21. Data/Marshall

TWENTY-ONE

Data/Marshall

"We never lost power." With a warm smile, Maddi hands us mugs of steaming cocoa, tiny marshmallows bobbing playfully on the surface. Marsh's mug says, ‘This coffee is almost as hot as people from Maine' and mine reads ‘Maine Girl: like a regular girl, but wicked cool.'

"And if we ever do, Duffy fires up our generator. Can't have the meat spoil."

With our phones plugged in, we park on the floor near the back of the store, attempting to warm up as I ensure Marsh's breathing steadies. Behind us, the community board stands tall, while the door of the bathroom, where we had amazing sex just two days ago, seems to taunt me. Inside the tiny stall, Marsh said he missed me. My ass, yes. But also me. Watching Marsh's lips around the brim of his mug, my mind flashes back to cramming the inhaler in his mouth. Yes, I'm annoyed he came up here with it almost empty, but more than anything, I'm grateful he's okay. Seeing him that way, gasping on his back, his beautiful face turning blue, somehow made me miss him even more, and I honestly didn't think that was possible.

"Well, I'll leave you boys to it," Maddi says. "Duffy'll be back in a jiff, but take your time. Do your shopping and we'll get you home safely. Your power should be back on soon. Even in this storm, the crew will get the lines up. "

"Thanks, Maddi." I tip my head to her, clutching my Maine Girl mug for warmth, and Marsh nods his thanks.

"How's your chest?" I ask him.

"Stocky. Beefy. Probably a B cup, maybe a C after Thanksgiving, but no complaints so far."

Tears dot my eyes. Not from his joke, but from him joking. He's back to normal. My head dips and I give him my best side eye.

"What? Are there complaints I don't know about? Wait, do you wish they were bigger ?"

The man will be on his deathbed, the hospital machines beeping, taking his last breaths of life, and he'll manage to get a joke in as his last words. Not that he'd want me around for that, but still.

"Oh, you meant my lungs ?" Marsh sips his cocoa, the marshmallows leaving a soft white residue on his upper lip. When he doesn't lick it away, I'm tempted to do it for him. I'm starting to wonder if he leaves food dangling around his mouth as a trap for me. "Fine. All good. Thanks to you."

"Good. You really scared me back there." I hand him a tissue from my coat pocket and tap my lip, signaling to him. "I've never run so fast."

"As your ex-boyfriend, is it inappropriate to say I wish I could've watched your booty bounce as you ran?" Marsh wipes his lip and chuckles at his quip. I try, really hard, to muster up some annoyance with him, but right now, sitting on the floor of The General Store, warm and toasty and safe, it's feeling like old times. Maybe it's okay to have moments like this, a toe dip into the past without fully falling in.

We need to get some provisions and head back to finish packing. Karen won't care I'm stuck on a mountain in Maine when the month end analyses are late. She'd charter a helicopter to fetch me rather than, oh, do any work herself. Being stuck here for a prolonged amount of time with no power and dwindling wood isn't my idea of a fun time. Of course, Marsh could provide a different electricity. Fuck.

"You sit and rest," I say, itching for an escape. "I'll grab the Mallomars."

Mallomars. Double fuck.

"Grab all of them." Marsh winks at me, and I leave him to recharge along with our phones.

The store is empty, which means nothing. It's almost always empty, but the snow and poorly plowed roads make it seem more desolate than normal. I walk up and down the aisles, the brightly colored packages of food all a blur. I grab Fritos as promised, then toss a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in my basket—Marsh loves them. One time he ate an entire bag in one sitting and, even after scrubbing his hands twice, still had Dorito fingers. I remember sucking them while he pounded me doggy style by the fire. The faint cool ranch-iness filled me up almost as much as his fat cock. I quickly toss the bag back on the shelf like a hot potato.

As I approach the cookies, the bright yellow and black carton beckons. I pop a box in my basket and, peeking at the inventory, notice only two boxes left on the shelf. I wouldn't want them to get lonely. And Marsh doesn't enjoy sharing. Or … he didn't. We should get our own boxes. And an extra. For prosperity.

"You know I only stock those for you boys." Maddi comes around the aisle pushing a dolly with various cookies and crackers, ready to be shelved.

"Nobody else ever requested Mallomars. People up here stick to the standards." She pats a case of Oreos.

I smile, remembering the conversation where Marsh informed her we'd love Mallomars and matzoh ball mix. Not matzoh. Not matzoh meal. Mix. "We're making soup. There's no need to go all Martha. "

"And we appreciate it. And you," I say with a smile. "No need to reorder."

Maddi smiles softly. "And there's no way you boys might … keep the place."

