Page 67 of When the Walls Come Down
My sister walked off with the rest of the gifts, and Maggie just kinda stood there.
I slipped my arm around her back to guide her forward, and instinctively—before I could help myself—my lips ever so briefly pressed against her bare shoulder.
She gasped and looked up at me.
“I’m sorry, but you know I’m weak, and you should have worn a sweater.”
“It’s almost eighty-five degrees out,” she argued.
I moved us toward the patio and said, “Yeah, yeah. Excuses. Excuses.”
The thing was, she didn’t try to wiggle out of my touch. She didn’t step away to put distance between us. She didn’t even make an attempt to brush my hand away from her back.
Maybe she’d let herself be mine again—even if it were just for the day.“How long are you going to wait to tell your friend Maggie that you’re in love with her?” Reggie asked point-blank as he passed me a beer. He was holding his sleeping daughter in his other arm when he sat beside me on the concrete wall where I’d been staring at Peach, laughing with Mom, Nora, and Blake for way too long.
I took the beer and averted my eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The fuck I don’t.”
“It’s complicated, Reggie. Drop it.”
“It’s always complicated. Trust me. Complicated things are sort of my expertise. So I’ll ask you again.” He shifted so the sun wasn’t beaming down on his infant’s face. “When are you going to stop being a pussy and tell her how you feel? Or are you going to waste time on bullshit circumstances—that won’t even matter a few years from now, by the way—and let them be the excuses you tell yourself that kept you from the only woman I’ve ever seen you look at like that?”
“But Bay—” I began.
“Fuck Bay Brewing. That’s a job, not a life.”
I popped the cap off and tossed the cold brew back. “It can’t be love. I’ve known her less than a month.”
He pointed the end of his closed beer at me, silently asking to open it for him, and I did.
Reggie sarcastically kept going. “Yeah, you’re probably right. You probably don’t think about her constantly. Or picture a future with her or the hell one would be without her in it. You probably don’t share any inside jokes or stupid rituals. There’s no way you probably dream about her every night or itch to call her just to see what she’s doing or find any excuse to touch her.” He took a sip. “And why would you? Look at her over there, blending with our family like she’s known us for years, every so often smiling at you. She’s a monster, coming with you to your nephew’s birthday party on her day off. You’re right. There’s probably nothing there.”
Was I brooding eight feet away from a twelve-foot-tall bounce house?
Was Reggie right? I mean, he usually was, but about this?
But the biggest question was: Did I love her? And if I did, what the fuck was I going to do about it?
My brother, almost like he knew he’d dropped a bomb on my life, while a stupid party clown twisted up balloons of dogs and snakes and cowboy hats, finally added, “I’ve been handling your money since you started making any—and I’m the motherfucking best at what I do—so you can’t fool me into believing this whole friends thing is because of a job. Seriously, I learned this lesson the hard way, but sometimes, when you want something bad enough, you have to be willing to let everything else go. Standing still will get you nowhere, big brother—especially with that friend of yours.” He stood, but before he walked away, he stated, “Make a move or move on, but for the love of God, Shane, at least make a choice.”
No sooner than Reggie carried Mila off to put her down, Casey took his seat.
“So, about Maggie—” he began, but I couldn’t sit through another lecture.
“Shut the fuck up. I just went through all this with Reggie.”
“What? I was just going to say she fits right in.” Casey laughed, and Roe ran up with her inflatable bouquet.
“Daddy, look.”
“I know. Aren’t they pretty, Little Bee?”
“I’m going to give them to Mommy.” The curly-headed angel blushed and tucked her face into Casey’s stomach.
He bent and kissed the top of her head. “You’re such a sweet baby girl. You know that?”
And it was handfuls of moments like that throughout the rest of the day when I really thought about what I wanted in the days, weeks, months, and years to come. All of those images had one thing in common.
A blond, Southern, ranch-dressing-eating, Italian-food-loving pistol.
I wanted her to be mine.
So, after the presents had all been opened, the cake had been eaten, and all the hugs and goodbyes had been said, I walked her to my truck, opened her door, and then we drove away. Her skin was kissed from the sun, and she had this lazy, happy grin on her flushed face all the way into the building and into the elevator.
