by Mj Fields
After having dinner with Maisie, she asked me if I would sit with her for a bit.
I expected her to ask me a million questions about Angela, who she’d met at the de la Porte event, or Bass, but she didn’t.
She told me she needed to speak to me in strict confidence and then told me she was dying. She told me everything I already knew, and that she wasn’t afraid to die, she was actually excited about seeing her husband, her love of a million lifetimes again. She requested me not to tell Bass, that she didn’t think he was strong enough to handle that and all that was going on with de la Porte, but she knew I was strong enough. I was strong enough because I had fought a war for others to survive and knew what it meant to risk my life for the wellbeing of others. Again, I agreed. At least there would be no lying to him, he already knew. Then she asked me to promise that I let her live her last days the way she wanted to. I agreed. Finally, she asked me to allow myself to be loved. To accept I deserve it and then she stressed there was someone out there who needed a man like me to show her what it’s like to be loved the way a woman deserved to be loved. I didn’t verbalize my agreement because no woman deserved to be cursed with the love of a man who hasn’t a fucking clue how to love a woman properly.
Standing in the great room at Maisie’s at three in the morning, I try to find my calm by watching the lightning crackle over the Atlantic Ocean.
There are just over 6730 miles from where I am to a war where I could have died a million different times in just as many ways. Soldiers and civilians lost their lives daily, yet I couldn’t be farther away, and I couldn’t be more detached.
I knew Maisie was dying. I knew I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. But when she told me tonight, it was never so real.
Maisie is a fucking soldier for good. Always has been, and she deserves to sit next to her husband in the clouds if she wants. To rest in peace like she deserves.
I’m just over 6730 miles from where I believed I would die a hero. Eight fucking tours, ten metals, and not a fucking scratch. The past, not Karma, keeps spitting my ass back here, reminding me that I haven’t earned the right to rest yet.
Two days later, en route to the City, I get a call from one of Maisie’s nurses. Right after I left, she fell, and was now on her way to the hospital.
I thought I was prepared for this, but I’m not, not one fucking bit.
Three hours later after trying to calm her down, calling Bass to get his ass here because she’s a fucking mess. I’m watching her sleep, holding her hand; she has a broken fucking hip, a mild concussion, and her brain tumor has grown.
One day after Bass returns, we’ve got a plan. A plan that includes Maisie, Bass, and I meeting Angela in Paris for a “family vacation”, where we will also work to replace the fucking designer who bailed on us, because she was offered a better opportunity by Ines, the woman who brought Bass into the industry, made him a model.
An hour before we leave, Bass tells me we’re picking up the new designer, a surprise for Angela, who by the conversations I’ve overheard has no clue he found someone, the new designer he “discovered”. A freshman at the London College of Design, Natasha, Angela’s daughter… my Grace doppelganger.
No way in hell would I face that shit, if not for Maisie.
Part III
Oliver (Paris)
15
Oliver
“You okay, man?” Bass’s hand clamps my knee as we take off.
“I hate flying.”
“You’ve flown across this same ocean more than a dozen times, brother,” he winks.
Clearly, Angela and Bass have made up. Fucker’s full of confidence… again. Any other time, I’d be happy for him.
But not now.
Not when I have to face something close to the past. Something that’s now haunted me again, in black and white. Until this girl, if it’s her, and I hope it’s not, has haunted my dreams, in color.
“We’re going to Paris, Oliver,” Maisie smiles and closes her eyes.
“The city of love,” Bass says, taking her hand and kissing it.
Her eyes still closed, she giggles silently before saying, “And the city of lights.”
I’ve never heard it called that and for some reason, it rubs me the wrong way.
I’d rather take the fucking dark.
I watch from the small jet window as a girl, Natasha, steps out of a car. Blonde hair blowing wildly in the wind, getting damp from the drizzle. Over her shoulder, a black leather backpack, under her arm a portfolio, and covering her eyes, a pair of large black sunglasses too big for her petite face, and on her lips, a ghost of a smile. Her elfin frame is covered in a black trench coat and tied at the waist. She’s wearing knee high black boots.
