by Jenn Faulk
I want to be someone’s first choice. I want to be his first choice.
“If I wasn’t with you, and Crystal was available, would you want to be with her?” I ask, trying to ask him this from another angle. But, no, that’s not right. So, I just come out with it. “What would you do if you were free to be with anyone because you’d never met me?”
“If I’d never met you?” he asks, looking at me in surprise that I don’t already know the answer. Then he says, so matter-of-factly and so seriously, “If I hadn’t met you, then . . . well then I’d still be looking for you.”
I believe him. I honestly believe that I mean something to him that no one else will ever mean. And the very thought, that he would be looking for me until he found me . . .
“Oh,” I manage, blinking back tears, watching as Emma tugs on his hand.
But he’s still watching me.
“I love you, Maggie,” he says. “You don’t have to worry about Crystal or anyone else, because I love you.”
I take a breath and release my next words as a contented sigh. “I love you, too, Peter.”
As Peter stares at me, Emma pipes up with her own, “Love you.”
He glances at her, gives her a little smile, and then looks back to me.
“You really love me?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I answer, a little breathless laugh in the word. “I love you. And that’s just exactly what I’ll tell you, from now on, every time you tell me that you love me. I love you.” I smile at him. “You’re stuck with me forever.”
I can’t believe these words are coming from my mouth, but they do . . . and they feel so right. It’s not the way normal people do things, but maybe—like Tanner said—maybe my happily ever after is going to be unconventional. Just like Peter.
“Do you promise?” he asks, and when I grin at him and nod, he apparently decides to test me.
“I love you,” he says.
And I answer him immediately.
“I love you, too.”
~Peter~
The last time Andrew and I saw each other was two days ago when he was trying to convince me that my evening with Maggie was indeed going to be an official date.
Now I’m trying to convince him that he needs to leave.
“Get out,” I tell him again. “You’re going to ruin everything.”
“I’m going to ruin everything?” he asks dryly.
“Yes.”
“But I have so many questions,” he says dramatically, grabbing his head in his hands. “I can’t get my brain around all this.”
I’ve already told him all about my first kiss with Maggie two nights ago and the phone call from the police. I told him about spending the night at Crystal’s and the fight and kisses I had with Maggie yesterday. I even told him about all the kisses and “I love you’s” and “forevers” at the zoo today.
“You just want to see what she looks like,” I argue as I take a package of mushrooms out of the fridge. I’m making dinner for her tonight, and I really want Andrew gone.
“No,” he says. “I want to see if she’s real. I want to make sure that you haven’t gone off the deep end . . . that you aren’t hallucinating all this.”
I sigh. “Will you just say ‘Hello’ and then leave?” I ask.
He grins, knowing he’s won.
“Scout’s honor,” he promises, holding up the sign.
I roll my eyes, and I’ll believe it when I see it.
Two hours later, Maggie rings the bell.
“Hey,” I say, giving her a big smile after I’ve opened the door.
“Hi.” She smiles back.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you, too,” she answers back, keeping her promise from earlier, and then we both smile at each other again and I lower my head to kiss her.
Andrew lopes into the room to find us in the middle of that kiss and I couldn’t be happier, but Maggie seems a little uncertain how to react. She self-consciously swipes her fingers across her mouth as if that’s going to undo what Andrew just saw, and I can’t help but grin. First at her, then at him. When I don’t say anything but continue to smirk, Maggie pipes up.
“You, uh, you must be Andrew,” she says, extending the same hand to him that she just used to wipe off our kiss. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Andrew shakes her hand and nods dumbly at her, his mouth slightly open. Finally he pulls himself together enough to say, “Yeah. I’ve, uh, I’ve heard a lot about you, too. It’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you, too.”
I sidle up next to Maggie and put my arm around her. “Andrew was just leaving,” I explain, nodding toward him. “He has to go.”
Andrew stares at Maggie for another moment before quickly glancing my way. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he nods. “Right,” he says quickly. “I was just, uh . . . uh, I have to leave.” And with a little wave of his hand, Andrew turns and steps out of the room, his mouth still not completely closed.
“I thought you said he was good at talking with people,” Maggie whispers once he’s gone.
I laugh. “Normally he is,” I agree. “He’s just kind of in shock right now.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t believe me when I told him how beautiful and smart and wonderful you are,” I explain. “Now he knows I was telling the truth.”
That gets me another kiss.
“It smells wonderful,” Maggie says when we pull apart. “What are you making?”
“Carbonara with mushrooms and scallops,” I say.
“Wow,” she says softly. “That kind of puts the enchiladas I made the other night to shame, doesn’t it?”
“I love enchiladas,” I say honestly. “And those were the best enchiladas I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”
She gives me an appreciative smile, and I wrap her in my arms.
“And I love you,” I say.
She gives me a little laugh and says, “I love you, too.”
We kiss one more time and then break apart to eat our carbonara with mushrooms and scallops.
~Maggie~
Peter is grinning at me as he eats.
