Harvard after receiving a partial scholarship, something he didn’t seem particularly proud of.

  Until that moment, Bill had only talked about his life after Harvard. He thrived professionally, and it never occurred to me that he, a successful entrepreneur, came from such meager and painful beginnings. I was in awe of his accomplishments and wondered why he so casually skimmed over his grad school years. I insisted on hearing more, and as he spoke, it was clear he’d rarely shared his achievements with anyone.

  My guess was that his dad was too drunk to care, and his mom was too paralyzed by fear to understand. His ex only seemed concerned about the health of their accounts, which allowed a lifestyle she still enjoys thanks to his generosity and willingness to keep the courts out of their settlement. Though we never discussed it, I’d guessed he was making up for what his father failed to do for his family.

  When Bill stopped talking, I looked into his eyes, which revealed his profound suffering. Though I was curious about his marriage and why he hadn’t seen his son in ten years, I decided to leave that for another time.

  Giving him a sweet peck, I asked, “Hey, how ‘bout a walk around Wash Park?”

  “Was wondering when you’d get around to asking!” Bill was up and reaching for his coat before he finished his comment.

  Like a kid, he urged me to hurry up and grabbed Cody’s leash. We began our trek that would take up the rest of the morning—I couldn’t have been happier, as was the case for both boys.

  Cody was more excitable than usual, and I struggled to control him. Bill took the leash and he kept on talking as naturally as if we’d been doing this very thing for years. I smiled and continued to listen to his story of sailing from San Diego to Costa Rica in his sailboat, which he proudly identified as a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 43DS, which meant nothing to me but I didn’t let that show. I fantasized about sailing with Bill, lying on the deck of a sleek yacht, not missing my past life at all. Bill didn’t flaunt his affluence like Greg had; I treasured his humble maturity and wondered if I could find love with Bill.

  We made it home several hours later—cold, happy and hungry. We stripped off our coats and made a beeline for the kitchen. I pulled out a small saucepan to start the hot cocoa, while Bill rummaged through the fridge looking for sandwich fixings.

  Disgruntled, Bill said “Maggie, you don’t have a whole lot of anything in here.”

  “I know, I know. I was planning on going to the market this weekend.” I hadn’t planned on Bill stopping by, and I made no apologies. Heck, I always managed to put something together for a meal, even if it meant a bowl of cereal. I suggested we order pizza. Bill agreed but offered to go pick it up from a real pizzeria that happened to be next to a liquor store.

  Bill stood, made his way to the door and said, “Gotta have beer with pizza, Maggie. I don’t have many, but this is one rule I live by.”

  I took full advantage of the time Bill was out and took a hot shower, shaved my pits and legs and afterward, smoothed on some coconut body butter. I wasn’t going for anything romantic; I simply wanted to be clean and comfortable. I slipped into black fleece pants with a hunter green pullover. I didn’t own a pair of decent looking slippers; wool socks would have to do. My hat hair needed work, though not much, and I ended my aesthetic workout with a little blush and lip gloss.

  Satisfied with my reflection in the hall mirror, I made my way back to the kitchen just in time to open the door for Bill, whose hands were brimming with bags.

  Helping him in, I asked Bill, “Did you bring me any presents like the last time?”

  The gifts Bill had brought over the day before Thanksgiving remained unwrapped until the day after our houseful of friends and family devoured a delectable holiday spread Bill and I lovingly put together. Bill had spent the night, too tired to make it home; it wasn’t until we’d had several cups of coffee the next morning that he reminded me of the trinkets. I’d opened each with care, laughing at the rawhide bone for Cody and delighting over the red toile oven mitt and matching tea towel. Opening the last gift—a bright pink box tied with a mint green ribbon made out of a delicate strip of organza—I’d gulped a deep breath, holding it in while I stared at a bottle of Après L’Ondée Eau de Toilette. It was a fragrance I’d mentioned weeks earlier merely as a side note to a story I couldn’t recall. As much as I’d loved the perfume, his thoughtfulness warmed me from my heart to the tips of my fingers and toes.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I did.” Bill’s voice brought me back, as he pulled out a bottle of whole peppercorns and handed it to me, a mischievous grin erupting across his face.

