by Nella Tyler
“That’s why I invited you here tonight,” I said. “I wanted to talk to you about all of that. Clear the air, you know?”
He nodded but looked confused at the same time. His hair was more mussed this evening, but still tidy. In all the years we’d known each other, I’d never seen him completely casual with his hair messed up and clothes raggedy. He didn’t seem to have it in him. It probably had to do with his upbringing. The Wheatons looked freshly manicured even when they were kicking back. Like a Stepford family, without the brainwashing.
I sucked in a deep breath, not taking my eyes from his. I wanted to see what his reaction was to what I was about to say. He was a nice guy, so I knew he would say the right thing, but his eyes would tell me the truth. I’d gotten quite good at reading him over the years.
“I need to know why you kissed me,” I said, coming right out with it. As much as I’d gone back and forth all day over what I would say and how I would say it, my stomach tying itself into tighter and tighter knots as the hours went on, when it came right down to it, I was able to just state what I wanted to convey in plain language without hesitation. It was one of the better gifts I had—the ability to cut to the chase without going around tangents or stalling. It could take people by surprise, but that was their problem, not mine.
Banks blinked, his dark blond brows coming together just a touch the way they did when he was puzzled by something. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. I tended to have that effect on people. It was one of Mom’s greatest gifts to me. She had more grace, though, which often softened her effect on people.
“What?” he asked.
“You kissed me the other night—” he started to apologize again, his handsome face crumpling into a contrite expression, but I just kept going, not really interested in hearing it. He’d apologized via flowers and that was enough. Unless he’d kissed me because he felt sorry for me, and then he owed me another 10 apologies and about three hundred more dollars’ worth of flowers. “Why?”
He stopped mid-apology, the words just drying up on lips I now knew firsthand were beyond kissable. It brought some color to my cheeks to think that way, but the rest of my expression stayed firmly serene. I was doing this. I needed answers to be able to understand what kind of friendship we’d be able to have going forward. If he pitied me, I didn’t really want to be around him. If he’d just lost control of himself for a second, we could work with that and go back to the way things were before.
“I wanted to,” he said simply, shrugging both shoulders. “You seemed upset at the restaurant and when you turned to me on the porch, I just couldn’t help myself. I don’t know what came over me.” I could see that he wanted to apologize again, but he kept it back.
“That’s it?”
He nodded, eyes wide and open, the emotion in them easy for me to read.
“You didn’t kiss me out of pity?”
The confusion fell over his features again, tightening them. “What do you mean?”
“In the last year, I’ve had to deal with a lot more than just living life without BJ. I was born and raised here, same as you, and everyone knows me. I go to the grocery store or the library or the shop or anywhere but Brian Sr.’s house and I can expect people to look at me with kindness and pity. I don’t fault them for it, but it feels like a punch to the gut every time it happens. Even my own mother pities me, and she lost two of her own husbands. People aren’t trying to be cruel, but it still makes me feel like I don’t belong anywhere in this town. You’re a kind man, Banks, and BJ loved you like a brother. I love you. But I want you to tell me if you kissed me out of some fucked up brand of pity for me as the young, helpless widow of your best friend. I need to know where we stand.”
The bewilderment drained from Banks’s face slowly, replaced by something very close to awe. I didn’t see any pity in his gray eyes, just that same openness. He took a step closer to me, cutting the distance between us in half. He shook his head slowly, never dropping his eyes away. I felt drawn in. His expression was so sincere, I realized I would believe anything that came out of his mouth once he decided to speak.
“Maggie, I kissed you because I wanted to. There’s really no other explanation for it. You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman and that just overcame me when we were outside on the porch. I never meant to put our friendship in jeopardy. I value it and you a great deal. I was hoping you weren’t just letting me hang out here and at the shop because you felt sorry for me.”
I smiled at that, my eyebrows scrunching together. “Why would I feel sorry for you?”
“I’m lost without BJ. We were friends for so long and I don’t really know how to live in this world without him. There are so many times I want to call or text him, and then I remember what happened. The mind works in such terrible ways. I wake up in the morning and feel like he’s still out there somewhere in Danbury, and then I remember.”
I nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“So no pity coming from you?”
“Nope,” I replied. “Just honest friendship. What about you?”
He shook his head, the barest traces of a smile touching his lips. “Nope, just an honest kiss.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “Let’s eat. The table’s set in the dining room.”
But he didn’t move, and his trace of a smile became a full grown sly one.
“Was all that a test to see if I was worthy to eat some of your famous lasagna?”
I laughed. “Hell, yeah. I wasn’t about to sit down to eat a meal I slaved over with some guy who thought I was some weepy, pathetic widow.”
He chuckled at that as I picked up the lasagna with my bare hands. It was still quite warm, but the dish had cooled enough to hold by the handles.
“Grab that bottle of wine, will you?” I asked.
He did, and followed me into the dining room.