My heart stops and whispers, “Grace.”
Then it pounds painfully. Jackhammering an unsteady beat inside my chest.
Bass meets Natasha on the runway, he hugs her, and when they begin walking toward the plane, her pale cheeks turn pink, her blonde hair covers her face as she looks down, but I can see a shy smile.
She likes him. I don’t know why this gives me a slight pang of relief, but it does.
When they walk onto the plane, I look down and fuck with my phone, trying to avoid eye contact.
“Ollie,” Bass whispers because Maisie is asleep. “This is Angela’s daughter, Natasha.”
I look up and give a nod, but I don’t dare fucking look at her, fearing I won’t look away and I’ll freak her the fuck out.
“Ollie,” Bass repeats my name.
Fuck.
I toss my phone aside and start to stand.
“You don’t have to get up.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me? Her voice even sounds like Grace’s. Her words are soft and sweet, like a song.
Jesus Christ, I scold myself, get your shit together.
I shove my hand in my pockets and shrug, “You can sit there. I’m sure Maisie will be happy to meet you.”
Her nose scrunches slightly. “But you, not so much, huh?”
Well fuck, I wasn’t expecting sarcasm.
I look up at her as she pushes her sunglasses up and she has green eyes.
Of course, she does, jackass, I curse at myself, you saw fucking pictures.
But they weren’t the palest shade of green you’d ever seen. And now I’m arguing with myself.
What. In. The. Fuck?
“I’m indifferent.”
Nice, Oliver. Real fucking nice.
“Oliver, man,” Bass chuckles nervously and runs his hand through his hair.
“I apologize,” I take a step forward. “Haven’t slept much. Wasn’t trying to be–”
My foot is caught on something and I fall forward, unable to free it, I realize I’m gonna crush this girl.
I grab her and twist my body so I end up on my back, and she’s… right fucking on top of me.
She gasps and her goddamn breath is hot cinnamon as the words “Ohmygod” rush out.
I immediately let go and she jumps up.
Maisie, who is now awake, and Bass both laugh. Natasha bites her top lip and bows her head. Her hair covers her face as she giggles and holds out her hand. “Let me help you.”
Help me? I think as I sit up. Help. Fucking. Me?
“I’m capable,” I nearly snap as I lean forward and unhook my foot from the dangling seat belt.
“Oliver,” Maisie scolds.
“Maisie,” I stand and nod to… her. “I apologize.”
“For falling for me?” she asks.
“What?” comes out real fucking harsh.
“I mean… you know…I... I… I–” She pauses, clears her throat, and whispers, “Never mind.”
“I’m gonna head to the back.” And I do, in a fucking hurry.
I’m as far back as I can get without actually jumping out, and I’m seriously considering it. I hear Bass offer her a drink, she declines. Maisie asks her a million questions and she answers sweetly, softly and now much more slowl
y, like she’s concentrating on what to say.
I fucking did that, I made this girl, who got on a plane full of strangers to surprise her mother, who may be pissed, I sure would be, a girl who was confident, fucking stutter, because I’m seeing ghosts.
After the plane takes off, I close my eyes, lean against the wall, and pretend to be asleep. But I can’t get there. Thankfully it’s a short flight.
The ride to the mansion isn’t any less uncomfortable. When we arrive, Bass asks me to hang back with Maisie, who’s in her wheelchair, and Natasha to take a spin around the block, so he can prepare Angela. I lose my shit once again.
“You better make it quick. I’m not a damn babysitter.” I look toward Maisie and Natasha.
Bass looks truly concerned. “You okay?”
“I’m fucking fine, man. Jesus, go.” I shove my hands in my pockets and don’t dare look up because I feel aspen green eyes glaring at me. I kick at the stones on the ground and follow them from a distance.
