Page 50 of Just Friends Forever
More than anything, though, I feel unsettled. Curtis and I loved each other once. We made promises. We thought what we had would last.
This picture is prime evidence of how all of that has crumbled. I don’t want to be with Curtis anymore, but I can’t help questioning whether something like romantic loveeverendures. Some people’s love seems to. There are plenty of couples who weather the storms of life together and come out holding wrinkly hands.
But that’s not true for everyone. Maybe I’m cursed like my mom, able to inspire those feelings in men but unable to sustain them. I always told myself I wouldn’t let my mom’s tumultuous love life color my perception of marriage and love, but … I don’t know now. I always judged her for being too lazy to do the work to make love last, but maybe the truth is I have a lot less control over things than I assumed.
I feel eyes on me, and I look up.
Cardboard Austin is staring at me. It’s not a threatening expression. He’s frozen in time, smiling and singing into a mic. But my conscience convicts me, as if he’s asking, “How long do you plan on looking at that photo of your ex-husband, Stevie?”
“I know, I know.” I turn off my screen and set my phone down next to me. I take in a big breath, blow it out slowly, and straighten my shoulders.
I’m not going to let this picture sway me from my path. I waited months for this chance to start over, and I can’t do that if I’m wallowing in self-doubt and questioning everything about life and love.
Curtis has obviously moved forward. I can do it, too.
So, I put on my big girl pants—literally, since I’ve gained a bit of weight since coming here—and get ready to welcome Maggie. Baby steps toward my goals. I’m not going to be making out with anyone on a beach in Bermuda tonight, but I can make a new friend.
Maggie suggested going out for lunch, but when I explained to her we’d be followed anywhere we went by an uninvited entourage of paparazzi taking pictures of us mid-mouthful and trying to lipread our conversations, she promptly agreed to order in.
When she arrives, Maggie has this calmness about her that I envy, and any regrets I might’ve been entertaining about this lunch disappear the moment she hugs me. I’ve never thought of myself as a subscriber to the New Age spirituality movement, but if I were, I’d say she’s operating at an elevated frequency.
“You survived the mob?” I ask.
She blows out a breath. “Barely.” Her nose wrinkles, concealing a few of the freckles she got teased for mercilessly when we were younger. I love the character they give her face, though. She wears them well. “They were all asking if I was here for Troy.”
“Shoot.” I say, opening the door to Austin’s apartment to let her pass through. “They probably think you’re his girlfriend. I should have realized that might happen. They’ve been waiting for her to show up, I think.”
Maggie looks back at me with clenched teeth as she goes down the stairs. “Should I have said something? I figured silence was probably the best option. I have a history of putting my foot in my mouth.”
“You did right,” I reply. “Troy is leaving soon, which will hopefully tune them in to the fact that you’re not here for him. Otherwise, I’d be worried your face would show up on tomorrow’s tabloids.”
Her eyes widen with horror, and I’m wondering if this was a bad idea after all. Is it even possible for me to have normal friendships with normal people? Troy has been really easygoing about the paparazzi, but he’s different. He’s never been the type to make a huge deal out of things. Most people would be bothered by being hounded by cameras when they’re trying to have a casual lunch with a friend.
“I’m so sorry, Maggie,” I say. “I should have been clearer about how not enjoyable it is to be my friend nowadays. When you leave, I’ll walk you out and answer their questions so they don’t think you’re Troy’s girlfriend.”
She smiles at me, and it’s genuine and sweet. “It’s not a big deal. I was just picturing this face”—she points to herself—“on the cover of anything, and—” She cringes. “I wasn’t made for the spotlight like you. But I’m so glad you asked me to come over. Should we order some food?”
I swallow and nod, trying not to let it show how touched I am by her kindness. I am in dire friendship straits if I’m getting emotional over someone being willing to hang out with me for an hour.
Maggie pulls out her phone, glances to her side, and freezes. It’s cardboard Austin. Her eyes flit to me, then her gaze travels around the living room, where multiple posters of Austin adorn the walls.
Like most people I went to school with, she probably remembers I had a huge crush on him back in the day. It wasn’t exactly a state secret.
My eyes widen. Maybe she thinks the cardboard cutout and all these posters are mine.
“I promise I’m not crazy,” I hurry to say. “This is Austin’s apartment. Apparently, Troy thought it would be funny to put up all this stuff last time Austin was in town.”
“Okay,” Maggie says with a laugh. “That makes more sense.”
By the time the food arrives, I’m regretting not inviting Maggie over sooner. Being around her makes me realize how warped my view of life has become. So much time in Hollywood will do that to you, and being married to Curtis sure didn’t help. Everything was so focused on appearances and cultivating the right image.
Maggie, on the other hand, is genuine, homegrown goodness. She’s humble and self-deprecating, but behind it, she’s got confidence—something she severely lacked when I knew her before.
Like Troy, she makes me feel normal. She makes me wish I had a sister.
“How has it been, being back in the area?” she asks as we dig into our Indian food.
“Good. Weird. It was nice until those guys showed up.” I indicate the paparazzi outside.
