CLAM JAM

by RC Boldt

  Exiting Chianti with my arm around Mags, it’s not until we’re around the corner, on our way back to the apartment that she breaks away from me, stopping abruptly on the sidewalk.

  “Did you see the look on his face? And on hers?” Maggie’s entire face is lit up like Fourth of July fireworks, and it’s at moments like these that I feel my breath catch in my throat at her beauty.

  “That was priceless.”

  “It was absolutely priceless!” She throws her hands in the air, looking up at the sky. “I feel like I’m finally free.” Dropping her arms, she steps closer to me, her expression softening. “I feel like he no longer has that tiny, nagging … hold on me anymore.” Taking another step closer, her voice becomes more faint, lowering to almost a whisper. “Thanks to you.”

  Sliding my hands into my pockets because it’s the only way to prevent myself from yanking her toward me and kissing her like a madman, I shrug. “You’re welcome.”

  Our gazes remain locked for an indeterminate amount of time. It could be for a second or for a few minutes. Regardless, there’s no way to deny where my mind goes.

  I imagine pushing her back against the brick wall of the building behind her. Pressing my lips to hers in a kiss so passionate, it’s almost bruising. A kiss that she’ll be feeling on her lips for days afterward. And at the end of that kiss will come something I’ve longed for.

  No, not that. Well, yes, that, but it’s not entirely what I’m referring to. What I truly long for is for her to realize that I love her and she loves me back. Not just as friends but as man and woman.

  And then we’d get to the other thing I long for. The stuff I long for all the damn time. The stuff that would take the strain off my wrist. I swear to God, I’ve jacked off more this past year than I ever did all through puberty.

  “Ry,” she breathes out, a lilt of a question in her tone. Her gaze drops to my lips as her own part, worrying the edge of her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “Mags…” I blow out a harsh breath. “You’ve got to stop looking at me like that or …” I try to tear my eyes off her lips.

  And promptly fail.

  “Or what?” She whispers her words so softly, they’re barely audible. My fingers clench within the pockets of my pants, but the look in her eyes sets me into action. Because the look in her eyes is pure want.

  Desire.

  Heat.

  Fingers flying from my pockets and landing on her hips, I walk her back against the hard, unforgiving brick building.

  “Is this what you want, Mags?” Pressing my body against hers, her gasp is instantaneous the moment she feels my arousal.

  “I … shouldn’t.” I can see the conflict in her eyes, in her voice.

  “Do you want to celebrate tonight—to celebrate you being truly rid of that dickhead—with a kiss?”

  What the fuck am I saying? I need to put a stop to this insanity. I need to just tell her—

  I lose all train of thought the moment she suddenly pushes up on her toes and her lips press against mine, stealing my breath. And the ability to think ceases. I operate on feel.

  The feel of her body pressed flush against mine.

  The feel of her lips, so lush and soft as they work over mine in the sweetest, sexiest kiss.

  The feel of her hands sifting through my hair, sending tingles through my entire body.

  But the moment her tongue sweeps inside my mouth, everything changes.

  Game. On.

  My restraint flies away with the light breeze of the evening, my hands moving from where I had them braced on the rough brick wall beside her. Cupping her face, slanting my lips over hers, my tongue delves deeper to play with hers, to taste her as my lips love her own.

  HONK!

  We jerk apart at the loud, jarring car horn. Our combined breathing is ragged as we stand there staring at one another, our eyes darting from each other’s lips to eyes, before being drawn back to the other’s lips. Like we both want to go back to kissing, but we’re afraid. Like that car horn somehow broke the spell.

  Turning, we make the walk back to the apartment in silence; both of us lost in our own—likely conflicted—thoughts. And somewhere deep inside me, I’m wondering if that car horn was a sign. Like Your time’s up, Ry. Come clean, now.

  Except I don’t know how to do it. Because every scenario I’ve worked out in my mind is the same.

