As she unloaded the food onto the kitchen table, Steph pulled a bottle of tequila and bottle of Triple Sec from her suitcase. I rummaged around in the hall closet for the blender.
"Ladies, tonight we have Leo in Titanic and Brad and Ben, starring in one of my personal favorites, He's Just Not That In To you," Amy announced.
The irony of the last movie title wasn't lost on me. I unwrapped my cheeseburger.
"The magic elixir," Steph said, pouring the margaritas into our glasses. After taking a huge slug of the green, slushy liquid, she licked her lips, dropped into a chair, and bit into her sub, smiling as the juices dribbled down her chin.
"How did you talk Mark into letting you hang out with us?" Steph mumbled through her overstuffed cheeks.
"Easy, I promised him golf time," Amy replied.
Steph continued to chew and talk. "I want to play with Kelsey before I leave. Invite Maggie and me for lunch or dinner tomorrow."
Amy reached into the greasy sack and pulled out a wad of low grade napkins. "We'll see, Steph. The last time I hung out with you, it took two days to recover from the hangover."
I tried to speak, but instead, one of those stupid snorting sounds escaped from my nose. "That's nothing, Amy. It took me an entire semester to shake my hangover from our summer in NJ."
"Speaking of which, I can't believe you're still wearing Nick's cruddy old Ocean City sweatshirt," Steph said, while dredging a French fry through the mound of ketchup on her paper plate.
"Ah ha," Amy blurted. "There is significance to that pathetic old shirt. Come on, cough up the story. Who's Nick?
"No one," I said.
"Amy, you're joking, right? You have to know about Nick."
"Nope," Amy replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I can't believe you never told her about Nick. Shame on you," Stephanie said shaking her index finger at me. "That's sad, Maggie--so sad--holding something so important back from Amy."
"Please, make her tell me, Steph," Amy said, putting her hands together like a beggar.
"He wasn't so important, Stephanie," I said, using my best indignant tone, purely to distract them from noticing the blood rushing to my cheeks.
"Oh my God, Maggie, you still blush when you hear his name. I can't believe it. Nick, Nick, Nick," Stephanie squealed like a little girl in third grade.
"Stop it, Steph," I snapped.
Amy slammed her elbows on the table and propped her head on her hands. "Dish, Steph, or there will be no chick flicks or chocolate cake tonight."
"There's no story, Amy. Ignore her. Nick was someone I hung out with that summer, nothing more."
"So that's what they call it here in Pittsburgh, 'hung out,'" Steph mocked.
Amy relaxed against the back of her chair and contorted her face into a fiendish smile. A few blinks later, a devilish voice slithered from her mouth. "Oh, this is getting good. Speak to me Steph and hand me the booze."
I jumped up from my chair, ready to end the subject. Steph gazed up at me from her seated position and lifted her perfectly arched eyebrows. "Maggie, sit down. Either drink or blush, but don't talk." She reached around and yanked the back of the chair to indicate where she expected my butt to rest.
"My friend, Sarah, played in a garage band with her brother, Nick, and a few other guys. Sometimes, she let me hang out in her basement and listen to them play, and when Maggie visited, she tagged along. The romance ignited the first time I took her to hear them play--"
"Stop drinking, you're drunk already," I interrupted. "There was no romance, and 'ignited'? Please."
"Be quiet, Maggie," she said flicking her french manicured finger at me. "Sorry, Amy. The first time we went to hear them practice, right before I knocked on Sarah's door, I decided to be a good cousin and warn her about Nick. I did my best to describe him, but boring English words don't do justice to off-the-charts-gorgeous, Nick, with his black satiny curls, green eyes, and bulging biceps," she said, bending her elbow and squeezing her skinny upper arm. "Alas, Miss Prim and Proper shrugged off my words, saying, 'Steph, stop exaggerating, and the warning is unnecessary. I've seen good-looking guys before.'
