10. Maggie

CHAPTER 10

MAGGIE

I’m in my happy place.

Well, I’m in my uncle’s backyard, but for now, it’s my happy place.

I lived with my grandparents throughout my whole childhood. There were times when my mom lived with us, too, and times she talked about the two of us getting a place of our own.

That dream life never materialized. As an adult, it hurts to look back on all the times she never showed up or to remember all the excuses Gam made on her behalf.

But as a kid, I was always secretly glad when my mom bailed on a weekend visit because that gave me more time with Pop.

Hal Baylor was a quiet man. Where Gam was a chatty extrovert, a social butterfly who got her fuel from being around other people, Pop was much happier on his own, especially if that meant he could be outside in his garden. That’s where I’d always find him, and where I began to escape to, as well.

I don’t remember the first time I dug my fingers into the rich earth and planted flowers with Pop; I just can’t remember a time when I wasn’t doing it.

We’d sit in companionable silence for hours, working side-by-side to make the spacious yard into the garden showplace my grandmother loved to flaunt at neighborhood parties and barbeques.

The summer I was thirteen, Pop dug up a bed of calla lilies and replaced them with sunflowers because they were my favorite. Gam had a fit, but he placated her with some story about rose rot. She sulked for a few days but got over herself after we built her a small pond with a bed of pink calla lilies at the edge.

Days spent in the backyard with Pop are some of my very best memories. He passed away in the fall of my senior year of high school and Gam died of grief the following April. Their house sold that summer, just a few days before I left for California.

Back then, Uncle Hudson tried to get me to stay here with him and his wife. He’d only been coaching at BU for a year, but the way he was selling the place, they should have given him a spot in the marketing department. No sales pitch could have changed my mind back then. I was hell-bent on heading west and finding my roots, such as they were. I was fully convinced I’d find the missing pieces of myself, the answers that would finally make my life make sense.

Just over three years later, and I’m right where Uncle Hudson wanted me to be. I’m no closer to finding myself or understanding my parents or the choices they made.

I’m a little older, but no wiser.

I’m right back in the dirt.

I may not have any of the answers I was searching for but I have free rein over this backyard, a credit card I can use at the local nursery, and about a million ideas to make my Uncle’s yard even prettier than Gam’s was .

“Wow.”

As though my thoughts transported him out here, Uncle Hudson stands before me, hands on his hips, his blue eyes wide.

I smile up at him from my spot on the grass. “You’ll be repeating that one word in a few months, I swear. But you’ll need to work on your tone. Here’s a tip, more awe, less abject horror.”

He laughs, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle. “It’s not horror, I swear. I just…is there anything left at the plant place? Did you buy them out?”

“Ha ha,” I say, rolling my eyes and taking in the scene from his perspective. I know it’s not a money thing. Uncle Hudson has more than enough in his bank account from his pro hockey days, and the salary he draws from the university has to be hefty. I’m thinking his bug-eyed expression has more to do with the fact that his patio is covered in bags of mulch and soil, and that I’m sitting here surrounded by plants and planters on all sides. I really didn’t buy too much, but to the untrained eye I guess it looks like a lot of stuff. “Believe me, there’s plenty left at the nursery. If I hadn’t left some there, what would I buy next week?”

My uncle laughs as he surveys the work I’ve already done. I’ve been out here for hours, partly because it’s kind of weird, living here. I’ve been on my own the past three years in California, so having two roommates, who happen to be married adults, is a little strange. Don’t get me wrong: I’m grateful they opened their home to me. But it’s easier to express that gratitude by sprucing up their yard than it is to sit around and make idle chit chat over coffee.

“You really have Pops’s green thumb. Missed me, for sure,” he says, peering at the rows of hens and chicks I planted earlier today.

“What are these?” He asks, moving onto the largest bed in the yard .

“Pink Cloud Asters. And they’ll just get taller. I’m going to add some deeper colors in the coming weeks, but those will grow tall pretty quickly and fill in some of the empty spaces.”

Uncle Hudson nods like he knows what I’m talking about, then thrusts a travel mug toward me.

“Here,” he says. “You’ve been out here a while and I thought you might like a cup of coffee. Jules never eats breakfast, but the woman lives for coffee. I hope high test is ok?”

I nod politely and smile, taking a sip and dutifully ignoring the bitter taste. Truthfully, I don’t drink coffee unless it’s drizzled with caramel or covered in whipped cream and chocolate cookie crumbles. But I’m a guest here and my grandmother would probably haunt me for eternity if she ever found out I wasn’t using my best manners, especially around her beloved baby boy.

