I gaped at her.
“I did something to him freshman year—maybe I said something, I don’t even remember—and he came up with that stupid name. And somehow, despite the fact that he barely has friends, it stuck.”
I’d had no idea. I hadn’t had a chance to get to know Max last year because he’d been doing some kind of finance internship in China—George had told me he spoke Mandarin and was crazy smart. Somehow I’d totally missed the history here.
“Ever since George and I got together, Max has been telling George I’m dumb and not good enough for him. That little comment he made tonight about how I couldn’t understand the words he was using? He says shit like that all the time to me. So yeah, maybe I treat him like he’s a loser, but you know what, he acts like I’m some slutty airhead and I’m fucking sick of it.”
Tears filled her eyes. I just stood there and gaped at her. It was one of the few times since I’d known her that I’d actually seen Fleur cry.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know about any of it.”
I felt awful.
She wiped at her eyes. “I know you didn’t know. I’m angry you didn’t know. I’ve missed you. You and Samir are two of the closest people in my life and you’ve both disappeared since Spain. I know you don’t have much time together and I get it. But I miss you. I miss how things used to be. I miss my best friend—both of you.”
“I know. I know I’ve been a terrible friend lately. I’m sorry. I promise, when we get back from winter break, we’ll do a girls’ night. Me, you, and Mya.”
“That would be nice.”
I hugged her. “I’ve missed you, too. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re any of those things. I love you.”
She flashed me a dazzling smile. “Love you, too.”
* * *
WE SPENT THE NIGHT drinking champagne and dancing. Michael showed up sometime after midnight with a hot guy in tow. Mya and I wiggled our eyebrows suggestively at him.
I’ll tell you later, he mouthed back with a grin.
“Having fun?”
I turned my attention back to Samir. He sat next to me at the table, his arm draped around my shoulders. We’d already made up. Turned out Samir could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.
“Yes. Thank you for this. Tonight is exactly what we all needed.”
He smiled wryly. “Actually, I needed to be alone with you, but I’m taking what I can get.”
I studied him for a moment, seizing the chance to take in his features, memorize the shape of his face.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I made myself smile. “Three weeks just feels like a long time.”
“You’re nervous about being apart.”
I knew I was likely violating every rule in the girl code, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to be honest with him.
“A bit. Yeah.”
“Why?”
I didn’t want to admit to being jealous or insecure. It felt like such a silly thing to admit to—and yet I was.
“Maggie...”
“I’m worried you’ll meet someone at a club. Some French girl or something.” I chuckled nervously. “Named Claudette.”
“That’s her name? This fictional French girl who you think is going to catch my eye? Claudette?”
“There’s no need to mock. It was a last-minute choice.”
“How could I possibly be interested in someone else, when you’re already such a handful?”
“I am not a handful.”
“Oh yes, you are. I promise you, I spend all of my time trying to figure out what you want, how to make you happy. There’s no time left for anyone else.”
“Cute.”
His expression was solemn. “I’m serious. There’s no one else.”
I wanted to believe him. My heart did funny things in my chest as each word slipped from his mouth. I wanted to trust him. But trust was the one thing that had never come easily for me.
“I need you to trust me. These three weeks are going to be miserable for us if you don’t. I need you to know I won’t hurt you. That I promise you I’ll come back from break feeling the same way I do right at this moment—”
“And what’s that?”
“Do you have to ask? You dazzle me. You make me want more. Always more with you. More time. More kisses. More laughter. More talking. More nights and days spent sliding into your body.”
I flushed.
“I want more mornings with you. More goofy smiles.” He squeezed my hand. “You have nothing to worry about over winter break. I want more of you. Only you.”
Somehow, impossibly, I believed him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Maggie
IT WAS STRANGE being home—almost like I’d traveled back in time. Everything about my grandparents’ house was the same as it had always been. They were the same as I remembered them. But still, everything felt different. Maybe it was the stark contrast to my life back in London; maybe it was how much my life had changed this past semester. Whatever it was, I felt as if I were walking through my memories, out of place with my present. I felt like nothing fit and my father wasn’t even here yet.
“I should have dusted the dining room table.”
I laughed at my grandmother. She fluttered around the tiny house, her limbs a frenzy of motions.
“You dusted it two days ago.”
“Do you think they’ll want wine for dinner?”
I tried to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I didn’t know. I didn’t know what my dad liked to drink or what his favorite foods were or how he liked his coffee in the morning. I didn’t even know if he liked coffee.
“Sure.”
I’d been home for a week now. My dad and my new stepmother were supposed to have arrived yesterday, but their flight got delayed and they were now coming in tonight, just a few days before Christmas. At this point, their visit was a Band-Aid I wanted to rip off.
