Page 63 of Trusting You
I needed to know what he was thinking, and if he maybe loved me too.
I came back to Havenport to find answers. But over the last three months, all I had found were more questions.
34
Cecelia
“Grandma,Grandma, can we show you our paintings?”
My mom put her dishes down and gathered both kids into her arms. Every time I saw my niece and nephew, they seemed so much older than I remembered. I had seen them last week and Jack already looked taller. Getting to see what interesting little people they had become was a joy and one of the unexpected benefits of being back in Havenport. Ava was eleven going on thirty. She was serious like her mom, almost as tall as me, and a bundle of tween angst. Jack was eight and full of boundless, happy-go-lucky energy.
Unfortunately, the last thing I wanted to do right now was celebrate. But I had to step it up. It was Maggie’s birthday and the first time in a decade we had celebrated together. My mom was bursting with excitement and thrilled to have both her kids home to celebrate for a change. Since it was a school night, my mom prepared Maggie’s traditional birthday dinner and cake and we drove over to her house.
Birthdays were a big deal in the Leary household. We always had parties with decorations, games, and lots and lots of cake. My mom hosted so many sleepovers and oversaw so many crafts and games—she really was a marvel. Especially after Dad died, Mom went out of her way to make us feel special. Birthdays were sacred. We could have all the gluten, sugar, and butter we wanted. Mom would cook our favorite meal and top if off with cake and movies. While we were away at college, Mom would send elaborate birthday care packages and balloons. It was just one of the many ways my mom showed her love.
As much as I love family birthdays, I was not in the mood for family festivities. I was just spent. I had an emotional hangover from this weekend. The highs of Gourd Fest and my time with Liam plummeted to the lows of being back in that hospital waiting room. I was not in the right headspace to be in my sister’s perfect house with her perfect husband and perfect children. I loved them all to bits. But there was nothing like a visit with Maggie to make all my insecurities flare up. The good news was that the kids were a great distraction. I wouldn’t have to talk about anything substantial and I could just talk about BTS with Ava.
Maggie’s house was the complete opposite of where we grew up. New construction, neutral color palette, immaculately clean and organized. In fact, it sort of looked like the show unit at the apartment complex where no one actually lived. Except this was a three thousand square foot colonial on a cul-de-sac. And her home was not the only perfect thing about her.
Maggie was a nurse practitioner in town. She practiced family medicine and owned her own clinic with Dr. Peters, who was our family doctor growing up. When Dr. Peters hit her sixties, she hired Maggie to help and eventually made her a partner. Maggie bought into the practice and made a whole bunch of changes including an online patient portal, web-based scheduling, mobile flu clinics, and other updates. Maggie now runs the place, overseeing a dozen nurses, physician assistants, and office staff. She was both a health care provider and a businesswoman. In addition to her successful career, she was a loving, hands-on mom, a frequent volunteer, and ran two marathons every year, one in the spring and one in the fall. She and Josh, her surgeon husband, were still madly in love almost fifteen year after they met in college. I had idolized her since I was born and had never grown out of my inferiority complex.
My mom was busying herself heating up the lasagna and setting the table. The kids were rapid-firing questions at her and running around excitedly. I grabbed the balloons and presents from the car and headed back into the kitchen. Maggie gestured at me with a wine bottle and I nodded. Alcohol would definitely help me get through this night. Despite being the birthday girl, Maggie did not look thrilled about this either. I was a bit worried about her. She seemed off.
My mom was busy assembling the salad. “Maggie, dear, where is Josh?”
“He’s working, Mom. He’s not going to make it.” She said it so breezily, I did a double take. I knew Josh worked a lot—being a surgeon is pretty demanding—but he never missed a Leary birthday. My mom even had special traditions for his birthday. I caught Maggie’s eye, and she just smiled at me and took a gulp of wine.
* * *
I had forgotten how good a cook my mom was. We were stuffed with lasagna, garlic bread, and red velvet cake. My mom took the kids to the basement to watchBeauty and the Beast, and left us with the dishes. Maggie topped off my wine and we began to clear, rinse, and load the dishwasher.
“Are you okay, Mags?”
“I’m hanging in.”
“I’m always here if you want to talk. Is there something on your mind?”
“Let’s finish up and make some coffee.”
After we finished the dishes, Maggie sat down gracefully on the immaculate white couch, balancing a fresh cup of coffee. My sister was never without her precious fair trade, organically grown caffeine. Usually you could find her toting it around in a stainless steel travel mug that matched her outfit. Today she was drinking out of a plain white mug. Who buys plain white mugs?
She seemed distracted, so I opened the cabinet to pour myself a cup. Sure enough, the cabinet was filled with perfectly organized plain white mugs. There is nothing that says “World’s Greatest Mom” or “Havenport Annual 5k 2012” anywhere. Not that I’m remotely surprised. Maggie would never. Since we were little, Maggie has always been perfect. In every freaking way. She always looks amazing, everything she says is intelligent and thoughtful, and her home is tasteful and sparkling clean. If I were to go in her bathroom, I could guarantee that all the towels in the closet would be the same color. She is successful, beautiful, and generous, and it exhausts me.
We aren’t even physically similar. Maggie is taller, thinner, and has deep chestnut waves and piercing blue eyes. I, on the other hand, am shorter, curvier, and inherited my mom’s insane curls. She tanned, I burned. She ran, I read. It was a tale as old as time, the shiny amazing big sister and the average, normal, and not super exciting little sister. I made my peace with it a long time ago, and I loved her dearly. But sometimes it made it difficult to relate to her.
“So I need to tell you something.”
I steeled myself, my brain swirling with every terrible possibility.
She took a deep breath and exhaled. Her shoulders slumped slightly, betraying her usual military posture.
“Josh and I separated. He moved out two weeks ago.”
I was gobsmacked. How could this be possible? Maggie and Josh were the perfect couple. “Are you okay?”
“I’m trying to be.”
My mind was spinning. Maggie and Josh were perfect for each other. They were married and parents and have a whole beautiful life together. If my beautiful, perfect sister couldn’t make love last, what chance did the rest of us have? “Do you mind me asking what happened?”