“It’s good, thanks,” I say, setting the stainless steel tumbler down on a paver.

He gives me a chin tilt in response and wanders around the yard for a few more minutes. It’s not awkward, necessarily, just…odd? It’s not bad, but it’s a far cry from the easy-going banter Viv shares with her aunts and uncles. I know Uncle Hudson is glad I’m here, and the suite Jules made up for me looks like it belongs in a magazine. You don’t do all that for no reason. I know they care about me. I just think they don’t really know what to do with me, either. And that’s fair. I’m not quite sure what to do with them, to be honest. We’re not adversaries, but we’re not a close-knit family. We’re more like polite strangers with an intertwined past. At least that’s how it feels to me.

The back door opens and Jules emerges, lugging two large suitcases behind her. Uncle Hudson springs into action, taking the bags from her and carting them over to her SUV in the driveway.

Jules’s gaze roams over the yard and I brace myself for judgment, though I have to admit my aunt has been nothing but kind to me. Still, Gam was never Jules’s biggest fan, so I guess it’s just ingrained in my brain that Jules is programmed to find something wrong with me or what I’ve done.

“Oh, I love these,” she says, bending down to get a closer look at the hens and chicks. “My great aunt had pots filled with these when I was a kid. I used to call them her green roses.”

“They’re so easy to grow. They’re really low-maintenance and they thrive in most climates.” I’m rambling about plants and I’m sure I sound like an idiot, so when Uncle Hudson approaches and says they need to hit the road before traffic gets too bad, I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Have a good trip,” I say, taking another tiny sip of coffee.

Jules takes a deep breath and smiles. “I’m excited. I was only ever in LA for a few of Hudson’s games. I never got to see much of the city or do any touristy things. I’m not sure what kind of downtime I’ll have, but I’ll take lots of pictures, I promise.”

Uncle Hudson beams next to her. “You’re gonna have a great trip, babe. I wish I could go, but I can’t wait to hear all about it. But don’t go falling in love with the West Coast, ok? I’m telling you, once they see what you can do, they’re not going to want to let you go.”

Jules rolls her eyes as I surreptitiously study the dynamic between them. “Oh, please. It’s just a few spots on some morning talk shows. I’m definitely not running off to Hollywood.”

“You better not be,” he teases, stealing a kiss.

They’re so in love that’s it’s both adorable and sickening all at the same time. They’ve been together for years now, and Jules has always supported my uncle and his passion for hockey. Even Gam couldn’t deny that. But right now, her own career is taking off. She’s a professional organizer. I didn’t even know that was a job, much less a lucrative one, but Jules has a sizable following on social media. She’s so popular that she’s making the rounds on talk shows. It sounds like my own personal version of hell—public speaking is not my thing— but it’s clearly in Jules’s wheelhouse.

We wave our goodbyes and I watch my uncle and aunt drive off before I turn my attention back to the bed I was working on.

Time barely registers as I lose myself in the task of making this yard presentable. It’s satisfying work—the kind that makes you forget your worries. Too bad it can’t make me forget Hottie Gym Shorts Guy.

Good. Lord.

It’s been a week, and I can still remember the feel of his thick fingers inside me, the grip of his hand as it braced my waist, and the way his full lips parted when he let go and surrendered to his orgasm.

The way he wrung every drop of pleasure from me, again and again until I was a boneless heap on top of him. The way he cradled my head to his chest. The way he pressed his lips to my forehead as I drifted off to sleep.

Nope, I chastise myself. I will not think about JT or his magic hands. I will not think about the cowardly way I snuck out of there.

And I definitely will not allow myself to think about the way he’s already moved on. Guys like him don’t stay in one place for long. They don’t follow through with the promises they make.

I learned that lesson the hard way and I do not need a refresher.

What I do need is to finish this flower bed, not only because I’m halfway through it, but also because plants make sense in a way that people—especially the ones I gravitate toward—never do. Plants are predictable.

They need what they need and when they don’t get it, or they get too much of it, you can tell by their reaction.

And speaking of needs…what I really need is a little alone ti me . Just me and my trusty battery-operated boyfriend. I’ve got the house to myself for the next few hours, but, sadly, the self-love sesh will have to wait.

As if my year hasn’t been shitty enough, my vibrator—the one Viv gifted me after The Betrayal— was lost at some point on my cross-country move.

It’s gone. Totally MIA. A whole box of things is missing—tampons, lotion, lube, and my trusty rabbit. It’s either still in the drawer of the nightstand I sold to my neighbor, or it ended up in the lost and found at the airport. It could be worse, I guess— it could be lost somewhere in Uncle Hudson’s house. Yikes.