  It ends with her hating me.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Maggie

  September twentieth is special yet bittersweet for me. It’s always a day, if it falls during the workweek, when I’ll immerse myself in my work, staying as late as possible so that I’m exhausted and my main thoughts are centered on collapsing into my bed.

  This year, however, it falls on a Sunday, and the weather appears to mimic my emotions. According to the weather app on my phone, it’s rainy and dreary with a slight chill in the air. I didn’t sleep well, so as soon as dawn breaks and tiny shards of daylight peek through the Venetian blinds, I quickly shower and dress. I always try to wear my “Sunday best” when I go to see them.

  Slipping on my favorite black and white polka dotted knee-length dress paired with some black tights and my Steve Madden knee-high, black boots, I decide to leave my hair down loose and apply light makeup.

  Grabbing my umbrella and sliding into my jacket, I quietly slip out of the silent apartment, leaving Ry sleeping soundly in his room. As I walk along the sidewalk on South Broadway, heading in the direction of the one stop I have to make before arriving at my destination, my mind wanders.

  I think back to my first year of college at Skidmore. Originally, I’d wanted to take time off and stay home to take care of my parents. But they had vehemently insisted I carry on with my life as planned.

  Stopping in front of the local florist, I push open the door, and Ms. Paisley, the owner, instantly greets me.

  “Morning, Maggie.” She offers me her trademark crooked smile, the only clue to her recent stroke. It certainly hasn’t slowed the woman down, though.

  Sliding a small bouquet across the top of the display case, she winks at me. “It’s on me.”

  “Ms. Paisley,” I protest, only receiving a wave of dismissal in return.

  “Go on. You can pay me next year.” She winks again, with that crooked smile, and shoos me out of her shop. And she and I both know she won’t allow me to pay her next year, either, since she says that every year. It’s like that movie Groundhog Day. Every year is the same. But I adore her and always ensure that our office places an order for a bunch of her floral arrangements whenever we need a fresh centerpiece for the waiting area or have a big meeting in one of our conference rooms.

  Flowers in one hand and an umbrella in the other, I walk slowly down the sidewalk to Congress Street Cemetery. My steps slow as I get closer to approaching the large wrought iron gated area.

  The heels of my boots sink into the soggy grass as I near the two gravestones. Coming to a stop in front of them, I set the flowers in front of where my mother lies beneath the ground before backing away, one hand smoothing over my hair.

  I know it sounds stupid, me getting dressed up to visit my parents at the cemetery, but after Catholic school, it’s hard to erase the idea that angels or whoever look down on you from above. I feel like if I showed up in some frumpy sweats, unwashed hair, and hadn’t brushed my teeth, my parents would be tsking their butts off in heaven. Not to mention they’d be up in arms and likely saying, “Look! She’s clearly incapable of taking care of herself! We failed her somehow!” And I just can’t have that.

  I know, I know. I’m a weirdo who thinks about stuff like that. Don’t even get me started on the whole I wonder if they watch me when I masturbate thing. Eeek.

  My parents adopted me when I was young—not a baby, which is when most kids are adopted. I was nearing my seventh birthday and pretty resigned to the fact that I’d never have a family of my own.

  When my parents and I were introduced, it had been one of
those unexplainable things. It was like kismet. Meant to be. We instantly clicked, and I felt safe. Wanted.

  Loved.

  Years later, when my father had been diagnosed with cancer—an aggressive form, which had rapidly spread to all of his main organs within two months of his diagnosis—to say that our family had been devastated is an understatement.

  When my mother’s diagnosis followed shortly thereafter, I wasn’t sure how to react.

  For years, while owning their roofing and flooring business, they had repeatedly been exposed to asbestos. It started out slowly, the signs, with the coughing and breathing difficulties. And then, with wicked momentum, their symptoms worsened.

  When my parents fell ill, they were forced to sell their business because they were becoming so weak that they were unable to keep up with it. Although I was due to begin college, I offered to wait and stay home to take care of the two people who had given everything to me. But my mother had merely taken my hand in hers.