I’m not sure what they’re talking about, but she’s pushing Maisie’s frail body in a wheel chair and I should be the one doing it.
I hurry to catch up. Once beside her, I point to the chair. “Let me.”
Maisie looks up and smiles, “There you are.”
“I was just a few feet back,” I tell her, thinking she’s confused.
“You sure about that?” She smirks.
She’s not confused, she knows I’m not myself.
I lean down and whisper, “I’ll do better.”
She pats my hand. “I know you will.”
I blow out a slow, deep breath as I stand straight and look over at Natasha who’s picking a flower off one of the trees and smelling it. “Hey.”
She looks over her shoulder at me and replies, “Hey.’
“I apologize for… before. I’m an ass when I’m tired.” Or when I see ghosts.
“Apology accepted,” she says, pushing herself up on her toes, reaching for the largest bloom. I reach over her and snap it off, then try to hand it to her.
She shakes her head no and points to Maisie. I nod and bend to hand it to her.
“Thank you, Oliver.” Maisie holds the flower under her nose and inhales the aroma.
“It wasn’t–” I stop when I feel Natasha’s hand cover mine and I look at her. She holds her finger to her lips, telling me to shhh, leans over and then whispers, “Every girl deserves to feel special.”
I need space, so much fucking space from this moment that’s causing consumption of -every fucking thing. Fucking past.
I turn Maisie around. “Let’s get back.”
We walk through an overgrown garden of wild flowers and full Japanese maple trees surrounding the home. I watch as Natasha takes in all I suppose she finds beautiful. She is female, after all. She walks ahead of us up the short path to the wrought iron gates where she stops and audibly sighs at the sight of Jean’s “home”.
Maisie’s home is massive and beautiful, a beach mansion. This place is a four-story antique white mason masterpiece, almost museum like. I see nothing modern about it, at all.
But then again, I’m not really looking at it, I’m watching her take it in.
She looks up and smiles. I follow her line of vision.
“Maisie, look, there are angels here.”
I look down as Maisie looks up. If Maisie wasn’t already in ‘heaven’ over the idea of Bass being in love, and bringing this girl into her “family”, she was now. Never heard anyone talk or have a fierce belief in angels like Maisie does.
I note the stairs it takes to get into the mini palace. No ramp, and just like the bar, it pisses me off. Maisie didn’t even realize I was basically carrying the chair up the stairs. And for that I’m glad.
After maneuvering the wheelchair up the stairs in the entrance, we enter the mansion and hear Bass. “Why do you think those designs look so familiar? Why do you think I’ve kept the designer’s name confidential?”
“What?” Angela steps back.
“The night you were fucked up on wine and I carried you from the bathroom, I looked around while Autumn was helping you. I picked up a notebook off the pile in the box.”
“You can’t do that, Bass. They’re hers. She’s—”
“Hey, Mom,” Natasha laughs.
Angela doesn’t move, her back is to us.
“Mom?” Natasha giggles. “Maisie’s dying to see you.”
Fuck, I think. Bad choice of words.
Bass turns Angela around and smiles, “Look at our family, Angela. Ours.”
Jesus, Bass, way to throw her into it when she hasn’t stepped ten feet inside yet.
I look at her, Natasha’s smiling and her head isn’t down. She’s fucking beauti–
No. Fuck no, I scold myself.
Angela takes in a deep breath as she comes closer. She holds out one arm, and Natasha runs in and hugs her. While Angela hugs her daughter, she reaches out her other hand to Maisie, who takes it.
Well fuck, they are a family.
After a tour of the downstairs and the grounds, I pull Bass aside.
“I want to run to de la Porte headquarters here. You all eat dinner together and I’ll be back later.”
“Stay–”
“I’ll be back.” I leave without saying another word.
When I get back to the de la Porte mansion, Bass answers the door.
“Was gonna send out a search party,” he jokes. “Your phone dead?”