Peter has been grinning all night, though, from the minute he opened the door to the moment he got rid of his brother, when he put dinner on the table and now, as we talk about how our days have gone and how we spent the few hours before I got here.
“You really enjoyed that, huh?” I say, nodding toward the door. “Shocking your brother like that?”
His grin grows wider. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
“You’ll probably have more to explain to him later,” I say, “now that he actually believes I exist.”
“Now that he knows you exist,” Peter corrects me. “And I will.”
“When does your dad come back home?” I ask, thinking about Peter’s dad, traveling overseas with his business.
“In a couple of weeks,” Peter says. “You’ll have to come by then so that he can meet you.”
“So you can shock him, too?” I ask.
“No.” Peter grins again. “Well . . . yeah. But mainly so I can introduce you to him.” He smiles at me. “He’ll like you.”
I smile at this and look back down at my food. “This is great,” I say. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“Cookbooks,” he says. “If you can read, you can learn to do anything. When Mom died, Dad and I had to learn a lot of things together. I’ve gotten better over the years.”
No kidding. This is better than anything I can cook.
“If your computer program doesn’t work out,” I say, “you have a future in food.” I shake my head. “But, of course, your computer program is already working out. So, no need to worry about that.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.
“Would you like to meet my dad?” he finally asks.
I look up at him, surprised by this question. “Well, yeah. Of course I would.”
He nods. “Maybe somed
ay I can meet your mom and your stepdad.”
I take a breath at this. “I’m not in touch with them,” I murmur.
There are a lot of explanations I could give for this, all of which I don’t know that I want to even get into right now. I don’t want to invite regrets and guilt into the happiness I’m feeling with Peter. But I know that I’ll have to explain it to him eventually.
“That’s sad,” he says, very simply, even without an explanation.
It is sad. I look up at him and see that he’s watching me, understanding in his eyes.
I don’t know how he gets it, but it’s extremely comforting that he does.
It’s comforting enough that I really believe that I can reconcile with them, that things can be better than they ever were, now that Peter is beside me.
This is so different, thinking like this.
Everything is different since Peter and I have become this. Us. Together.
I feel lighter. I feel like nothing can hurt me. I feel loved. Chosen. So, so lucky.
I want this to be our life. Peter, Emma, and me, together like this. Even this early on, I want it to be our future, for Peter to be there with us every day after work, for us to make a home together, for us to be a family.
It’s too soon, likely. But it feels right. It feels good. Family.
Peter, and the way I feel about him and the goodness he exudes, has me re-thinking a lot of things.
I’m beginning to think that I really should call Mom. That I should get back in touch with her and Seth. It’s time for me to talk to them about Emma, to ease myself back into their world, and to let them into mine. My happiness leaves no room for regrets or discord.
Everything is different.
“Things change,” I say, truly thrilled by the thought of what could be. “So, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet them after all.”
He smiles at this and reaches over for my hand.
Yes. Sometimes things change.
Sometimes they change for the better.
I’m at the front door, kissing Peter.
We finished dinner a few hours ago, and I helped him with the dishes while he told me details about all the ins and outs of another computer program he’s designing right now. He even took me over to his computers afterwards to try and show me what he was talking about, leaning over me with great enthusiasm as he pointed to things, gave me huge words, and took my confused gaze for total comprehension.
I could tell it thrilled him, letting me see just what he’s all about.
I’m thrilled, all right. So thrilled that this goodbye has been going on for a good twenty minutes, right here at his front door.
“I really need to go,” I sigh, reluctantly pulling myself from his lips.
“I know,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again.
I put my hands to his chest and push him playfully. “Seriously, Peter,” I say, giving him another, smaller kiss. “It’s ten o’clock. Tanner is going to file a missing person’s report.”
“I would find you if you went missing,” Peter says, kissing me again. “I’d go anywhere. Do anything. Give everything I have.”
“You’d just use your program,” I laugh against his lips. “And it would work.”
“Yeah,” he laughs back, pulling me even closer. “So, you should—”
My phone rings, cutting him off.
“See?” I say, planting one last kiss on his left cheek, then giving him another one on his right cheek as he smiles at me. “Tanner doesn’t hate you yet, but you’re pushing your luck.”
I fish my phone out of my purse and look at the screen.
Tanner.
I take a breath, even as Peter comes in closer to kiss my neck.
“Hello?”
At first, I can’t understand anything. It’s Tanner. I check the screen again just to make sure. But all I hear are gasps.
Horrible, awful, breath-wrenching gasps.
“Tanner?” I ask, suddenly feeling as though I’m all alone. Miles away from Peter, miles away from this wonderful place, miles away from happiness.
I know that something’s wrong.
“Tanner! What’s going on?”
My tone causes Peter to loosen his grasp on me. I glance over at him and see the worry in my eyes reflected back in his.
“Maggie,” Tanner chokes out. “Oh, Maggie . . . a fire. My car. Emma’s . . .”
Again, he begins to sob.
