by Zart, Lindy
It wasn’t until Lance was almost done eating that he decided to say something. The food was better than any he remembered having before, but that wasn’t why he kept quiet. It was obvious Maggie didn’t want to talk right then.
“Maggie,” he said, staring at her plate of untouched food.
She jumped, dropping her fork to the plate. “What?”
He took his gaze from her food and looked her in the eyes. “Your sister is pushy and obvious, not to mention rude. I do not find her attractive in any way.”
Maggie’s mouth tipped up at the corners. “Don’t tell her that.”
“I’m going to try to not say another word to her the whole time I’m here,” he promised, meaning it. Lance reached for her hand and watched as her small fingers curled around his.
“She won’t like that.”
“Ask me if I care.”
She laughed softly, using her free hand to tug the sweater back up when it began to fall off her shoulder, giving Lance a glimpse of her pale pink bra strap.
“Both of your parents are teachers?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Maggie nodded. “Math.” She wrinkled up her nose.
“You don’t like Math?”
One shoulder lifted and lowered.
“Why aren’t you eating?”
“Oh. Um.” Maggie’s face reddened. “I don’t eat much. You know that.”
“I do. But you haven’t eaten anything.”
“I’m just . . . I’m not that hungry.” She wouldn’t look at him.
Lance released her hand and sat back in his chair. He studied her averted face. “You barely ate anything all day.”
“I ate,” she argued, picking up the fork and playing with the mashed potatoes on the plate.
“What did you eat?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I had a piece of pizza this morning.”
“No. You took three bites and then gave it to me. I had the piece of pizza this morning.”
“It’s not a big deal, okay?” Maggie looked up, anger taking over the anxiety. “I’m not that hungry today.”
“Okay,” he finally said, deciding to drop it. Lance finished eating, unease telling him something wasn’t right with Maggie’s eating habits.
They washed and dried the dishes, and after spending an hour with her parents, Maggie showed him her room.
Lance set down his suitcase and looked around the gray and pink room. It was amazing how it smelled exactly like her, even without her being in it for months. It was half the size of his bedroom at his dad’s, and showed a side of her he had yet to see. The room was Maggie, brought together with paint and pictures and CDs. Books overflowed from a case between two windows and her bed was covered in stuffed animals. He squinted his eyes and looked closer. Cats. All of the stuffed animals were cats.
“I used to be obsessed with cats,” she muttered, looking embarrassed.
“I see that. Why cats?”
“I don’t know. I guess because they’re fluffy and soft and cute.”
Lance laughed softly. “Have you ever had one for a pet?”
She shook her head. “Nora is O.C.D. and flipped out when my mom suggested getting a pet. She complained about smells, and hair, and . . . bodily functions.”
He turned to close the door and Maggie’s voice stopped him. “That has to stay open when I’m in here with you. My mom and dad’s one rule.”
She sounded apologetic, but he smiled and shrugged. “Not a big deal.”
Lance noticed the poster above her bed at the same time Maggie did. Head tilted, he stepped closer for a better look. A shriek of horror left her and she tore the image of Lance from the wall. Maggie waded it up, causing Lance to wince, and threw it behind her.
“I asked my mom to take that down and she said she did. Nora must have put it back up. She did it because she knew you’d be sleeping in here. She did it to humiliate me.” Vengeance flared to life in her eyes, her whole face darkening with it. “She is so dead.”
Lance reached for her, placing his palms on her back to bring her closer to him. “I think it’s cute.”
“You would.”
“Kiss me,” he demanded roughly.
He missed her all the time, even then, as he held her in his arms. Maggie’s face softened as she brought her lips to his. Touching her didn’t make him miss her less. Kissing her didn’t help either. He needed that one connection that could never be taken away once known.
“Gross,” Nora muttered loudly as she swept past the door.
Maggie smiled against his lips.
“What do we do now?”
She spun away from him, turned on a radio, and offered her hands. “Dance.” ‘Always’ by Bon Jovi was playing. “Or lie on the bed. Or I can go, if you’re tired. Or—”
Lance placed his hands on her hips and tugged her to him, resting his forehead to hers as they moved in a slow circle. Maggie slid her hands up his arms and locked them behind his neck, taking a deep breath as the song enveloped them. First slow dance as a couple. He closed his eyes and listened to the music, wondering if ‘Always’ by Bon Jovi was going to be their song. Lance kissed her cheek.
***
The next morning started off with a homemade breakfast of French toast, eggs, and bacon. To those that routinely shared home-cooked breakfasts with their family, it would not be a big deal. To Lance, it was. The best meals he and his dad had were takeout. The worst, microwavable.
They spent the day Christmas shopping, Maggie telling him about Dubuque as they made their way around the city. Only a few people recognized Maggie and Lance from the show, while others knew him from previous work. Lance took it in stride, helping Maggie when she stumbled with being seen as a celebrity to those she’d recently been unimportant.
“Maggie,” he said when they walked from the store.
She glanced at him, eyes large with shock.
“Take a deep breath.”