My chest feels heavy. Tight. "I don't think so."

"But you two seem so … " Maddi doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, she cracks the box, pulls out a bag of chocolate-dipped double-stuffed Oreos, opens it, and hands me a cookie. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too," I say and shove the cookie in my mouth. It's no Mallomar, but I don't want to be rude.

"Duffy can really piss me off. He tries to sing along to songs in the car, but mumbles over the music because he never knows the words. The only line of "We Didn't Start the Fire" he knows is ‘JFK blown away.' Everything else is gobbledygook that drowns out poor Billy Joel. I can't tell you how many good songs have come on the radio that've been ruined by his damn mumbling." Maddi chomps into her cookie and rolls her eyes in a way that feels familiar to me. "But when he does remember the words, and we sing along together at the top of our lungs … there's nothing better." She gazes out the window at the forklift, gives out a wistful laugh. "The right person is someone you can't live without, but who you could see yourself murdering too. Love's funny that way."

She hands over the opened package of Oreos and kisses me on the cheek, leaving a lipstick smudge. "On the house."

"Thanks, Maddi," I say through a full mouth, grateful for the gesture. Wisdom comes where you least expect it.

"Y'know, I asked my chickens about you and they scratched up enough dust to make me cough." She turns to head up front, straightening the shelf of cookies as she walks away. "That means you're meant to be. Trust me. My chickens are never wrong. "

I nod in agreement because, of course, the chickens know. That plus, my mouth is so full of Oreos and I'm unable to speak or ask her if they know when it's time for fried chicken.

While I still need to find some nourishment not in the cookie food group, I return quickly to check on Marsh, who's in the middle of a FaceTime call. A familiar tangle of anguish twists his face, and I realize instantly who's on the other end.

"Dad, we talked about this. Albie said the contract would be coming over. When I'm back in the city, we can review it together. Don't sign it yet."

I stand against the wall, out of the call's frame.

"Who gave him the right to sell the company?" Joe's gruffness comes through the phone, a wave of nostalgia hitting me. "It's none of his damn business."

"I don't disagree. He's trying to help." A unique type of exhaustion hits Marsh's voice whenever he talks to his dad. "But we can review it together."

"I'll take a look."

"But don't sign anything. Promise me you won't sign anything."

"Don't tell me what to do, Marshall." Joe's stern dad voice strikes fear in me, even though I'm not his son. "I can't believe your brother. What right does a college student have to proffer his father's company to some peckerheads."

"Dad, Albie's not in college anymore."

"Wait till I tell your mother about this. She's going to have a fit."

Marsh hangs his head, but before he can gather up the strength to respond, I squat next to him and wave at the camera.

"Hi Joe!"

"Other Marshall!" He lights up instantly, that smile still a gem. "How's it going? "

"I'm ready for spring, I don't know about you. I'm hankering for more Yankee games."

"Same! Football is for the goyim." He laughs heartily. "Maybe you can knock some sense into your companion, get him to come back to the company."

"Dad! Marshall and I?—"

"Have talked about this over and over. Haven't we, babe?" I throw my arm around Marsh and scrunch a hand through his hair, just like old times. "Marsh is doing really well with standup. I'm super proud of him. He's actually planning a huge revue next month that's attracting a lot of attention."

I saw fliers for the show at a coffeehouse. Out with a Bang . Such a Marsh title. Marsh turns to me surprised, touched.

"Marsh is working on new material for the show that's the funniest stuff he's ever written," I continue. It's criminal that he wants to deprive the world of his talent. Maybe I let our relationship slip away without a fight, but I won't do the same with his career.

For an actor, he's having a hard time keeping up our ruse, but I don't break in this scene. I gaze right back at him, my chest tingling. It's like riding a bike. An adorable bike.

"Marsh, you didn't tell me about this show," Joe says.

"Yeah … we're having agents, managers, producers come. Preeti and I are planning it. It's going to be big." Marsh plasters on a smile for the screen. Joe's eyebrows lift with interest, taking both of us back.

"Very good," Joe says.

"Marsh is incredibly diligent. He's constantly working on new material, writing new jokes, and networking. I'm really proud of him." And then, to seal the deal or maybe because I've lost touch with reality, I kiss Marsh. For his Dad. For old times sake. For the chickens. His lips, dotted with drops of hot cocoa, send a sugar rush into my mouth and a jolt of contentment straight to my heart. "You're doing it, babe. "

"I'm doing … it. Yeah." His cheeks redden as he looks to me, then back to his dad, then back at me, unsure what to say next. "Maybe you can come and see it."

"You should!" I echo. "I can pick you up."