While not catastrophic, it still sucks, especially because it’s downright cruel to be vibrator-less after having the hottest sex of your life with a guy you’ll never see again. That’s when a gal needs her trusty friend the most.

Especially since I keep having dirty dreams about my hot night with a hot guy.

Ugh.

I finish planting the last few asters and step back to examine my work. Their previously bland yard is a riot of color. It’s a work in progress, for sure, but by the time graduation rolls around next spring, I’ll have fully tended to every inch of this yard. My thank-you gift to him and Jules will be the backyard oasis they never knew they needed.

Clean up doesn’t take too long, and soon I’m stepping under the hot spray of the shower head and letting the water pummel my skin. It feels so good that I want to stay here for the rest of the day, but when the water turns cold, I hear my bed calling.

I slather on some lotion, and root around in a drawer for my oldest, softest t-shirt. I’m two seconds from melting into my mattress when I hear my phone buzzing with a text from Viv. She’s been talking about hitting up Kappa again and honestly, maybe it’s not a bad idea. I mean, I wouldn’t be going there looking for Gym Shorts Hottie or anything, but if we happened to run into each other again, well… there are definitely worse ways to spend a night.

My phone buzzes again, so I scoop it up.

Then I toss it back onto the bed like it just burst into flames.

My best friend is not calling.

Satan’s sister is.

I peer at the phone like it’s a rattlesnake sitting in the center of my unmade bed. It’s not. It’s just a phone. But the name on the screen is far more venomous.

I thought I was in a better place these days. That if I hadn’t forgiven Bella and Clay, at least I’d moved on. Or started heading in that direction.

The relief I feel when the buzzing stops tells me I haven’t made nearly the progress I thought I had.

But maybe that changes now, I think as my hand reaches for the phone. I pick it up like it’s a live wire and I’m expecting electrical currents to race through my body at any second. Before Bella can start calling again to fill my voicemail with her fake tears and faker apologies, I pull up her contact info and do something I should have done months ago: I block her.

Falling back onto my mattress, I take a deep breath.

Still riding the high of setting a boundary, I search up Clay’s number and block it, as well. Granted, he hasn’t reached out since everything went to shit, but I’m on a roll. Besides, Bella’s not dumb. When she realizes I’ve blocked her, she’ll call me from her boyfriend’s phone. If I’d dared to touch his phone, look at his messages, or—good lord—made a call back when we were dating, he’d have lost his shit on me.

New girlfriend, new rules, I guess.

And in the spirit of new…I tap a few buttons on my phone to find the website I’m looking for. After a quick search, I’m di sappointed that the BunnyBuzzer is out of stock, but there’s a new version that looks like it will easily get the job done. A few more clicks, and I’m all set. An incoming text lets me know my ClitFlicker is on its way to 377 Fisher Dr.

Oh shit.

That’s my uncle’s house.

Shit .

I nearly toss my phone again. Gah. I’m such a dummy sometimes. I should have typed in Viv’s address. I can’t say she’s low-key, but at least she’s not my uncle.

I mean, I’m twenty-one-years-old. A grown ass woman. And Lovestruck is discreet. When Viv sent me my rabbit vibrator as a gift last spring, the box was plain and the return address was nondescript, so I have nothing to worry about. It’s not like it comes in the original packaging or anything.

But still. The thought of Uncle Hudson getting out his pen knife and opening my package accidentally has me ready to puke.

My phone elicits yet another buzz and I’m half ready to bury it in the garden. I check the screen, wondering what else can go wrong, but catastrophe isn’t calling.

Viv is. Sighing, I set my phone on my charger and crawl into bed. If I hide under the covers, she might not be able to find me and drag me back to Kappa.

Actually, this is Viv we’re talking about, so she definitely could. And would it be so bad? I mean, there’s no guarantee that Gym Shorts Hottie will be there…

I scream into one pillow and cover my head with another, before reaching out to turn my phone to silent.

I can’t be trusted around guys like JT. I lose all sense of reason, and eventually, I lose my heart.

There’s probably not enough of it left at this point to salvage, but I’m going to do my damnedest. And the only way to ensure that is to stay far away from temptation.

Burrowing deeper under the covers, I close my eyes and decide a nap is in order. If I’m asleep, there’s not much chance that I’ll run into JT, throw myself at him, and ask if he’s up for round two.

It’s highly unlikely.

Not impossible, just highly unlikely.