  Half pouting, I said, “That’s not what I meant. By the way, clever boy, I have pepper.”

  “Honey, you have boring pepper. This is the spicy kind, laced with cayenne pepper. You may just get me to stay forever if you keep this in stock.” He was laughing at himself, the side I first perceived as arrogance but now I knew was just his way.

  “I don’t like spicy food, you know that. Why would I keep it in the house?” I began to unpack the rest of the bags, when Bill took my arm and pulled me into him.

  “All joking aside, Maggie, I like spending time with you, here, in your home. I like how well we get along doing simple, ordinary things. Don’t get me wrong, I love the fun and exciting stuff. But Maggie, honey, I love this more.” He kissed me before I could say anything. I went limp in Bill’s arms, and we stood in the middle of my kitchen, kissing for what felt like hours.

  I pulled back just a bit and looked at Bill. I cared for this man. Deeply. Lately, I wondered what life with him would be like. It didn’t occur to me, however, that he’d be thinking the same thing, making me feel exceptionally vulnerable. Moving awkwardly toward the breakfast bar, I busied myself with place settings that beer and pizza really didn’t require.

  “Well?”

  “Well What?” I knew exactly what Bill was asking, but didn’t have the guts to tackle it.

  “Maggie, do you ever think about us, our future, what it would be like to be together… permanently?” Bill’s voice was somewhat shaky, and I empathized. He must be feeling vulnerable too, I thought. This can’t be easy for him.

  “Yes, Bill, I have. A lot. I am head over heels for you, if you must know the truth. But that scares me because, well, I don’t know, really. It just does.”

  Place settings set, I began unloading the dishwasher. My heart was racing, and I couldn’t remember the last time I felt like this.

  Bill moved over to me and pulled me back into him. Déjà vu.

  “Maggie, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about this anymore. It’s a big deal, I know. But honey, Maggie, I’m head over heels for you, too.” He kissed me softly and grabbed two beers, pouring them into the ice-cold steins I kept in the freezer. I smiled flipping open the square flat box that held an extra-large, hand-tossed pepperoni pie.

  ***

  December 21st arrived quickly. A week before, I’d invited Katie over for dinner so she could help me plan the festivities. Bill had been spending more time at my place so it was no s
urprise when he’d opened the door. She’d brought a salad and a very nice bottle of wine. Once we sat at the table, conversation was easy and fun, including a few really bad jokes, courtesy of Bill.

  The remainder of the evening had included a thorough review of my Christmas to-do list before the twins’ arrival; posing questions about what kind of tree to buy; how many decorations I needed to pull out of the basement; and what kind of a Christmas Eve we should plan. Michael’s cookie cookbook was intentionally left out of the conversation—I knew I’d have to figure that out on my own.

  Surprisingly, we’d unanimously agreed on a fresh-cut tree, counting on the twins to dress it with traditional and contemporary decorations framed by newfangled, LED lights. We’d struggled finding common ground on Christmas Eve, however. Both Katie and Bill had proposed a casual open house; I wanted a more formal gathering, as was my inclination for almost everything I hosted. In the end, they won. Surrender hadn’t been too difficult when they reminded me that I had less than two weeks.

  Smiling, I recalled the conversation with my sister as Bill cleaned up the kitchen,

  Mags, I like him. I mean, I really like him.

  I do too, Katie. I mean I really do!

  Maggie, you look happy. You and Bill are so good together. I’m not suggesting anything crazy here, but just know you have my blessing.

  Bill had finished up in the kitchen and broke our sisterly exchange as he plopped between us on the tiny sofa, saying, “Okay, okay, what’s going on over here?” He pulled us all together, kissing me on the forehead and patting Katie on the knee. It had felt so good to have family around—old and new. I’d shed a few tears that night, but concealed them; hadn’t wanted them to be misconstrued for sadness.