Maggie listened, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “I don’t . . . I never thought about this part of it. When—when I decided to be an actress.”
“You’re safe with me,” Lance told her solemnly.
Maggie hugged him, nodding. “I know.”
That afternoon, they had a snowball fight, Leon joining in and annihilating the both of them with frozen pucks of snow. When night came, they played board games, helped Jennifer bake more cookies, and watched Christmas movies. Nora was spending the night with her boyfriend Hank, which seemed to make Maggie inexorably chipper.
During his time there, Lance felt like he wasn’t only invited to Maggie’s house, but into her family, and he wanted to thank her for that. Even Nora, antagonistic as she was toward her younger sister, made it seem like a real, genuine family. They were close, they loved one another, and no matter what happened in life, they had someone to rely on. Lance wondered what his life would be like, if he had a brother or sister or two, if he had a mother, if his father paid attention to him. It would be annoying, and clustered, and brilliant. That’s what it would be.
“I like your family,” he told her that night.
It was after eleven, closer to Christmas Day than Christmas Eve, each of them sleepy but unwilling to part ways. They lay on her bed on top of the covers and looked at the black ceiling, the outside Christmas lights offering dim, colorful light. The slew of toy cats were on a bench at the foot of the bed.
Maggie snorted, lightly tracing a finger over his lips.
Lance took her hand and moved it away from his mouth, his lips tickled from the touch of her hand. He angled his body over hers, looking down into her eyes. Maggie wore flannel pajamas that were frumpy and sexy and Lance’s tee shirt and pajama pants didn’t seem like enough of a barrier between their bodies. Her eyes locked on his in a way that told him she adored him, and feared him, both at once, and equally. It was the same for him.
Judith’s words ran through his head and he shoved them away. She didn’t know what she was talking about.
“If you
were anyone else, I would have pushed you to have sex by now,” he whispered roughly, each of her wrists manacled by him.
“Why haven’t you?” Maggie whispered back.
Lance dropped his head to hers, moving his face so that it was near her neck. Her pulse fluttered wildly, and he could hear her heartbeat. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes, lying there with them chest to chest.
“Because you deserve more. You deserve better. I know it sounds corny and cliché, but your first time should mean something.”
Maggie stroked the back of his head, not acknowledging his words at first. Her hand paused. “Did your first time mean something?”
Lance allowed a faint smile to cross his mouth. “No, but . . . it’s different for guys. I was too excited about actually having sex to worry about it being special.”
“Guys are weird.” She resumed caressing his hair.
“Yeah.”
He relaxed into her, arms on either side of her as his cheek lightly rested on her chest. He was careful to keep their lower halves from touching. He didn’t trust himself to keep his hands from her if it came to that.
Maggie nudged Lance.
He blinked and partially raised himself up.
“What if I told you I was ready?” she asked shyly.
Lance vaulted from the bed and scrambled to his feet, crossing the room to put as much space between them as he could without actually leaving it.
“Maggie, you don’t know what you’re saying,” he said in a voice thick with yearning.
She sat up, her hair billowed around her in an untamed mass. “Yes, I do.”
“It’s—we’ve—no.” He drove shaking fingers through his hair, knowing it stuck up at odd angles. “We’ve only been together for two months.”
That was the stupidest reasoning he’d ever heard. It wasn’t like he usually cared if he was dating the girl, or even if he particularly liked her. Time had no bearing on his sex life.
“So?” Maggie climbed off the bed, walking toward him.
Lance moved to the left and she followed.
“I’m weak,” he pleaded. “I’ll give in.”
She laughed, moving her hand down his ribcage. “I know, Lance, but it’s okay.” Maggie went on her tiptoes and put her mouth next to his ear. “I have a Christmas present for you.”
He groaned, letting his head fall back. “Maggie, if you say you’re giving me your virginity for a Christmas present, I will not be responsible for my actions—and it will be nonrefundable. I want you to be aware of that.”
She cupped his face, gently bringing it down so that his eyes were even with hers. “It’s technically Christmas Day, and I want your first Christmas present to be from me. It’s not that,” she added.
Lance swallowed down his disappointment and Maggie smiled when he admitted, “I was sort of hoping it was.”
“I know.” She pressed her lips to his, pulling back just far enough to tell him, “I realize stuff like this scares you, and I don’t want you to feel pressured to say it back, okay?”
Giving her a wary look, he said, “Okay.”
“I love you.”
Lance turned to stone, his lungs forgetting how to properly work. He stared at Maggie’s open, expectant face, and he shut down. Panic set his pulse to overdrive and he turned his back on her. He studied the partially frosted window, tracing the designs with his eyes until his heartbeat steadied. She loved him. He’d known it. Lance loved Maggie as well, but saying it, and hearing it . . . it made him want to bolt.
Maggie put her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his back. “I don’t expect you to say it back, not until you’re ready, but I wanted you to know.”
“You know I do?” he questioned in an uneven voice.
Her hold on him tightened. “Yes.”