Banks
The Same Friday
I set the bottle of wine down in the center of the four-seater table in Maggie’s small dining room, and took my seat across from her where a place had been set. I hadn’t been able to stop smiling since we walked out of the kitchen. She was quite a woman. I forgot how straightforward she could be. If she had something to tell you, she just came out with it, and she didn’t waste time mincing words. I liked that about her and knew it had been part of the initial attraction for BJ. It was odd to know so much about what she was like inside of a romantic relationship because of my close friendship with BJ. It felt a little like cheating, as though I’d found an instruction manual on Maggie Bowling and could thumb through it at my leisure. But it was also titillating to have a way inside that didn’t involve coming through the front door.
“I forgot the salad,” Maggie said, and hurried into the kitchen to fetch it, giving me an opportunity to watch the back of her walk away. She had on skintight jeans that hugged every curve of her ass and legs. I liked that she wasn’t stick thin. She looked like a woman, not a knock-kneed girl who hadn’t yet come into her own. I could imagine myself taking two handfuls of her ass and still having some leftover for next time. I blinked at the sudden raunchy turn my thoughts had taken, but it was hard to avoid it with how good she looked tonight in her jeans and flowered blouse.
I poured us both a glass of red wine and was just putting the bottle back when Maggie came out of the kitchen again, grinning. She looked even better coming than she did going. Something about that kiss had unlocked a floodgate of feelings for her inside of me. I was unable to put them back behind a closed door again. Maybe in time, but for right now I was staring at her full lips and imagining myself coming around the table and gathering her up in my arms before drawing her into another passionate kiss, this one much deeper than the last one had gotten a chance to be.
She put the salad next to the lasagna. “Help yourself, Banks. You aren’t a guest here. I see you already broke into the wine.”
“What can I say? I wanted to get the alcohol flowing so we could ha
ve a good time.”
She giggled a little as she shook her head.
I scooped a large, steaming portion of lasagna out of the dish and onto the plate. It looked amazing. I didn’t get many home-cooked meals unless I went to Mom and Dad’s. I guess you could still count a meal made by their chef as home-cooked. My parents sure as hell didn’t do much of anything in the kitchen. Therefore, neither did I. The most I did on mornings when I didn’t have to go into the office was to get my coffee grinder going so I could brew a few cups of coffee in my French press. On workdays, I swung by Starbucks on the way into the city. I ate lunch with clients, met Mom and Dad, or ordered in. After work, I stopped by someplace on the way home to pick something up, or I ordered in. I rarely went out unless I was meeting someone. BJ and I had a standing dinner for wings, greasy fries, and beers on Thursday nights. I hadn’t been back to that bar since he died.
“This looks amazing,” I said.
Maggie smiled, seeming pleased, her cheeks flushed with healthy color. “Thanks.” She reached to scoop some of the lasagna onto her plate while I served myself some of the salad. Once we were both situated with all available food on our plates, she raised her wine glass.
“To our renewed friendship,” she said.
I lifted my own glass. “To friendship.”
We took a sip—it was a good, hearty red—and then dug in.
“Maggie, this tastes incredible. I’ve missed your lasagna.” She’d last made it a couple of months before BJ was killed. I used to come over a lot for meals because they both knew I never cooked for myself. It was like eating with family. It was good to feel that way again. This was the first time Maggie had invited me over for dinner since the accident. We’d eaten together, but always at a restaurant, and always my treat. No matter how much she protested, I always insisted on paying the bill. We both knew I could afford it, and it made me happy to do something for her, no matter how small.
“I haven’t been cooking much since BJ passed,” she said, her green eyes flashing at me before returning to the food on her plate. “This is nice, though. We should do it more often.”
“Agreed.” I ate a few more bites before picking up the loose ends of the conversation. “How are things going at the shop?” I hadn’t been back since I picked up the Series 60, but I was actively combing the internet for my next project. I had a line on a few. I was just waiting for replies to my emails for more information and pictures.
“It’s going surprisingly well,” she replied, resting her forearms on the edge of the table. “I still feel like a fish out of water all day, every day, but with Jackson’s help and direction, we’re staying in the black. What about you?”
“Oh, work’s fine,” I said. “Same shit, different day, really. I don’t feel like a fish out of water per se, but I definitely have big shoes to fill.” I couldn’t help but notice that we were staying safely away from talking about our kiss the other day.
“How did the fall classic car show go?” She was gazing at me with wide eyes, her mouth pursed so I could see the dimples in her rounded cheeks and her curvy eyebrows raised. She normally wore makeup, but tonight her face was fresh and naked, only natural color adding the contours. It was another unexpected intimacy, and it made me want to put my lips and hands on her even more.
I sat up a little straighter in my chair, that instant excitement moving through me whenever the conversation I was taking part in turned to my one true, abiding love in this life or any other life: old cars.
“The Caddy was an absolute stunner. We got second place.”
“Oh, that’s so great! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about that immediately!” She was grinning from ear to ear as she moved her thick, dark hair off her shoulders.
“You should’ve seen the attention she got. I need to come by to speak to Jackson and the rest of the guys about how well she did. I even got a number of generous offers.”
