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Maggie sits up. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. One second.”
He steps into the hallway with the phone already at his ear. The door closes behind him. The game music keeps playing for a few seconds before Maggie reaches for the remote and lowers the volume.
The quiet that follows is not comfortable.
I set the controller down. “He doesn’t know,” I say.
She looks at the door first, then at me. “No.”
I nod once.
I don’t ask why. Not because I don’t want to know, but because I have spent enough time in her apartment tonight to understand that Nate is not an afterthought. He’s part of the reason. Maybe not all of it, but enough.
“He worries about you,” I say.
“I know, but he thinks he hides it well,” she says.
“So do you.”
That gets me a look.
I stand and begin gathering the empty containers because if I sit there and keep looking at her, the conversation will move too fast. She has been sick today. She has seen Alester. Her brother has arrived without warning. She has spent the last hour balancing three versions of the truth at the same table.
She follows me into the kitchen. “You don’t have to clean.”
“I know.”
“You always say that and keep doing the thing.”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re consistent.”
I rinse one of the containers and set it near the sink. Her faucet drips after I turn it off. “You need a new washer,” I say.
“My faucet has survived this long without male intervention.”
“It’s leaking.”
“It’s expressing itself.”
I look at her. She gives me the smallest smile, tired but real, and that’s the moment I lose the last of my patience with the distance between us.
She’s standing by the counter, arms folded loosely, hair coming out of its clip. The kitchen light is too bright, the space too narrow, the apartment too full of things we can’t say while her brother is in the hallway.
Still, she takes one step closer.
“Maggie.”
“You say my name like a warning.”
“It often is.”
“For me or you?”
I don’t answer because I honestly don’t know the truth. I’m playing with fire, but it hurts too good.