Emma.
“What about Emma?” I ask. Fire. Car. Emma. What happened? Is Emma okay?
“She’s gone!” Tanner cries. “She’s gone, Maggie!”
I feel my knees go weak, right as Peter catches me by the waist. All that I felt when I heard that Emma was missing with Brandon is exponentially multiplied now.
Gone. She’s gone.
That can only mean one thing.
“She died?” I ask, a sob in my voice. “She’s gone?”
“No,” Tanner continues to sob. “Yes.”
Which is it?!
“Tanner,” I cry. “What?”
“She’s not dead,” he says. “She’s missing. Maggie, she’s gone. Again.”
~Peter~
I am so stupid.
I thought what? That skinny track lady killed Brandon, killed herself, and that was it?
How? Why? And most importantly, why didn’t I ask how and why long before now?
As I drive Maggie back to her house in her car (because she’s in absolutely no shape to drive . . . she could barely even walk out of my house), my mind goes into overdrive.
Skinny track lady wasn’t in this alone. If that wasn’t painfully obvious before, it certainly is now.
How did I think a druggie was paying for an oceanfront house in Bonita Springs? Prostitution may have come to mind, but if skinny track lady was a prostitute, she was a low-end one. Not that I want to speak ill of the dead, but the fact is that this woman probably wasn’t attracting men who had thousands of dollars to throw around on sex.
And so what was going on then?
Babysitting. Whoever paid for that house had probably paid skinny track lady to watch Emma. They had likely killed Brandon. And they are definitely who has Emma right now.
Pulling onto Maggie’s street, we’re shocked at the number of emergency vehicles in front of her apartment building. Police, state troopers, firetrucks, and even an ambulance are parked along the road, their red and blue lights cutting into the dark night sky. Tanner’s car, parked along the curb, is unrecognizable. Small puffs of smoke are still rising from it, and in the red and blue lights of emergency vehicles, I can see that it is a total loss. I get as close to Maggie’s apartment building as I can and then help Maggie down the street and to her front door, where Tanner meets us, sobbing apologies.
I should be apologizing, too. How did I not see this coming?
Tanner and Maggie sit next to each other on the couch while the police question both of them, and slowly the whole story unfolds.
Tanner put Emma to bed around eight o’clock, and then he settled down in front of the television where he promptly fell asleep. He woke up an hour or so later when he heard his car alarm going off.
He looked out the front window and saw that his car was on fire. Running outside, he quickly determined that it was fully engulfed and so—standing on the front lawn—he called 911 before grabbing a garden hose that was in front of the apartment building and trying in vain to douse the flames.
The first fire truck arrived within five minutes and put the fire out in short order. Tanner then realized that he should probably go inside and check on Emma.
“I thought the sirens might have scared her,” he explained, and he started to cry again.
When he found Emma’s bed empty, he quickly searched the apartment for her and then made a startling discovery: the window to the back door had been broken out, and the door itself was unlocked. That was when he’d called Maggie.
“I’m sorry,” he sobs again, as Maggie assures him repeate
dly that this isn’t his fault.
I send a text to Andrew, and within twenty minutes he arrives, stepping inside with a worried look on his face. I hold up one finger to him, signaling him that I’ll be with him in a minute, and then I sit down on the couch next to Maggie, who hasn’t stopped crying since her phone rang back at my house. I put my arm around her, pulling her ear close to my mouth.
“I have to leave,” I tell her, and she starts crying harder.
“I’m not going to Crystal’s,” I tell her. This probably isn’t at all on her mind, but I still feel the need to make sure she knows this. “I’m going to look for Emma. Okay?”
More crying.
“I’m going to look for her, and I’m going to find her,” I whisper. “Do you understand?”
She manages to nod.
“I love you, Maggie,” I say, still whispering.
And even though her daughter has just been ripped from her life again, she still keeps the promise that she made to me.
“I love you, too,” she whispers back.
~Maggie~
I didn’t get any sleep last night.
I haven’t slept, yet as my feet hit the concrete and the morning sun warms my back, I feel like I’m in a dream.
A very, very bad dream.
This doesn’t seem real. How have I lost Emma twice now? How could this have happened to me again?
Where is she? Who has her? What’s going on?
I’ve tried praying. I’ve pleaded with God all night, begging Him to bring her back to me. I’m willing to negotiate with Him, to do whatever He wants me to do, whatever it takes to get my baby back. This is how it felt before, but this time . . . this time is worse because I was beginning to feel like our happily ever after was in sight.
Then, it was ripped away from me.
I was so panicked last night that I broke down and called the one person who might understand how I feel. A mother who has lost a child.
My mother. She lost me. Back when I found out I was pregnant with Emma, she lost me in a very real sense.
“Hello?” she’d answered with a question in her voice. Late night and all, and my siblings are teenagers, some of them old enough to have jobs and friends that keep them out late at night and keep my mother ready at her phone, prepared to hear that they’re in trouble, that they need her . . .
