Page 62 of Running Into You
“Probably at home.”
“Great. I’ll see you soon.”
“Thanks, Betts. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I set down the phone and strip off my clothes, jumping directly into the freezing shower stream. Cursing, I adjust the temperature and proceed to take the fastest shower I’ve ever taken. Soap gets in my eyes, and I don’t think I fully rinse the shampoo from my hair. I don’t care. I roughly towel myself off on my walk to my closet and throw on socks, leggings, a bra, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, in that exact order. My hair is dripping all over my top and the floor, so I sweep it up into a high bun on top of my head. I grab my coat and purse on my way out the door and don’t look back.
The sidewalks are crowded for a Sunday morning, and I weave my way in, around, and through pedestrians going about their day. It’s freezing out, and I put the hood from my sweater over my sopping-wet hair.
Maggie lives with Mark in his high-rise condo six blocks away from me. I try calling her as I rush over, but she doesn’t answer. I arrive at her building and take the elevator up to the ninth floor. I’ve only been to their place a couple of times and never when Mark is there. I bang on the door as soon as I reach it.
A shocked Maggie throws the door open a moment later. Her curls are piled pineapple-style on top of her head. She grips a container of coffee creamer in one hand.
“Betty, what’s wrong?” The way she’s looking at me must mean that I look even more crazed than I feel.
“Can I drive your car to Maine?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“What?” With her free hand, she takes me by the arm and leads me to an expensive-looking chair. I take a deep breath and do my best to not sound like a lunatic.
“Josh and Rilla’s father had a heart attack. I need to get there, but I don’t have a car.”
“I didn’t think you drove.” She kneels in front of me, the coffee creamer still in her hand and her expression beyond merely concerned.
“I have my license.” This is not a lie. I got my license at age sixteen, like most teenagers. I leave out the part about how I stopped driving more than four years ago because it was making me incredibly anxious. Maggie continues to stare at me, her forehead creased in worry. “I need to get there, Maggie,” I plead.
“Give me a few minutes to get dressed and then I’ll drive you.” She gives my knee a quick squeeze, then turns on her heel and walks away in the direction of her bedroom. I sit there dumbly, so filled with gratitude and relief. Driving myself to Maine would have been a nightmare.
I hear muffled voices coming from the other room. Then suddenly one voice isn’t muffled at all.
“The hell you are!” Mark’s bellow hits me like a shot to the stomach.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe the next day,” Maggie says emerging from the bedroom, dressed casually and looking very calm. She’s taken her hair down and her curls bob on her shoulders with every step. Her white boatneck sweater is a striking contrast to her dark brown skin. It hangs to her thighs, and she’s paired it with light denim skinny jeans. She carries a stylish weekend bag. Even though we both got ready in minutes, I’m the only one who looks like a total disaster. Mark follows her out of the room looking as pissed as I’ve ever seen him, and that is saying something. His incredulous expression turns to one of pure loathing when his eyes move from Maggie to me.
“You’re not going anywhere.” He growls at her, his gaze still locked on mine.
“I wasn’t asking for permission,” she replies lightly, opening the front closet and removing her coat. I’m struck by the sudden change in her demeanor around him. I’m so used to seeing her do everything in her power to keep him calm that watching her completely ignore him when he’s ready to explode is blowing my goddamn mind.
“I mean it, Mags. I’m fucking sick of this shit. You spend too much time with her and I’m not going to put up with it anymore.” He turns back to me. “Showing up here and demanding she drive you across the fucking country? Are you fucking serious?”
I mean, she’s driving me to Maine, not Oregon.
“Ready to go, Betty?” Maggie says as she buttons up her coat, purposefully not looking at Mark. I push myself off the chair and walk over to her, giving Mark a wide berth. I feel like a toddler watching this one-sided argument.
“Look at me, Maggie,” he shouts and we both shudder. She turns to him, her face the picture of tranquility. “I’ve put up with this for years and I’m not going to do it anymore. She is bad for you. Choose now. Her or me.” His tone is low and threatening and even though he’s not talking to me, I still think I might be sick.
“I choose me,” she says calmly. “Goodbye, Mark.” She slings her bag over her shoulder and loops her arm through mine. We walk out of the condo and leave a stunned thirty-two-year-old investment banker gaping after us.
I say nothing as we step into the elevator, arm in arm. Maggie presses a button and the door closes. I wait until our descent begins before turning to her. What she did was much more than just walking out of a condo. She left a seven-year relationship.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, hating the message for being far too simplistic. I can’t string together a sentence that will do justice to her circumstance.
“I’m not,” she says simply. As she watches the numbers count down, her lips start to turn up. A small laugh starts in her chest and soon she’s giggling uncontrollably. Her shoulders shake and her eyes water. I watch her dissolve into this fit of laughter, unsure how to proceed. When it dies off, she’s still grinning.
“Are you okay?”
“I just shed 190 lbs of asshole, I’m fucking fantastic. Let’s go to Maine.”
Chapter 36