I’d already changed outfits five times. I’d finally settled on a blue sweater dress and knee-high flat boots. I’d played with my hair a few times and ended up with a loose bun. I may have spent more time planning my outfit to see my father than I did prepping to go out on a date. Sad.
“How are my girls?”
I grinned as my grandfather gathered me in for a hug. He and my grandmother had one of those relationships that made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. They’d been married for almost fifty years and I would still catch them giggling together or sneaking kisses in the kitchen. They were the most solid thing in my life and as much as I bitched about my family situation, I knew how lucky I was that they’d taken me in.
My grandmother beamed back at him. “It’ll be nice to have the whole family together, won’t it?”
“It will.” His gaze traveled from her to me and back again. “You both look beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
The doorbell rang.
My grandmother’s eyes lit up at the same moment dread settled in, a giant weight pressing down on my whole body. I would rather have had my teeth drilled without pain meds than be subjected to this. It felt like we were all in a play, cast in roles that had been written for us but didn’t fit.
I knew they were proud of him. In some circles, many circles, my dad was admired—after all, he was a fighter pilot, the ultimate hero. But he wasn’t to me. He wasn’t my hero. He was just the guy who’d left, who didn’t call, who didn’t write, who didn’t care. I felt like an asshole, because here he was, a real American hero, and I was pissed off because he was gone.
Some silly part of me thought it would be a dramatic reunion. That when my grandmother opened the door, my world would stop for a moment. It wasn’t like that at all. It was strangely ordinary and yet it was almost like I was a spectator standing outside of my body, watching as a stranger walked through the door.
All I could do was stare at him. It was almost difficult to recognize him. He was a tall man—I must have gotten my hei
ght from my mother. I had his dark hair, though. And his eyes. It was bizarre, staring into a face that looked just like mine, and yet feeling like I looked at a stranger.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then I heard his voice, the voice I recognized from the phone—
“Maggie?”
Surprise flickered across his face. He didn’t move.
I wanted to speak. Felt like everyone was looking at me expectantly. But I couldn’t think of anything to say. I couldn’t condense a whole dysfunctional relationship into a moment or a few words. Any words I could come up with felt fake and hollow.
“You’re all grown up.”
That was what happened when you missed out on your child’s life. You missed things. Everything, really.
I could feel all of their eyes on me, the presence of a woman standing next to my father dimly registering, but I stood there frozen, stupidly staring at him, trying to sort out the jumbled emotions racing through me. Somewhere through all of the chaos in my head, it hit me that I wasn’t nearly as prepared to deal with seeing my father again as I’d hoped to be. I no longer felt like the confident girl I was in London. I felt like a fraud, like the angry child I’d been, wondering why my parents didn’t love me.
He walked toward me, a smile on his face, and then I felt his arms around me. I waited for the rush of emotion, waited for the feeling this was my father, waited for some sense of recognition, and still I felt nothing—
Hollow. Empty. Lost.
He pulled back, his expression searching, studying my face.
I had to say something. This was getting awkward.
A voice spoke for me. “It’s so nice to meet you, Maggie.”
I’d almost forgotten all about her. Almost. I turned my attention to the woman my dad had married.
She didn’t look like the stereotypical evil stepmother. She was pretty enough—blonde and vaguely perky. She was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, and I wondered if I should have dressed down a bit. Maybe I looked like I was trying too hard.
“I’m Sara.”
She walked over and gave me a big hug and I thought, I’m not sure I know you well enough for that, but I went with it because I didn’t want to seem childish, rude, or any weirder than I already did.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I offered weakly.
My grandmother beamed at all of us like we were one big happy family, my grandfather watching us with pride. My dad just looked like he was vaguely in shock. I had to get the hell out of there.
“I’ll be right back,” I mumbled, not making eye contact with anyone. I fled.
Samir
I HADN’T BEEN back a week and I was sick of being home. France was a little bit better than Lebanon at least. In Paris, I flew under the radar. Here, the weight of the Khouri name was less likely to drag me down. But still—
I missed her. At night. During the day. All the fucking time. I wanted to go back to London. It felt like I’d left my whole world behind.
My cell rang and I stared down at the number. A grin spread across my face.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Her voice sounded off somehow—quiet. Then I remembered—today was the day her dad and his new wife arrived.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
Her voice sounded so small. I hated it, hated the distance between us. I’d seen firsthand how much he could hurt her, and I wanted to be there with her. I wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be okay.
“I hate that you’re alone right now.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“It’s just weird. He feels like a stranger. I mean he pretty much is a stranger, but everyone expects me to have a reaction to him. Like I’m supposed to be happy to see him and act like all of the distance between us never existed.”
“Do you want me to get you out of there? Just say the word. We could go somewhere. The Caribbean maybe?”
Maggie laughed. “I wish.”
“Me, too.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I miss you.”
The words sent a funny thrill through me. “I miss you, too.”
“Two more weeks, right?”