  Glancing at the clock, I realized I’d been daydreaming for close to thirty minutes. I didn’t have that kind of time to waste on such a special day.

  There were no chores to do or errands to run, but I wanted to make sure everything was perfect for Timmy and Lisbeth. I walked through the house one last time before slugging through Christmas traffic. Katie couldn’t join me; she had an office party to attend and, though he kindly offered, I didn’t think it wise to bring Bill along. Not yet. I did, however, manage to clear out the back of Beater, stuffing Cody’s giant memory foam bed, which filled the entire cavity. He would be a wonderful surprise for the kiddos, especially after a hectic day of holiday travel.

  As anticipated, traffic was incredibly slow. Thankfully, the weather cooperated. Though cold, the snow hadn’t made it to Denver yet. It didn’t look like it was going to snow on Christmas, but the forecast for later in the day and tomorrow suggested a thick blanket of the white stuff throughout the twin’s stay. For the first time in close to ten years, a snowman would stand tall and proud, welcoming my guests Christmas Eve.

  I gave myself ample time to get to the airport. I dressed comfortably and made sure to stop at Adnan’s for a steaming latte that would get me through the drive’s rough spots. Latte in hand, I jumped back into Beater and heard my phone buzz. Daniel had just texted me, and I responded with a brief text saying I was on my way to pick up the twins from the airport. He asked if we could chat for a minute and I agreed; my blue tooth was still functioning—sort of.

  Pulling out of the parking lot, I answered, “Hey Danny, long time no talk!”

  “I know Mags, it’s been too long. How are you? I’m thrilled about your time with your grand kids. Perfect timing, no doubt.” Daniel tried very hard to conceal his dark mood, but it didn’t work with me.

  “Danny, what’s wrong?” I pulled onto University Boulevard, heading north for I-25.

  Cutting in, Daniel said, “Are you sure you have a minute? I know you are driving.”

  “Yes, I’m hands-free right now. Please tell me, what’s going on.” I navigated onto I-25 easily and noticed that traffic, though heavy, was flowing well. I stayed in the middle lane, knowing my turn onto I-70 was only ten or so minutes away.

  “Mags, my ex is moving. She’s taking Sami. They’re moving to Germany.” Daniel was close to tears as he relayed this news. He paused and then went on to say, “She married a banker who works with one of ‘the big four,’ a fucking term she threw at me as if I’d be impressed. She went on to tell me that the bank, like I fucking care, is headquartered in Frankfurt. Who the fuck takes their kid to Germany? Who fucking does that, Maggie?”

  He was full on crying now, and I felt bad for not being able to give him all my attention.

  “Jesus, Danny, I am floored. This is unbelievable! Aren’t there laws to protect fathers’ rights? Have you talked to an attorney yet?” I slowed and got in the right lane; I-70 was a few miles away.

  “Yeah, I did. She said that at Sami’s age, courts put a lot of weight on the child’s preferences. Guess what? Sami is on cloud nine about the move. She thinks it’ll be ‘cool’ and can’t wait to meet German ‘dudes’. What kid wouldn’t think moving to Europe is cool? Fuck, Mags. Fuck me…”

  I took the I-70 exit and merged into lighter traffic than I expected. I would be at DIA in twenty minutes at this rate, leaving little time to talk to Daniel.

  “Look, Danny, I have zero words right now. It fucking sucks, I get it. But you have to hear me on this, really. You will get through it. You’ll cry, scream and hate your ex. You’ll miss the shit out of Sami, but you’ll get through it.” I felt cheap spewing crappy clichés. “Danny, I’m getting close to the airport, but I promise you this. Tonight, after the kids go to bed, I’ll call you, ok? You’ve been there for me through some pretty dark times and, as your friend, I want to be there for you, okay?”

