Maybe Now (Maybe Someday part two)

by Colleen Hoover

  That I believe. I think Maggie would much rather live in a place where she could get away with being lax. “I believe you. And I agree,” I say. “We’re here because Warren and Ridge are going to be your primary caregivers when you’re sick. I think we need to leave Bridgette’s feelings out of it. And mine. And honestly, even yours. This is about how we can make things easier on Warren and Ridge, and you living in the same complex as them will definitely make things easier on them.”

  Maggie nods. “I know. But I don’t want to cause trouble between Warren and Bridgette. I think it should ultimately be yours and Bridgette’s decision, but I don’t think she’ll ever agree to it. I honestly don’t blame her.”

  She’s right. It should be something we all agree to. I turn my head toward the door and yell, “Bridgette!”

  I hear a chair scoot across the floor, followed by dramatic stomps heading in the direction of Maggie’s bedroom. Bridgette finally opens the door, but she leans against the doorframe and folds her arms across her chest.

  I pat the bed. “Come here, Bridgette.”

  “I’m fine right here.”

  I look at her like I would look at an ornery child. “Get your ass over here right now.”

  Bridgette stomps to the bed and throws herself across the foot of it. She’s being just as dramatic as Warren was being when he threw himself on Maggie’s couch earlier. Their intense similarities make me want to laugh. Bridgette stares at me and avoids eye contact with Maggie.

  I lean back against the headboard and tilt my head as I look at her. “What are you feeling, Bridgette?”

  She rolls her eyes and lifts up onto her elbow. “Well, Dr. Blake,” she says sarcastically, “I feel like the ex-girlfriend of both of our boyfriends is about to move into the same apartment complex as us, and I don’t like it.”

  “You think I do?” Maggie says.

  Bridgette looks at her. There is absolutely no love between the two of them. At all.

  “How long have you two known each other?” I ask.

  “She moved in with Ridge and Warren a few months before you did,” Maggie says, talking about her like she’s not on the same bed. “And I tried being nice to her at first, but you know how that goes.”

  “I think the three of us just need to get drunk together,” I suggest. It worked for Bridgette and me. Maybe it could work for Bridgette and Maggie.

  Maggie looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “That sounds like an absolute nightmare.”

  Bridgette nods in agreement. “Alcohol can’t erase years of history between her and Warren.”

  Maggie laughs, addressing Bridgette directly now. “Do you really think there’s a chance in Hell I would ever be romantically interested in Warren again? That’s absurd.”

  Bridgette rolls onto her back and looks up at the ceiling. “I’m not worried about you falling for him. I’m worried about him falling for you. You’re really pretty, and Warren is shallow.”

  Maggie and I both look at each other. Then we both start laughing. I shake my head, completely taken aback by Bridgette’s insecurity. “Do you not realize what a knockout you are? Warren could be as shallow as a desert and he’d still be head over heels for you.”

  “I don’t really want to compliment you because you’re mean to me,” Maggie says to Bridgette. “But Sydney is right. Have you seen your ass? It looks like two Pringles hugging.”

  What the hell does that even mean? Maggie’s comment makes Bridgette laugh, even though she tries to hide it.

  “You work at Hooters, for Christ’s sake,” Maggie adds. “If I showed up at Hooters, they’d turn me away, thinking I was a twelve-year-old boy.”

  Bridgette turns her head toward Maggie. “Go on…” she says, urging us to continue with the compliments.

  I roll my eyes and stretch my legs out, kicking her playfully in the thigh. “Warren loves you. Get over your weird insecurities. You’re lucky you have a man who has a heart big enough to want to care for one of his best friends.”

  Maggie nods. “It’s true. He’s a good guy. A really shallow, somewhat conceited, extremely perverted good guy.”

