Page 220 of The Way I Hate Him
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Maggie’s carpulls up in the driveway, and she puts it in park. I walk out on the porch, wearing a holey shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, while my hair is pulled into a high ponytail that feels more like a side pony than anything.
And of course Maggie looks like perfection in a matching set of leggings and crop top from Lululemon. Her hair is in elegant waves, while her mascara makes her beautiful eyes stand out.
“You look like you’ve been sleeping in a dumpster,” she says as she pulls me into a hug. “Ahh, but you smell good, so I guess that’s all that matters.” She grips my shoulders and puts a foot of distance between us. “How are you?”
“Doing okay.”
“Do we still hate him?”
“I want to be mature and say no, but yeah, we hate him.”
She nods. “Do we still love him?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Okay, just trying to gauge where we’re at. This is good information. Still upset, which gives us all the right to eat all the donuts, but doing well enough to walk off said donuts later. Am I correct?”
I chuckle, loving her so much. “Yes, you are correct.”
“Good.” She pulls me into a hug again and says, “I love you. You are perfect, and he’s an absolute moron for letting you out of his sight.”
“Thank you.” I hug her back.
“Now, help me with my things. I got one of those blowup mattresses that’s a double. I won’t be on that floor anytime soon with the height I’ll get with this baby.”
She leads me toward her car and opens her trunk, then pulls out her suitcase and a laundry basket of mail and personal items from the apartment. “This is for you,” she says. She places a box of donuts on top of my personal things. “These are for us. The maple frosted is mine, so don’t even think about it. I’ve been smelling that son of a bitch for this entire drive.” She grabs the handle of the air mattress and says, “And this is my new lover, Winston. We might make a lot of noise together, but just know, he’s keeping me comfortable.”
“You have issues.”
She shuts her trunk and picks up her suitcase as well. “I was not risking some small bed to share with you or a couch cushion on the floor as a bed. You know I demand the finest of things.”
“Believe me, I know.”
We make our way up the porch and into the house, the squeaky screen door slamming behind us. I carry the laundry basket to the table while she sets down her suitcase and . . . new lover. She then grabs the box of donuts, takes a seat at the kitchen table, picks up her maple frosted, and takes a huge bite.
With a full mouth, she says, “Sorry, not going to wait for you. My taste buds have been salivating for over two hours. It’s time I reward them.”
I glance at the box. “Dibs on the Boston cream.”
“Why do you think I got it?” She wiggles her eyebrows as I grab some of the mail, only to find a box at the bottom.
“What’s this?” I pull it out and turn it around to look at the return address, which is my apartment address in San Francisco.
Maggie shrugs. “Not sure.”
Confused, I grab a box cutter from the kitchen junk drawer and split open the tape on the box. When I open it, I’m met with bubble wrap and tissue paper.
Maggie stretches to see what’s inside. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” I answer while I pull back the bubble wrap and tissue paper. “I didn’t order—”
My words immediately fall flat the moment I see a card on the top, written in Cassidy’s handwriting.
“Oh my God,” I say, tears immediately forming in my eyes. “Oh my God.”
“What?” Maggie stands now, setting her donut down, and when she sees the card too, I hear the lightest of gasps. “Is that from . . . Cassidy?”