It sounded like forever. “Yeah.”
“I hate this.”
“Same. It’s weird being in Paris without you. It shouldn’t be, but it is. I went to that crepe stand by the Eiffel Tower today and it reminded me of you. I ate at the cafe we ate at. I ordered your favorite—croque-monsieur.”
She was everywhere I turned. Memories of walking with her down the street, strolling along the river, they all chased me.
“I can’t go into my father’s library without thinking of that night. Without remembering how you looked. I think you’re haunting me.”
She was silent for a long time. “I miss you so much it hurts.”
“Me, too.” I would have given anything to have her here with me.
“I should go. We’re eating dinner soon.”
I wanted to say something to her. Something to make her feel better. Something to tell her how I felt—that her call had put a knot inside of me. But I was beginning to find that I struggled to come up with the right words with her. Everything I wanted to say seemed inadequate and lame and in the end I just settled for the simplest thing I could think of—the absolute truth and an understatement just the same.
“I wish I were there.”
“Me, too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Samir
“WHAT’S WRONG?” Fleur strolled into the parlor, sinking down onto a couch opposite me.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re frowning.”
I stared back down at the phone in my hand. What were we going to do in May?
“Maggie’s having a hard time at home,” I finally answered.
“Her dad?”
“He brought his new wife home for Christmas.”
Fleur grimaced. “Someone may actually be having a worse break than we are. You have it bad, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
A smile tugged at Fleur’s lips. “Oh, come on. Maggie.”
“What about Maggie?”
“You like her. A lot. It’s different with her, isn’t it?”
It was different with her. And I knew that was hard to explain. I didn’t even understand it myself.
“She’s different.”
“She is. You’re going to abandon me here, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you thinking about taking your father’s plane to South Carolina?”
I laughed. “My father’s barely speaking to me. I promise you, he’s definitely not going to let me take his plane to fly to the U.S.”
“Still pissed about Layla?”
“Still pissed about a lot of things. We’re in the same continuation of ‘Samir fucks up’ that we’ve been playing on loop my whole life.” I grimaced. “Your parents?”
We’d seen each other out at night—we shared a few mutual friends—but we hadn’t really had a chance to catch up.
Fleur rolled her eyes. “The usual. My mother’s skiing with friends in Gstaad. My father has been around long enough to bitch about how I need to pick a major and then he flew off for some meeting. Allegedly they’ll both be back for Christmas.”
Guilt filled me. She didn’t exactly have a lot of people here for her. “You could come with me, you know. Maggie would love to see you too.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather not spend my break in the U.S. I have big plans for a day at the spa and shopping. You forget—I’m used to being alone.”
I nodded. “I get it.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Book a flight and a hotel? No idea.”
“You’re flying eight hours to the U.S. commercial? Very brave. Doesn’t the hero usually go on a quest to win the heroine’s hand? Flying commercial may not be on par with dragon slaying, but i
t’s probably pretty close.”
“Should I tell her I’m coming? Or surprise her?”
I figured she’d be happy to see me, but at the same time, I wasn’t unaware of the fact that I was likely not an American fighter pilot’s ideal boyfriend for his daughter. I didn’t want to make things worse for her.
Fleur laughed again, and I couldn’t resist feeling like the butt of a massive joke.
“Where is your sense of romance? Of course you surprise her.”
Maggie
DINNER WAS...WEIRD.
My grandmother made meatloaf, and I knew I had eaten it because when I looked down my plate was empty. But the taste of it? No clue. Most of the meal was like that. I knew things were happening and yet nothing really seemed to register. I was numb. Maybe it was better that way.
Somehow we muddled through a conversation.
“So how is school?” my dad asked.
It took a moment to register that he was talking to me. “Good.”
“And London?”
“It’s good.”
Sara smiled at me across the table. “Have you made friends? Do you have a boyfriend?”
Bless her, I knew she was trying. But this whole “we’re a big happy family” thing was creepy as hell and there was no way I wanted to share personal details with them.
“Yeah, everyone is really nice.” I answered, evading the boyfriend question.
They tossed me a few more questions about my major, before my grandparents thankfully took over the conversation. To my dad’s credit, Sara seemed nice enough. I could tell my grandparents liked her, and my dad seemed more relaxed around her than I’d ever seen him.
It shouldn’t have hurt to see them together. But it did.
He looked so happy. They both looked so happy. He looked like she was the thing that had been missing in his life. Like now that he had her, he had everything he’d always wanted. I didn’t blame him for that. My mom had left a long time ago.
But their smiles were a knife in my heart. This—the family dinner—this was what I’d missed. Years and years of family dinners. Holidays. Birthdays. High school graduation.
“Would anyone like anything else to eat?” my grandmother asked. “More meatloaf, maybe?”
My dad grinned. “Thanks, Mom. I would love more. It’s better than I remembered.”
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