  Bridgette groans and then sits up on the bed. She looks at me, and then she looks at Maggie. She doesn’t say it’s okay for Maggie to move into the same complex, but she also isn’t protesting anymore, so I’ll take this as a victory. She stands up and walks toward the door, but pauses in front of Maggie’s floor-length mirror. She turns around and looks at herself over her shoulder, cupping her butt with both hands. “You really think it looks like two Pringles hugging?”

  Maggie reaches behind her and grabs a pillow, then throws it at Bridgette. Bridgette pats her own ass and then leaves the bedroom.

  Maggie falls onto her bed and groans into her mattress, then sits back up and looks at me, her head tilted to the side. “Thank you. I’ve never known how to deal with her. She terrifies me.”

  I nod. “Me, too.”

  Bridgette and I may get along now, but I’m still scared to death of her wrath.

  Maggie slides off the bed and walks back toward the living room. I follow her. Once we’re all seated back at the table, she pulls her notebook in front of her. I look at Ridge, and he smiles at me. “I love you,” he mouths.

  He says it all the time to me, so I don’t know why it makes me blush this time.

  “They have two available units,” Warren says, sliding his phone toward Maggie. “One up, one down. The one downstairs is at the other end of the complex, but I think you should be downstairs.”

  Maggie looks at his phone. “It says it isn’t available until the 3rd. I can call in the morning and reserve it, then just get a hotel for a few days between apartments.”

  “That’s just a waste of money,” Bridgette says. “It’s only a few days. Just stay in my old bedroom. Or Brennan’s. They’re both empty.” She’s filing her nails again, but the words that just came out of her mouth are monumental. It’s the closest she could come to an apology without actually saying to Maggie, “I was rude. I’m sorry.”

  Ridge looks at me and squeezes my hand under the table, then texts me.

  Ridge: I’ll stay at your place while she’s at ours, if it’s okay.

  I nod. I would probably have made him, even if he hadn’t suggested it.

  I don’t even know that I could disagree with her staying there for a few days at this point because everything going on with the people at this table has long since passed the definition of normal. Warren once said to me, “Welcome to the weirdest place you’ll ever live.”

  I get it now. I don’t even live with them anymore, but that apartment and the rotating door attached to it defy every boundary ever put into place.

  Warren scoots his chair back and stands up, then claims the empty chair next to Bridgette. He reaches over and grabs her nail file, then tosses it into the living room. He pulls her chair closer to his and he kisses her.

  And Bridgette actually lets him for a good five seconds. It’s both adorable and highly uncomfortable.

  Maggie rolls her eyes and then pushes her folder in front of Ridge. “I’ve made a list of compromises. There are things I still want to do that I’m going to need you to be okay with. And in return, I promise I’m going to take better care of myself. But you can’t be bossy with me until you’ve given me a little time to adjust. I’m a hot mess, and it’s going to take some time to improve that part of my personality.”

  Ridge looks over the list for a moment, but looks up at her and signs something I don’t recognize. Maggie nods. “Yes. I’m going bungee jumping and you can’t tell me no. We’re compromising.”

  Ridge sighs and then pushes the list back in front of Maggie. “Fine. But you’re joining a support group.”

  Maggie laughs, but Ridge doesn’t.

  “That’s not a compromise,” Maggie says. “That’s torture.”

  Ridge shrugs. “We’re compromising,” he says. “If you hate it, you can stop. But I think it’ll be good for you. I don’t think
any of us truly knows what you’re going through, and I think it’ll be good for you to talk with people who do.”

  Maggie groans and drops her head on the table, hitting it three times against the wood. She scoots back from her chair and looks at me. “You’re going with me,” she says, walking toward the kitchen.

  “To your support group?” I ask, confused. I don’t know why I’m suddenly being tortured in this compromise.

  “Nope,” Maggie says. “Not to support group. CF support groups are only online. You’re going bungee jumping with me.”

  Bungee jumping. Hmm. My boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend wants me to jump off a bridge. Kind of ironic when you think about it. I look over at Ridge and grin. I’ve always wanted to bungee jump. He just shakes his head and smiles back at me, like he was just defeated.