Lance exhaled slowly, hugging her arms to his stomach. He tipped his head back until it rested on the crown of her head. Then he spun around, grabbed her, and kissed her with need so potent he thought he could hear it sing through his veins. Maggie’s hands roved up and down his front, and when she pressed her hips to his, he tensed and accidentally bit her. Lance expected her to pull away, but she only kissed him harder, fingers digging into the waistband of his pants. It would take so little to remove them, walk to her bed, and be inside her.
Except they were in her parents’ house, and he didn’t have any condoms, and the door was open.
Heart hammering in his chest, lightheaded with lust, Lance broke away. He took gasping breaths of air, staring at Maggie’s swollen lips and eyes lit up with passion.
She touched his cheek. “Maybe I could be your first official time—with someone you love.”
“My first time,” he whispered, his chest feeling like a huge weight pressed against it. “You’re slaying me right now. You have to stop,” Lance pleaded.
“I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” Maggie moved to the bed and sat down. “I got you something else, but I’ll give it to you later.”
“I don’t know if I can take any more of your gifts.”
He caught her small smile in the semi-dark room.
Lance told her, “You already gave me the best gift, Maggie. Nothing can top it.”
“I did?” She tilted her head. “What?”
She told him she loved him. That was the best gift, but there was also another good one, one he could say without feeling nauseous.
“You let me spend Christmas with you and your family. Thank you.”
“You really do like them.”
He smiled. “You sound surprised.”
“I am surprised.”
“Don’t take your family for granted. A lot of people don’t have ones like yours.”
Her eyebrows lowered, but instead of replying, she stretched out and patted the bed. “Lie with me for a little longer.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Please?”
Lance did as she gently commanded, careful to keep space between them. The silence was edgy, both of them wound up with emotions.
He turned his head and found Maggie’s eyes on him. “Turn on your side, and face away from me.”
Maggie paused. “What?”
“Do it,” he said softly, looking into her trusting eyes.
The bed shifted as she moved.
Swallowing around a tight throat, he reached out a wobbly hand to her back. Lance slowly slid up her top, fingers caressing her skin. Maggie shivered, goose bumps breaking out across her flesh. He kissed the small of her back, felt her go still, and then he traced three words onto her skin. Maggie held her breath, released it, held it again, and released it once more. She reached around, found his hand, and brought it up under her arm to her neck. Lance moved closer and his body formed to the back of hers.
“What did you get me?” he asked after a while.
“I can’t tell you. Then it won’t be a surprise.”
“I really mean it when I say I’m good without any more surprises tonight.”
Maggie laughed and turned in his arms, their faces inches from one another’s, their legs intertwined. “I got you a Bon Jovi CD. I think ‘Always’ is our song.”
Lance’s face split in a grin. “I got you the same thing.”
“What? You did not.”
“I did.”
“Well, that settles it. You and I are mushy dorks.”
“Mushy dorks with their own song,” he corrected. He touched a lock of her hair, not wanting to say the words he was about to say. “You should go to bed before we get in trouble.”
“You’re right.” Maggie sighed and kissed him one last time. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
Like she was his own personal lightbulb, Lance’s world darkened when she left. He closed his eyes, repeating her words over and over in his head. She loved him. She loved him. Lance told himself not to freak out. He told himself he could handle having Maggie’s love, but part of him felt sick at the thought of her trust
ing him with her heart. He didn’t want that responsibility.
It was as if he held a bomb in his hands, and didn’t know when it was going to go off—only that it would.
MAGGIE—2010
MAGGIE STARED AT the questionnaire in the magazine, muttering to herself at her answers.
Q: What do you do for hobbies?
A: Eat pretzels and watch Doctor Who. I used to eat pretzels. Now I eat lettuce.
Q: Where do you see yourself in twenty years?
A: Eating pretzels and watching Doctor Who. I really miss eating pretzels. Curse Lance Denton for taking away my pretzels!
Q: If you could meet any famous person, dead or alive, who would it be and why?
A: Matt Smith from Doctor Who. Because he’s the Doctor. And maybe he’d give me a pretzel. I wouldn’t share it with Lance either.
Shaking her head, she tossed the pen and magazine to the side and stared out the window, where she had a clear view of flourishing trees and an occasional glimpse of the houses across the street. When Maggie went to buy a house, she had certain requirements for the building that was to become her home. The privacy fence was a must, original woodwork inside the house was a nice bonus, and whether the house had a four-season room would either make or break the sale.
Three walls of the room at the front of the house were windowed, presently open to allow in a nice breeze. With white trim around the windows, doorway, and floor, and turquoise walls with pale yellow accent colors, the room reminded her of the ocean, and she’d decorated it accordingly. White wicker furniture, pictures of shorelines framed in seashells and plaques with beach sayings, made simply sitting in the room therapeutic. Usually.
Restlessness and something else told Maggie to leave and find Lance. There was a countdown to his last day in her employ, and each second brought it closer. She would have thought that would make her happy, or at least relieved, but she was sad that one day soon she would not be able to see Lance on a daily basis, if at all.