Did I just offer that? Chauffeuring my ex's dad? I blame the sugar high from Marsh's lips.

"That sounds great."

"Joe, we have to go. Get back to our cabin before more snow comes. See you soon!" I wave at the screen.

"Okay. Well, have a good weekend, gentlemen."

Marsh clicks out of FaceTime and stares at the screen, still in a bit of a daze. "You kissed me."

"That … was not a real kiss. I was helping an elderly man."

A sly grin slides onto his face—that damn punim.

"And now you have to do that show." I arch an eyebrow back at him. "You asked your dad to come."

"I was blindsided by the not-real kiss."

That's not a yes, but it's also not a no. I'll take it.

"What was that call about?" I ask.

Marsh sighs. An enormous sigh. The good news is his lungs seem to be efficiently transmitting oxygen. The bad news is, he's upset about something. "What?"

"Fucking Albie. He sent Dad the acquisition agreement for Harmony Pianos."

"Oh." Marsh's family business. The cabin. Our relationship. Everything's being sold or dissolved.

"Dad is in no state to make these types of decisions, let alone read and sign a contract like this." He ruffles a hand through his hair. "I've thought about asking for power of attorney, but if I do that, then that means … "

"That things are really bad with him."

He nods.

"With how things are … progressing, it's probably best he's se lling sooner rather than later, right?" I put the cookie-laden basket down.

"Yeah, it's just these guys he's selling to … I don't know. I'm sure they're fine, but they're not family. More than anything, Dad wanted this to stay a family business."

I can practically see the weight digging into his shoulders, the tiredness in his eyes. I throw an arm around him and pull him close.

"Has he thought about handing it over to a non-family member? A friend?"

"All of his friends are retired." He takes the last sip of his cocoa. "Maybe I should go back. I'm sure the books are a mess, but we have a good relationship with the suppliers. Nobody's buying pianos like they used to. It feels a little like taking the helm of the Titanic."

I take a breath, but before speaking, I brace myself, knowing that a joke is about to be cracked.

"And nobody's offering to paint me like a French girl."

There's my Marsh. No, just Marsh. Not my Marsh. His jokes are for everyone, but they're also just for me. Or used to be.

"Do you want me to look anything over? The books. The contract. I mean, I'm not an attorney, but I have some experience with legalese. And lots of experience with numbers."

Marsh was the face, the frontman, the salesman. Selling pianos was easy for him; he studied people every day as a performer, forever interested in what made them tick. If you walked into a Harmony store, you were at least thinking about a piano, and that was all Marsh needed to close the deal. It was the back-end, businessy part of the job that never gelled with him. Unlike me, he's not built for spreadsheets.

He heaves out a sigh, a million different thoughts pinging back and forth in his eyes. "Maybe this is just how it goes, y'know? Businesses end all the time. "

"Just because something ends doesn't mean it's gone. We carry pieces of it, memories." A tightness tugs at my chest, the push-pull of wanting to fight for something but knowing some battles just can't be won. "There are people who will continue to play on the Harmony Piano that they've had for decades. There are adults who still have the muscle memory from years of practice as a kid. There are musicians who will never forget their first instrument, sold to them by you. Your company is no longer manufacturing pianos, but that doesn't mean it will cease to be remembered. That doesn't mean what your family built hasn't changed lives."

He turns to me, his green irises eclipsed by the deep black of his pupils. "That was … beautiful."

I nod, because I suddenly have lost the ability to speak, because I realize I'm still in mourning for something that ended but never left.

"You're still a really good kisser," Marsh says.

He pockets his phone and attempts to stand. I rush to offer my hand and Marsh takes it, grunting as he lifts himself. Pulling harder to assist, he pops up with a force neither of us expects and falls into me.

"Woah." I wrap my arms around his broad torso, catching Marsh as he regains his balance. "Easy does it."

Marsh's face comes dangerously close to mine. My breath hitches at the closeness.

"Hey," he whispers. Our chests collide, and I feel the strong, rhythmic thumping of Marsh's heartbeat against my own. His face looms inches from mine, so near that I can scrutinize every detail of his features. He hasn't shaved since we've been here and the light stubble on his face draws my gaze. My hands have the urge to push Marsh away and barge off, but also to grab him closer, gather him up, and capture his lips with mine.

"You boys ready?" Duffy says behind us. "Plow's all ready for ya. "

Marsh's gaze lingers on me for an unnerving extra second. I want to stay in this moment completely, seal us off from the cold contours of the outside world.

He grabs the basket from me, holds it up, and eyes the cookie haul.

"That's my Data. I mean, Marshall." He pats my back and walks off, sending my heart tumbling all over again.