  “Maggie.” She’d given me a smile that still managed to light up her face amidst the pain I knew she was experiencing. “Love, you need to go on with your life. There’s nothing for you here. We’ll just be here, lying around, taking it easy.”

  We both knew she was playing it off, but neither she nor my father would hear of me staying around instead of going to college.

  “You’re wrong,” I had protested. “There’s everything here for me. You both are here.”

  Tears gather in my eyes at the memory of that conversation. Because even though years have passed, I still recall how helpless I felt at not being able to give back to the two individuals who had given me so much of themselves. Never once had they made me feel like I was “the adopted kid the Finegans brought home.” When people would ask if I was adopted, they would always raise their chins proudly, tugging me closer before answering with, “She’s our daughter, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Once my father passed, I knew in my heart of hearts that my mother would shortly follow. She was weaker than ever, and hospice had taken over her care, as well. I had begged her to let me stay back from school. I wanted to be there for her, but she had requested that I not be present. She’d said that she didn’t want me to remember her like that. She didn’t want me to watch her die.

  I still hate that I never got that final goodbye. Within two weeks of my father’s passing, my mother joined him in heaven.

  Today’s a special day, though. It was my mother’s—er, would have been her—sixtieth birthday. And she’d always claimed she’d wanted a huge birthday celebration to mark that milestone.

  “Not much of a birthday bash, huh?” I speak through unshed tears, forcing words past the lump in my throat. “Sorry, I couldn’t do better.”

  A miraculous thing happens at that moment. The rain decides to stop so abruptly, as if someone just flipped a switch.

  Glancing around in wonder, I lower my umbrella to the grass beside me.

  “Wow. If that’s what you’re up to up there in heaven, I’m impressed.” Cocking my head to the side, I peer up at the sky. “Do you think you could maybe do that when I’m running late for work, and it’s pouring? Because I would totally be on board with that.”

  Silence. That’s all I get. Not like I was expecting some sort of divine echo or something, saying, “Sure, Maggie.”

  Okay, so maybe a tiny part of me was. Because, dude, that would be super cool, right?

  “Well, I’m still a weirdo, so nothing new there,” I announce to my parents. Like they didn’t already know.

  Blowing out a long breath, I settle on the stone bench across from them, grateful my raincoat hits mid-calf, so it protects my body from the cold, damp surface.

  “All right. Let me fill you in on what’s happened since the last time we chatted.” I take a deep breath before beginning.

  “So my roommate, Ry—the one who was dating Jack? Turns out, he’s also dated women. Not sure what’s going on there, but sometimes he looks at me, and I just … I don’t know.” Staring blankly down at the soggy grass beneath my feet, I let out a sigh before turning my gaze skyward. “I wish you could give me a sign, like some sort of heads-up that it’s just fun flirting and not something … more.”

  Suddenly, I realize that I’ve begun squinting against the glare. Although it’s still cloudy, there appears to be a bit more sunlight peeking out.

  Using my hand to shield my eyes, I peer up at the sky, mumbling, “Well, heck. Now you’re just showing off.”

  Not to mention, I’m left wondering if that “sign” from my parents meant it was fun flirting with Ry.

  Or something more.

  Chapter Thirty

  Ry

  I heard Maggie moving around this morning—albeit quietly—but it seems I’m in tune with her nowadays. I know what day it is and the relevance.

  She’s always made it seem like she would rather be alone during this time. I know that Sarah mentioned going with her once, a while back, but now, she’s on rotation and unable to call off work without getting into serious trouble.

  It’s Maggie’s mother’s sixtieth birthday today, and I know Maggie had mentioned something about her mother always wanting to have a big birthday bash. They’d discussed what they’d have at the party and all the desserts since her mother had a major sweet tooth.

  I’d planned it because I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let Maggie be alone today.