  “I’ve always wondered something,” Bridgette says, looking across the room at Maggie. Warren is in the living room retrieving Bridgette’s nail file. “Why don’t you just get a lung transplant? Won’t that cure the disease?”

  I’ve wondered that, too, but haven’t brought it up to Ridge yet.

  “It’s not that easy,” Warren says, handing Bridgette the nail file. “Cystic Fibrosis doesn’t just affect the lungs, so new lungs won’t cure someone of the disease completely.”

  “Also, I’m not in that predicament yet,” Maggie says. “In order to get new lungs, you have to have a really grim prognosis, but without being too sick to receive a lung transplant. Luckily, I’m too healthy to be a candidate right now. It’s a tricky position to be in. New lungs would be nice, but I don’t really want to be in the position to be a candidate because it means my health would have to decline first. And a transplant could prolong someone’s life by a few years, but it could also cut it short. Way short. Not something I’m hoping for anytime soon, to be honest.”

  “New advancements happen every day, though,” Warren adds. “Which is why we’re really only discussing the near future tonight, not a long-term plan. If we try to plan too far ahead, it might discourage other possibilities. Maggie doesn’t want to hinder our lives, and we don’t want to hinder hers, so right now, the best scenario is to just tackle things a few months at a time with the tools we have to tackle them.”

  Ridge nods, but then responds to Warren. “Sometimes I feel like your brain is on a power reserve. It’s off most of the time, but the few times you do turn it on, it’s at high power.”

  Warren smiles at him. “Why, thank you, Ridge.”

  Maggie laughs. “I’m not sure that was a compliment, Warren.”

  “Sure it was,” Warren says.

  I think it was both an insult and a compliment, which makes me laugh.

  We spend the next half hour eating the lasagna Maggie prepared and working out more compromises. Bridgette doesn’t say much, but she’s also not rude at all, which is a huge improvement from when we walked through the front door.

  After we tell Maggie goodnight, Ridge grabs my hand and leads me to the back seat of the car. He forces Warren to drive home since he drove here, which is fine with me because I really want to share the back seat with Ridge on the ride home.

  He reaches across the seat and slides his fingers through mine as we’re pulling out of Maggie’s driveway. He pulls out his phone and texts me one-handed.

  Ridge: You’re like the Bridgette whisperer. I don’t know how you do it.

  Sydney: She’s not that bad. I think she’s always so defensive because no one has ever really made any effort to break through that defensiveness.

  Ridge: Exactly. It says something that you made the effort.

  Sydney: So did Warren.

  Ridge: Only because he wanted to sleep with her. I don’t think he ever expected to fall in love with her. That was a surprise to everyone. Especially him.

  Sydney: You have unique friends. I like them.

  Ridge: They’re your friends now, too.

  He squeezes my hand after I read his text. Then he reaches over and unbuckles my seatbelt, pulling me closer to him. Once I’m in the middle of the backseat, he refastens the middle seatbelt around me, pulling me against him. “Better,” he says, wrapping his arm around me.

  His thumb is grazing my shoulder, but his hand eventually makes its way down, just far enough so that he can trace the faded letters he wrote over my heart. He presses his mouth against my ear. “Mine,” he says quietly.

  I smile and place my hand over his heart. “Mine,” I whisper.

  Ridge presses his mouth to mine, and I smile through the whole kiss. I can’t help it. When he pulls back, he leans against the door, pulling me even closer. I lift my legs onto the seat and curl them under me as I snuggle against him.

  This feels right. Finally. It used to feel so wrong, but nothing about us feels wrong anymore. I owe a lot of that to Maggie’s willingness to forgive and move forward and even accept me into her life after everything that happened.

  So much has changed in the past year. The day I turned twenty-two, I thought it was going to be the worst year of my life. But little did I know, a boy on a balcony with his guitar would change all of that.

  Now I’m here in his arms, unable and unwilling to wipe the smile off my face because his heart is mine.