  Seconds ticked by, then, “Mags, I think ordinarily I’d say never mind, but I want to take you up on that. I need to hear your voice, if nothing else.” No longer crying but still incredibly sad, Daniel hung up. My heart was heavy for my friend, but I didn’t want his grief to taint my joy, so I blared my favorite Christmas carol playlist, singing unabashedly to “Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow.”

  Amazingly, I found a parking space close to the terminal; I knew the kids would be tired and a shorter walk to the car would make all the difference. So far, this trip had been a piece of cake. Smiling, I looked up and quietly thanked Jack for looking out for me. Told him to give Michael a hug and kiss, too.

  Picking up Timmy and Lisbeth was a breeze and we made it back to Beater in no time.

  “Cody! You brought Cody! Come here, boy!” Timmy reached his small hand through the gate that kept Cody from accosting the twins with his giant, wet tongue.

  “Nana, Can I sit back there with him?” Timmy and Cody had a special bond, and their reunions were incredibly touching.

  Heaving a bag into Cody’s space, I said, “No, honey, I wish I could. It wouldn’t be safe, but we’ll be home soon, ok?”

  I finished loading the bags and pulled out of the parking lot when Lisbeth screamed, “It’s snowing! Nana, it’s snowing!” She rolled down her window and stuck her face out much like Cody would have done had he occupied her seat. Timmy followed suit, and I cranked up the carols (and the heat), thanking Jack once more.

  ***

  Somehow, I managed to power through getting home, unpacking, fixing dinner and getting the twins ready for bed. By the time I closed their door for the night, I was ready to hit the sack myself; it was only half past eight.

  I called Bill to let him know we’d made it and that the twins were all settled in. He wished me a good night, and I kissed him through the airwaves.

  My phone’s battery read 4%, so I plugged it into the charger and made my way into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. With a mouth full of green foam, I gasped remembering that I told Daniel I’d call him. I spit into the sink, rinsed my mouth and wiped it with the sleeve of my robe. Reaching for my phone, I noticed a text from Daniel,

  Today, 8:43 PM

  DANIEL: Hey, u gunna call?

  I didn’t bother texting back. I dialed Daniel’s number, and he answered on the first
tone, “Mags, I thought you forgot.” He sounded desperate.

  “I did, but only for a second. You don’t sound so good, Danny. Talk to me.” I fluffed my pillows and sank into my bed, wishing I’d made a cup of tea before making the call.

  “There’s nothing new to say, really. I’m just so fucking pissed at my ex and kinda mad at Sami for not hearing me out. She’s so blinded by the idea of Germany, but she hasn’t even considered what leaving her friends would mean, not to mention school, and all the things she loves to do… ” His voice drifted off with resounding resignation.

  “I am so sorry, Danny. I know how much you love Sami and wanted to be there for her through high school. And girls need their fathers so much at that age. What can I say? I feel so helpless right now.” It was true. I didn’t know what to say or do for my friend. All I could do was listen—from 1,600 miles away.

  “You know, Mags, I have friends and family, even a girlfriend. But all I want right now is to hear your voice. You may not believe this, but I like you a hell of a lot. We’ve been through a lifetime it seems, you and me. It’s so strange to me that we haven’t ever really met, you know? It just feels like we have… ” I understood his need to babble; one of the best ways to dodge pain.

  We talked for over an hour. Nothing erotic this time, just honest conversation and even a few laughs. I cared deeply for Daniel. For months, I’d struggled with my feelings for him. It’s hard to put a finger on something that isn’t real, even though it feels incredibly so. Everything I knew about Daniel I’d learned through modern technology. We’d never sat face-to-face, held hands or kissed. Our passion was entirely manufactured, becoming experts at long-distance lovemaking enhanced by erotic images, sounds and fantasies. How in the hell do you fall for a ruse?

  He wished me a good night, and I wished him a good night’s sleep. “I love you” was stuck in my throat, the need to be straight with my feelings becoming more salient. Fear took over, however, driving those three words back down somewhere out of reach.