"I didn't laugh out loud, but I was already envisioning her drooling over him,'" Steph said, reaching her right arm toward me. "Pass the cookies, Maggie. Maggie's eyeballs bulged out of the sockets the minute she stepped off of the last step into the basement, looked up, and saw Nick sitting behind the drums. What a hoot, Amy. Miss P and P melting like chocolate. I subtly pushed her toward the visitors section, a ripped out backseat of a car, because her feet appeared to be glued to the cement floor. Once I eased her onto the chair, the situation didn't improve much. At one point, I swear I saw damp hair sticking to the skin of her forehead."
"Stephanie, cut the melodrama," I said.
"Looking back, I think ripping the seat belts off of the cushions was a bad idea," Stephanie said, before taking a swig of her margarita.
"Steph, are you going to get to the juicy part soon? So far--so boring," Amy said, toying with the last few French fries in the bag. "I want to know why Maggie blushes every time you say his name."
"Fine," I said. "I'll tell you why. The first time I walked through the basement door, it felt like someone rammed a vacuum cleaner down my throat and sucked all the air out of my lungs. His eyes--I never saw eyes like his--emerald green volcanic eruptions. His face made body parts I didn't know I owned tingle. The only sound registering in my ears was the pounding of my heart. And, after years of watching them play, looking at him didn't get any easier. End of Nick story."
"What?" Amy asked. "All that blushing just because you used to gawk at a cute guy? No romance, or physical groping?"
"There was neither. Story over."
"Maggie," Steph said.
"So, Steph, how many guys are you dating now?" I asked.
"Either you tell the story, or I will--in graphic details," Steph replied.
"Ah, there are graphic details," Amy said. "This is exciting because, silly me, I believed Maggie gave her heart away once, to her true love and soul mate, Sam, the jerk. Tell me more about Nick."
"She never actually spoke to him until our Freshman year of college. Over Easter break, after they finished playing, he offered us a beer. Maggie hates beer, so I had to drink both. For a few moments, I snoozed out on a recliner. But, when I opened my eyes, I saw his face and her face and very little space in between. He wanted to kiss her."
"Did he?" Amy interjected.
"No," I said. "He just demonstrated some karate move on me." I glared at Stephanie. "He did not want to kiss me."
"Maggie, let's not argue about this, please," she replied, and patted the top of my hand. "I'm right, so stop talking."
Amy started laughing.
Steph wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "The whole almost kissing scene forecasted events to come. The juicy part started after we moved into the shore apartment."
"Stop this story, please," I begged. "I don't want to talk about Nick, and their isn't a juicy part!"
Amy thrust a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries at my face. "Here, keep your mouth occupied. I want to hear the rest of this story."
"Our apartment was a dump we shared with two other girls. All four of us worked as waitresses, but I got stuck working the breakfast shift at this hole-in-the-wall restaurant on Central. Tourists turn into those giant horseshoe crabs that wash up on the beach when they don't get their coffee fast enough. Tips left by grumpy people suck."
Dramatically smacking her forehead, Amy groaned, "Stephanie, get to the point."
"Okay, I'll talk faster. It was our first Friday night in the apartment, and I was nestled, comfy in my bed, until the sound of footsteps woke me up. Not quite awake, yet not asleep, I heard this male voice. 'Steph, Steph, wake up. Where's Maggie?' My eyes climbed up this glorious body standing next to my bed, wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt. When I reached the face, I said, 'Shit, Nick, why are you standing in my bedroom?'"
&nbs
p; "'Maggie. I'm here to take her dancing.'"
"It took a few more seconds for me to become coherent. You both know how difficult it is for me to wake up."
Amy exhaled, rolling her eyes. "We know."
"Okay, okay, relax. So, I explained that Maggie finished working at midnight, pointed toward the living room, and told him to watch TV. Fifteen minutes later, he's standing next to my bed, starting the 'I want to see Maggie,' shit again. He looked so pathetic, I gave in and put on my shoes. I wanted to call first, but her boss banned employee cell phones.
"When we got to the restaurant, I waved at Maggie throught the opening at the take-out counter, but she didin't see us. Waiting sucks, so I told Nick to stay put, marched inside, and interrupted her as she doled out plates full of greasy food to a table of shoebees.
"'Maggie," I asked. 'What would you like me to do with him?'"
"'What?' she replied.