  MINE.

  It’s really hard to tell Warren everything he’s doing wrong when my hands are full with the mattress we’re carrying upstairs and his headphones on. I’d really hate to see him try to maneuver a boat or back up a trailer if he can’t even walk forward up the damn stairs while pushing a mattress.

  I also don’t understand why we’re even moving Maggie’s mattress upstairs. Her apartment will be ready in four days, and there’s a couch, plus Brennan’s bed is empty. But I’m not arguing, because if she’s going to be in my apartment, I’d rather her be in the farthest bedroom from mine just so this will feel less awkward, even though I’ll be staying the night at Sydney’s this week.

  Warren stops three steps from the top to take a break. He leans his arm on the railing and pulls his headphones off. “This is the only thing we’re moving, right? Everything else stays in the U-Haul?”

  I nod and sign for him to pick up the mattress again. He rolls his eyes and readjusts his grip, pushing it toward me.

  Maggie’s new apartment is on the other side of the complex. Close to Sydney’s old apartment, actually. Maggie has tried to back out several times and find somewhere else to stay because she’s worried it’ll be too much, living so close. But this will honestly be better for everyone. She gets sick so often, and for the past year I’ve had to spend a huge chunk of my nights in San Antonio. Even if she’s only a few miles away, her being in another complex would require me or Warren to stay overnights when she’s sick because she gets so weak, she can’t even get out of bed.

  With her being in the same complex, it’ll make everything easier. I won’t have to spend uncomfortable nights in the same apartment as her, but she’ll be close enough that Warren or I can run over there and check on her every hour. I honestly think that’s why Sydney was so agreeable to it. She’s seen Maggie during the sicker times, and Sydney knows when Maggie’s down for the count, even a glass of water is impossible for her to get on her own. Not to mention her medications, making sure she’s doing her breathing treatments while she’s weak and recovering from an illness, ensuring her sugar levels are good every few hours. If she weren’t in the same complex, her care would require a car to get to her, and leaving her alone wouldn’t be possible. But being in the same complex, it actually requires less of my time and less of my presence and, in the end, will make Maggie feel more independent. Which is what she wants.

  We’re leaving everything else in the U-Haul because one of Warren’s co-workers also works part time for the company who is renting it to us. They’re allowing us to keep it for the week for just nineteen dollars a day, so it’ll remain full of Maggie’s stuff and parked in the parking lot until she moves into her place.

  Maggie is still down at the U-Haul, gat
hering what she’ll need to get her through the next four days. Sydney went to pick Bridgette up from work. Warren and I finally get the mattress into the bedroom and plop it flat on the floor. Warren is breathing heavily with his hands on his hips. He looks over at me. “Why aren’t you out of breath?”

  “We went up a flight of stairs. Once. And I work out.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. In my room. Every day.”

  He glares at me like my admitting that I work out daily is some type of betrayal. He stares back down at the mattress. “Is this weird?”

  I look down at Maggie’s mattress, finally inside the same apartment as me. I used to hate that she would never agree to move in with me, and now she kind of is for a few days, and not a single part of me wants it to happen the way that I used to. That’s weird for me. For all these years, I assumed Maggie and I would end up living in this apartment together and that we’d eventually be married. I never imagined my life taking the turn it did, but now I couldn’t imagine it any differently.

  So, yes. To answer Warren’s question, it is weird, so I nod. But it’s only weird because it all seems to be working out. I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Whether that’s Maggie’s or Bridgette’s or Warren’s shoe, I don’t know. But I highly doubt it’ll be Sydney’s. She’s handled this better than anyone, and she has the most reasons not to.

  “What if Sydney and Bridgette lived together and they decided to move some dude in that they had both dated in the past? Do you think we’d be cool with it?”

  I shrug. “Guess it depends on the situation.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Warren signs. “You’d be pissed. You’d hate it. You’d act like a whiny little bitch, just like I would, and then we’d all break up.”