She lifted a dark eyebrow. “Are you going to sell?”
I shook my head. “No, not yet. I’d like some time with her.”
She seemed to visibly relax. I’d never considered that she might’ve been as attached to the Cadillac as I was. “BJ would’ve been over the moon to hear how well the car did. It was a real mess when it came in, but he used to talk about how certain he was that he could make it look brand new.” Her eyes had that glassy, faraway look they got whenever something about BJ came up, which was all the time. “He’d be really proud.”
“He sure would have,” I said, smiling a little. We used to celebrate successful car shows, knocking back beers and planning our next project. That night after the car show, I dropped Dad off at his place, parked the Caddy in his sprawling garage, and went home to drink a beer alone.
“Speaking of BJ, what do you think he’d say about how things are going with you right now?”
She had to finish her mouthful of salad before she could answer. I took the opportunity to eat another forkful of lasagna. I was already planning to have seconds of this. If she had leftovers she didn’t want, I’d be glad to take them off her hands.
“What do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head questioningly.
“Do you think he’d want you to still be alone like this?” I asked. “Or do you think he’d want you to find happiness with someone else?”
She gave me a smile, but it was small and sad, her pretty eyes full of sorrow. “I’m not really sure what he’d want. I mean, I know he’d want me to be happy, but we never talked about what we wanted for the other one if we died. I’m only 26. I didn’t expect to be a widow right now. BJ was only 29 when he died.” She blinked her wet eyes and swallowed hard. “I can’t believe he’s gone. We only got three years together, but sometimes it feels like a lifetime. Other times, it doesn’t feel like we were together longer than a couple of weeks. How can I feel lucky to have known him as long as I did but also like I was cheated?”
“I know exactly what you’re saying,” I replied softly. I felt the same way, and I’d had a lot more time with BJ than she had. But it still felt like I’d been cheated out of a great, lifelong friendship by some crappy twist of fate. All because some asshole decided to pass illegally on a hill. It was an unnecessary risk that had ruined so many people’s lives. It pissed me off every time I thought about it. But I wouldn’t bring that up now. I could see Maggie was hurting, and she didn’t need to hear about my pain. She had enough of her own. I felt like an asshole myself for even bringing up the idea that she move on. It wasn’t my place. Just because I had feelings for her didn’t mean she had them for me. I wanted to be here for her without an agenda. I’d just have to learn how to put that attraction for her back in the deep, dark places at my core where it had been before, growing without my even realizing it. Maybe Dad was right. If I put myself out there more—went on a few dates—I might find the woman I was met to be with. She was out there somewhere. I wanted to start a family, but I was terrified of finding love and then losing it the way Maggie had.
At the end of the meal, I helped Maggie clear the table, but she shooed me out of the kitchen when I tried to help her rinse the plates and flatware and load them into the dishwasher.
“I’ll take care of that after you leave,” she said, and flicked the dishtowel so it snapped me in the butt. She walked me to the front door, watching in silence as I removed my coat from the closet and put it on.
“Thanks for the meal, Maggie,” I said. “It was outstanding. I need more home cooking in my life.”
She grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Well, you know where to find me.”
I turned to leave, my hand on the knob, but turned, a frown on my face as a sudden thought occurred to me.
“Why’d you ask me over tonight?”
She tilted her head to one side, her face as open as a flower. “I’m not sure. But I’m glad you came.”
“Me too,” I said, and left it at that.
I thought over the evening on my short drive back to my condo. It was good to be
with her, as always, and I enjoyed the time we spent remembering BJ. I kicked myself for not trying to kiss her, even though I understood that was what had caused all the trouble to begin with—my impulsivity. Kissing her wouldn’t have been appropriate. I knew that. If she wanted me, she’d let me know. Maggie was the kind of woman who wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted. I vowed not to push her in either direction, no matter how much I wanted her.
Maggie
Sunday
Mom and I walked down the central aisle of the Catholic church we’d been attending every Sunday for my entire life. I’d been confirmed in this church. I’d been married in it two and a half years ago surrounded by friends, family, and bouquets of fresh-smelling flowers. I’d always found solace and comfort in these walls. I still did, even after all that had happened. My emotional state, always even throughout my life, turned so stormy and unpredictable after the accident. I waited for everything in my life to be destroyed in that whipping wind and torrential rain, but I’d huddled in the church for comfort, for sanctuary, and it saw me through the worst couple of months in my entire life. I was still hurting now, but nothing like I was after finding out that my husband was dead. That had shaken me to my core. I still felt shaken, but it was getting easier to face each new day as it came. Attending services helped, even if I didn’t always follow along with what Father Hammond was saying. These walls just held comfort for me after a lifetime spent inside of them.
Mom and I stopped in the vestibule to dip our fingers into the holy water there and cross ourselves as we faced the altar. Being here fed my soul, not just because of the lifetime I’d spent in this building, but because BJ had joined me for every Sunday service after we began dating, even way back in the beginning. His faith was just as important to him as it was to me. I had so many great memories of the two of us here.