"I pointed toward the boardwalk and told her to follow my finger. 'Look over to the left, standing next to the dork in the wire-frame glasses--Nick's here, Maggie. What should I do with him? I need to sleep. I'm working the morning shift, and the smell of eggs grosses me out even when I'm not tired. So, Maggie, are you sleeping with him? If so, do you want the bed or the pull-out couch?'"
Amy waved her arms above her head. "Stop, potty break. Do not answer that question until I come back. Steph, blend another round of margaritas."
When the bathroom door lock clicked, I turned to Steph. "We are going to edit this story. He slept alone on the pull-out couch all weekend. Got it?"
She squinted and tilted her head to the side. "No, Maggie, I'm telling her the truth. He slept on the pull-out couch with you."
"I hate you."
"He spent most of the summer sleeping on that couch with you," she said and followed up with a snicker.
"How do I shut you up? Please, please, don't talk. Let me finish the story."
The bathroom door creaked open, and I heard Amy shuffling down the hallway. Before reaching the kitchen, she tripped and hit the wall. "Okay, girls, let's review. Maggie met Adonis while still in high school and regularly hung out in his basement, silently drooling over his eyes, and other parts. Not once, during any of these visits did she say a word to him, until freshman year, when he wanted to kiss her. Fast-forward to the Jersey Shore apartment, where he appeared unannounced. Ladies, there are too many holes in this story."
"Not really," I interjected. "He started emailing me after Easter break."
"In his emails, did he talk about visiting?" Amy asked.
This interrogation reminded me of a session with Dr. Graham--uncomfortable.
"Hello, Maggie," Amy said, waving her hand in front of my face. "Did you know he was coming to see you?"
"He wrote something about taking me dancing. I didn't believe him. Why would he waste time driving from Philadelphia to South Jersey to see me?"
Amy gulped down the last drops of Margarita in her glass. "This story is beginning to make sense. Ms. I'm-So Ugly No Guy Would Ever Look At Me snags this smoking-hot pen pal and doesn't believe a word he types--typical Maggie behavior."
A twinkle flashed in Amy's eyes, and a playful smile crossed her face. "So, which one of you wants to tell me where Nick slept that weekend?"
No longer engrossed in mixing the drinks, Steph's head snapped up. "With Maggie, of course."
"Steph, I can't believe you," blurted from my mouth.
Amy got up from her chair and walked toward the TV. "I'm a little drunk, and its movie time, Leo or Brad?"
Steph quickly replied, "Definitely Leo."
Steph's answer, thank goodness, ended the subject. "I second Leo," I said.
Amy fumbled around with the buttons on the DVD player until it opened. Popping in the disc, she said, "Leo it is." Wobbling, she stepped backward pointing the remote control at the TV. "Maggie, just so you know, I like Nick better than Sam. You should call him next week."
"Amy, you don't even know Nick," I said.
"True, but I can feel the heat when you talk about him. You and Sam were like an old pair of blue jeans, comfortable, but completely unsexy. A relationship requires heat. Heat is good, Maggie." Swaying slightly as she walked back to the chair. "But fire is even better."
Steph started cracking up. "Nick was breathing forest fire. When he walked down the boardwalk, even old ladies stopped dead in their tracks. He moved like a panther, trying to break out of a cage." Steph fanned imaginary smoke with a throw pillow.
"Have any pictures of him, Maggie?" Amy inquired.
"Stop talking, you two. I can't hear Leo. And, no, Amy, I don't have a picture of Nick," I said from my spot on the floor next to the sofa.
"I probably have a few at home," Steph interjected. "Remind me and I'll e-mail them to you next week. But, take my word for it, Amy. Nick is ten times hotter than Leo. Aside from being totally mouthwatering, he's really a sweetheart," chirped Stephanie. "Maggie, I don't smell any popcorn. Why is that?"
"Fine, Steph, I'll throw a bag into the microwave, but when the bell dings, that means you will walk to the kitchen and get it."
"Brains?" Amy asked.
"Yeah," Stephanie said. "Back then it was pre-med at Penn. He's two years older than us. By now, he should be finished or almost finished with medical school and Maggie, if I had known you were going to be this cranky, I would have stayed home."