I nod as I blow in my hands to warm them. “How’d things go?”
“Fine, you should’ve been here. You’re part of this family, man.” He gives me a concerned look.
I nod again.
“Did you get to de la Porte?”
“I just took a walk.”
“Well, why don’t you come in Maisie’s quarters and watch a movie with us.” He gives me a tight smile.
“How bad is it?”
“Sense and Sensibility,” he sighs.
“You’re kidding, right?” I ask as I follow him in.
Maisie’s quarters are the massive living room, with a hospital bed and handicap accessible items to the far left, and a living room in the center.
When we walk in, Maisie looks up from between Angela and Natasha and smiles. “Remember the book Sense and Sensibility?”
“How could I forget?” I half laugh.
It was one of the many books Maisie insisted Bass and I read. She called it a classic, I called it unrealistic bullshit. Bass sits on the oversized sectional next to Angela, and I make my way to that side too.
“Come sit here,” Maisie says, pointing to the spot next to Natasha.
Fuck no, screams inside my head, but I have to keep it together. That’s what I told myself over and over on the nearly two-hour walk.
Bass sits down and I make my way to… the past. When I sit, Natasha clicks play on the remote and smiles up at me.
I immediately realize she’s much more at ease around people she knows, her mom. Oddly, I’m best with strangers.
I nod and look at the television.
During the entire movie, I want to crawl out of my skin. When she taps her knee to my leg, I almost do.
She looks at me and nods to Maisie, who is smiling at Bass and her mother. Maisie chooses that time to look at me. I give her a nod, so she is reminded I think the two could make it work as well.
She looks back at Bass. “I couldn’t be happier for you. You did good, Bass.” She taps Angela’s hand with hers. “Very well indeed.”
“Now, if you could work on this guy.” Bass points at me.
If that wasn’t awkward enough, Maisie’s reply made it worse. “Oh, he’s well on his way.”
What the hell is she talking about? I ask myself.
She gives me a wink and a smirk that says she sees something, and if she does, she’s seeing it all
fucking wrong. But how do I tell her that? I fucking can’t, because she’s Maisie, and she’s dying.
She looks
away smugly and I look at Bass who looks confused. I roll my eyes and he
smirks.
Maisie puts her arm around Natasha and pulls her into a hug. Natasha pulls her feet up
on the couch and snuggles into her.
After a few minutes, her little feet are against my hip and I don’t like it, yet I can’t push them away, for more reasons than I care to admit. After several minutes, they seem to be applying more pressure, or maybe I’m just feeling them more.
Unreal, I think. From sitting here watching a damn movie, to the little doppelganger feet
pushing against me. This situation is unreal.
When Maisie dozes off, I notice Natasha has done the same… and her feet are now on my lap.
I’m ten seconds from crawling out of my skin when I slide left and let her feet hit the couch.
Her eyes open and she looks disoriented, but I’m not sticking around to familiarize her with
the surroundings. Not my fucking place.
I hurry around the back of the couch and Bass looks back at me.
“I need to hit the rack.” He looks confused. “Sleep, Bass, I need to sleep.”
He asks Angela, “Do we have rooms picked out for them?”
“Of course.”
Angela leads us all up the stairs. I get a room directly across the hall from Natasha.
Fucking lovely, I think as I force myself to thank her and then hurry in and shut the door.
I can still hear them, though.
“Unreal, Mom. This is unreal.”
“Isn’t it?” Angela asks her.
“I’m sure she liked you before she knew you were loaded, syphilis guy.” Natasha is calling Bass, what? I push my ear closer to the door.
“I don’t doubt that. If I had, that would have disappeared when I learned she was just as loaded.”
“What?” Natasha laughs like it’s a big joke. It’s not, Jean left Angela a lot of stock in the company.
“I didn’t tell her everything,” Bass promises Angela. “Some things aren’t my business.”
“What is he talking about?” Natasha asks her mom.