  Following a few yards behind her on this bleak, rainy morning as she makes her way down the sidewalk of South Broadway, I carefully enter the small bakery a few doors down from the florist shop she enters.

  “Morning, Ryland,” greets Michelle, the owner of Sweets N Treats. Sliding a small pastry box across the counter with two plastic forks taped to the top, I hand her my card to pay for it. After signing the slip, I thank her and am off to head to the cemetery.

  After exiting, I see Maggie’s about to enter the cemetery gates. I slow my pace to allow her time alone with them, not wanting to fully intrude on the moment.

  Taking my time, I stroll down the remainder of the sidewalk of South Broadway, approaching the intersection of Congress Street, and that’s when the rain stops. It gives me pause as I look around before lowering my umbrella, the sky appearing to brighten ever so slightly. Carefully tucking the box under one arm, I secure the attached wrap around my umbrella to contain it and carefully take hold of the box in time for the pedestrian signal to light up, alerting me to go.

  Entering the cemetery, I make my way through the burial plots until I see Maggie. She’s sitting on the bench facing her parents’ gravestones. Her lips are moving, so I assume she’s speaking to them. She must hear the sound of my shoes squishing on the soggy grass because she turns in surprise at the sight of me.

  “Ry?” Her eyes drift to the box in my hand before returning to me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I remembered something.” I walk around the bench and sit beside her. Setting my umbrella off to the side, I reach into the pocket of my rain jacket and pull out a candle and a small box of matches. Handing her the candle, she accepts it, confusion lining her features.

  Opening the box, I show her the small, four-inch round cake with “Happy Birthday” written on it. I look at her for a reaction, hoping that she’s okay with this.

  “Ry.” My name sounds choked when she says it. Her eyes cloud with tears. “You did this for me—for my mom?”

  “Of course.” I’d do anything for you, Mags. Anything.

  She slides the single candle into the cake, and I carefully light it before pocketing the box of remaining matches. Then I start singing.

  “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Mrs. Fin—” I break off with a look at Maggie, wondering what I should sing for her name.

  With a wet smile, she chimes in softly, “Mom,” and I pick right up singing, inserting “Mom,” and end the song. We both blow out the lone candle, and I set the cake upon the
bench on the other side of me. Sliding a hand into my other pocket, I pull out the other item I brought and show it to her.

  “You think your dad would approve?”

  Her gasp sends unease throughout me as her gaze settles on the small Matchbox car in my palm. A red Ferrari. Exactly the kind of car she had mentioned her father always deemed his dream car. Her fingers tentatively reach out to take it from me, eyes darting up to mine as tears begin rolling down her cheeks.

  Throwing herself into my arms, she squeezes me so tight that I fear some of my ribs might end up bruised.

  “Ry,” she murmurs through her tears.

  Smoothing down her hair, I press my lips against the silky softness. “I know, Mags. I know.” Pressing another soft kiss to her hair, I whisper, “Sometimes, it’s hard to express the words in your heart.” Trust me, Mags. I know this all too well.

  As I hold her tight, she eventually calms and releases me, rising to walk over to place the small toy car upon her father’s gravestone. Returning to her seat beside me, she inhales deeply, wiping her cheeks before offering a bright smile.

  “Ready to dig into that cake?”

  “Ready.”

  Sitting there, eating the birthday cake individually before we get silly and began playfully feeding each other, I realize that today’s a day where I can say I’m experiencing a first.

  I’m attending a birthday party—for someone in a cemetery—with the woman I’m in love with.

  Weird as shit, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

  Except maybe the part where the woman knew I was in love with her, of course.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Maggie

  “What are you doing here?” I hiss at Ry.

  He just showed up at the small pub a few blocks away from our apartment. Sarah and I were supposed to meet up, but she’d been called into work at the last minute, and I’d already ordered a drink. Adam had approached me, and we talked for a bit before he’d asked me if I’d be interested in playing pool.