I looked back over my shoulder as I walked to the kitchen. "I am not cranky. I don't enjoy dredging up memories of Nick."
From the living room, Amy shouted, a bit too loudly, "How did you let this winning lottery ticket slip through your fingers, Maggie?"
I pulled the popcorn from the cabinet, ripped off the cellophane, and placed the bag into microwave. 'Slip though my fingers?' Ha, there's a lie. "He didn't slip through anything. I went back to school, and he moved in with some girl down on Walnut Street. The end."
"Too bad." Amy exhaled. "Steph, it's dinging. You heard Maggie, go get it. It takes more than the popcorn aroma to make me happy, and maybe one more margarita."
"Coming right up," Steph said, prancing toward the kitchen.
Something about Amy's comment really pissed me off. There was no way I was going to let her get away without explaining. "What did you mean when you said 'too bad'? Maybe Nick and I didn't go anywhere because I was destined to be with Sam, who is also handsome, smart, and fun. He has heat." Listening to the sound of my voice, I recognized every word sounded whiny and defensive.
"Whatever," Amy replied, with an eye roll. "Steph, this popcorn is amazing, but a caramel coating..."
Finally, we settled into comfortable positions to watch the movie. Of course, we all cried when, once again, the Titanic sank and Leo still didn't climb onto that damn floating door with Rose.
Stephanie moaned. "Why doesn't he listen when I scream 'climb on to the door' or 'push her off?' So beautiful--too young to die." Using motions a stage actress would envy, she crushed a pillow to her chest and buried her head in it.
Amy squinted at me and shook her head. "For some reason, I do believe she would have made the same statement while sober."
As the final credit rolled off of the screen, Amy muttered a, "Good night," rolled over, and either passed out or fell asleep.
Before falling asleep on the air mattress, Steph muttered, "I love you, cuz. Please, let him go."
Oddly, I couldn't decide if she was talking about Sam or Nick. I walked to my bed, thinking about Nick, a luxury I usually refused myself. Shaking off the bristling sensation running through my body, I admonished myself, Stop it, Maggie. Nick was just living a fantasy for a few months. Sam is real.
While pulling down the bed covers, the pit of my stomach cramped when I caught a glimpse of my face in the dresser mirror. Ugly--no wonder neither of them wanted to stay with me. I crawled under the covers and squeezed my eyes closed, but hiding didn't squash the pain.
***
In the morning, Amy woke up, relatively hangover free, and in
vited us for dinner. Steph slept until noon. To entertain myself while she snored, I wiped down the kitchen, which reeked of "O" grease and spilled tequila, and daydreamed about Nick...
***
Lazily his finger skimmed across my back, at first randomly and then forming the letters, M-A-G-G-I-E. Shivers shot through me as the tips of his fingers slid down the side of my body. He leaned on one elbow, eyes fixated on my back. I was afraid to speak or move--wanting him to continue forever.
He broke the silence. "Do you realize how obsessed I am with your back? Your skin, your waist, your shoulder blades...At school, I stare at my computer screen and instead of seeing the print, I see you standing in front of me, back toward me and head turned so that I can see the silhouette of your face."
Exhaling, he continued writing my name in the opposite direction--up and down my back.
***
Memories of Nick made my body quiver, while pain stabbed my heart. I shook my head. "Stop it," I said out loud. As I gathered books to take to Mark's house, I hoped Steph and Amy had exhausted their interest in the topic, because my brother didn't need to know about Nick.
CHAPTER 10
Crazy or Not Crazy?
Kelsey squealed when we walked through the front door. Steph scooped her into her arms and ran off toward the living room. I peeked into the kitchen and saw Amy slogging between the stove and the refrigerator. I sniffed the air, nothing, which meant dinner wasn't even close to being ready. Mark offered us a glass of wine. Steph accepted, and I opted for a cup of coffee.
He had graduated from law school three years ago, and worked for a big-time law firm, but when asked, he'd moonlight as my private tutor. We sat at the kitchen table reviewing my Evidence class notes, which refused to sink into my head, while Amy created our dinner. After an hour, Amy called us to the dining room.
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