Page 15 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
I take a selfie of the two of us and text it to Hannah with the captionWe’re home!I’ve been keeping her posted on the whole affair, and while I’ve downplayed Everett’s involvement, I’m pretty sure she suspects something because she asks more questions about him than she does about the dog. Not that this is surprising. She’s known me since kindergarten, and even though she moved away in eighth grade, long before I dated anyone, she’s been with me for every crush and every heartbreak. She knew about the first boy I kissed when I was in high school, and my first real boyfriend in my junior year, the one whose wedding my mom was recently gushing about. She knew about the prom date who never showed up, and about the first guy I had sex with in college, who turned out to have a girlfriend, and the second guy I had sex with, who laughed when I asked when we’d see each other again, asking me,You didn’tactually see this going somewhere, did you?to which, because I was nineteen and mortified, I breezily replied,Ofcoursenot, and then went to great lengths to avoid him for the rest of the year.
People are complicated. I misread signals. I expect things I shouldn’t. I don’t understand the nuances of small talk and social greeting rituals. I made an effort for a while, but by the time I got to college and the effort continued to yield minimal results, it became easier to withdraw and focus on school. Then I lost Marmie, and the aloneness I’d convinced myself was a choice became a vast gray gulf of loneliness I’m only able to recognize now because it already feels a little less vast, a little less gray, with Aggie’s head on my lap and her hair on my sweater, and a dish I didn’t use for my own dinner in the sink.
I change into my sleep shorts and tank top, twist my long hair into a topknot so I can wash my face, and am about to brush my teeth when I hear a light rap on the door to the hallway. Tossing on a cardigan, I answer the knock to find Everett standing on my doorstep, holding a large shopping bag. His eyes dart to my bare legs and up again as he cringes in embarrassment.
“Sorry,” he says. “Is this too late to knock?”
I shake my head. “I’m usually up much later. But I got tired early.”
“Yeah. Same.” His cringe softens as he holds out the bag. “At the risk of sounding like a creeper, I saw the inside of your fridge when I was putting away Aggie’s meds earlier. Our client brought food to the meeting. A lot of food. It’s vegan and pretty amazing and you know how I am about not throwing things away unnecessarily and anyway... I thought maybe you’d like something other than a slice of bread for dinner.” He inches the bag forward.
I stare at it, wondering if he’s this nice to everyone or if I’ve donesomething to warrant extra care and attention, and then wondering why I can’t accept the gesture without wondering.
“Thank you,” I say as I take the bag. “I mean, I had granola, so I wasn’tthatpathetic.”
He frowns at me. “The granola that was on the counter?”
I frown at him. “Yeah. Why?”
“That bag was almost empty.”
“It was enough.”
“Cameron,” he scolds through a laugh. “Almost empty is not the same as enough.”
I flinch internally as his words hit like a gut punch, summing up far more than my dinner.
Aggie appears to agree, because she lets out a quiet moan from her bed.
I swear, these two...
“Well, thank you,” I say again. “I’d invite you in to share, but—”
He holds up his hands and takes a step back.
“I had plenty at the meeting,” he says. “And you can save some for tomorrow.”
I peer into the bag. “Tomorrow, and Thursday, and Friday from the looks of it.”
His shoulders inch up and he scratches at the back of his neck. “Well. You know.”
I do not know, because this wholebeing thought ofthing is very new for me, even if he’s only bringing me leftovers. It’s a big deal, and the food smells amazing, and... and my eye catches on something that doesn’t look like a take-out box. I reach in and pull out a paperback book, flipping it over to read the cover. Agatha Christie’sDeath on the Nile.
“That’s not to eat,” Everett says, making me snort a laugh, which in turn makes his cheeks flare with heat. “Sorry. Obvious. The bookstore near my office was still open. I thought you might like something fun to read. Both of you. As a welcome-home present.”
Overwhelmed, I hold it up, pivoting around to show Aggie. “What do you think?”
She lets out a single, happy bark, right on cue.
“I believe that’s the official seal of approval,” I tell Everett.
He beams at me, still blushing, shifting, and shuffling. Then he gives us each a wave, we say good night, and he heads down the hall to his apartment. I step inside mine and shut the door before he thinksI’ma creeper, but after taking another look at the food and the book, I catch Aggie’s too shrewd eyes, shake my head, and am forced to agree. I’m totally, utterly screwed.
Chapter Seven
On Wednesday, after my classes let out, when I get to the pizzeria for my afternoon shift, I ask my boss if I can take Friday evening off again, hoping that with more notice this time, she’ll cut me some slack. Instead, she goes into full rant mode about the poor work ethic of my generation, the laziness and rampant irresponsibility, saying that if I don’t have time to work fifteen hours a week anymore, if not a full twenty, I should reconsider my value to the establishment. So, I do just that and quit on the spot. This means I’ll be short about $200 a week, which I’ll need to replace somehow, but I’ll figure it out. I was never very good at slinging dough anyway.
This is what I tell myself when I step outside, with my boss’s raised voice still audible as she rails against me to the unfortunate coworker I’ve abandoned to her wrath. Usually, hearing someone tear me down guts me, and I obsess about what I did wrong and how I can do better. But the sun is shining, the lightly burnished September leaves are rustling in a gentle breeze, and whoever runs around town sticking large googly eyes on random things that look like faces has adorned the fire hydrant in front of me. Apparently, even I can’t spiral into feelings of low self-worth when abright red fire hydrant is smiling at me as though it finds my situation amusing.
