Page 39 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

“That mac and cheese smells so good,”

I say, glancing across the kitchen to where Maggie stands at the stove.

“I can’t wait to eat it.”

I resume focusing on my task of decorating the chocolate cake, but I think I can sense her tossing a look over her shoulder to me.

“That works out since I’ll need you to taste it in a minute. Are you almost done?”

I draw out the word, “Yep,”

as I sprinkle the last of the chocolate shavings over the frosted top.

“Be done in just a second.”

Gotta say, this cake is pretty nice. It doesn’t completely look like some dude with zero experience with baking has been in charge of it. In fact, I finish up and am instantly so proud of my work that I decide to take a picture of it. I dig my phone out of my pocket.

I’m also no photographer, but just in case something happens to this thing on the drive to Mom’s, I’m gonna go ahead and….

My eyes scan over the text message I didn’t realize I’d received. I don’t recognize the number, but before I can recoil from another unwanted interaction from my dad, I see that this isn’t from him. It’s from someone close to him: my stepsister.

I find myself tapping the notification and opening the message in full.

hi luke, it’s wendy. happy thanksgiving! i hope you have a great holiday! and speaking of the holidays…i want to say i really believe it’s time for you to think about putting aside the bad blood between you and dad. holidays are for joy and gratitude, you know? and he’s been upset that you’ve been sour at him for so long, and it’s honestly really sad for me to see. i know you have your reasons, but he’s a great guy and a great dad and i love him so much, and you’re a great guy too, so i just want everyone to get along :) promise me you’ll think about it! enjoy your day!

What…the hell is this?

I stare at the message.

An uncomfortable ache has me realizing I’m clenching my jaw; a ripple of unwelcome heat over me tunes me in to how my pulse has risen.

And despite my attempts to soothe these things, I can’t keep from glancing over and over certain parts of the text, which only makes me feel that much more surprised and angry.

I haven’t talked to Wendy in forever. Why does she think she has any right to tell me what to do about my relationship with my dad?

‘The bad blood between you and dad.’

‘It’s honestly really sad for me to see.’

‘He’s a great guy and a great dad.’

The surprise and anger rumble inside me.

She calls him her dad?

She thinks it’s sad that he’s upset about my actions?

She considers him a great guy and a great…?

I can hear that my breaths have picked up.

Just what kind of bullshit is this? He is not a great guy. If he were one, he wouldn’t have cheated on my mom—twice—and left me in the dust when he eventually left her. Instead, he would’ve at least respected her enough to divorce her before he went to someone else, and he would’ve thought about me during it all, thought about what I might need or how I might feel. If he were a stand-up guy and a wonderful father, dropping his family like they didn’t matter would’ve been out of the damn question. Marriages end, I get it, it’s fine, but what he did and the way he still acts—like it’s time for me to get over the pain, like I’m being dramatic when really it scarred me that he—

“Luke?”

I snap my gaze up.

“Is something wrong?”

Maggie asks. She’s looking at me with gentle concern.

I open my mouth, ready to let that gentleness summon me into talking.

But then a sting hits some part of me. A sting over the idea of confiding in her. And her invitation to tell her what’s going on sends an actual wave of stress through me because thoughts of her are colliding with thoughts of my dad—of him leaving, damaging teenage me in ways I didn’t even….

Just like that, bad memories of me and Maggie in high school come to my mind. They move through in flickers that feel brief and dragging at once, accompanied by that old sense of betrayal.

He betrayed me. So did she.

A little knot forms in my stomach, cutting into how all the rest of me wants to talk to her.

“Are you okay?”

she asks me now, worry creasing her features.

No, resounds through me.

Then, frowning, I remember, Wait, I—I mean yes. When it comes to me and her, the past is the past. We are okay now. I’m okay now.

My lungs pull in an abruptly deep breath, and I try to pull myself from the thoughts I’d begun to get lost in.

“Yes,”

I just about croak.

“I’m okay.”

I clear my throat, blink a few times, and will my brain to focus on the Maggie that’s in front of me, not the one from my past.

Still, for another little moment, I relive the pain younger Maggie put me through. The sting is renewed. The knot in my stomach hardens.

I take another deep breath and mentally shake myself—shake away the bad stuff.

I don’t want any of that. I really don’t.

Also don’t want to be mad about my dad or at my stepsister right now, so I shake them off, too, along with whatever desire I had to tell Maggie about them.

“I’m okay,”

I reaffirm to her.

Her frown is light, but that worry on her face is still growing. She glances at my phone in my hand, her attention slipping farther and farther away from stirring the mac and cheese.

She doesn’t believe me.

She’s right not to.

No, that’s—she’s not right not to believe me, because I am okay. I am.

Her stirring hand nearly stills as her voice softens.

“You look really bothered. Is it from something on your phone? A messa—?”

“It’s nothing,”

I cut her off.

Now her hand does still. She blinks at me.

Well, I thought I would sound smooth, but I hear now that I didn’t. Just short.

Chill out, man. Chill, I try to tell myself. Maggie cares about you and y’all have something so fucking good together. You’re not really trying to be short with her. Get all the bad shit out of your head and leave it in a corner somewhere. Leave Wendy and Dad there too. You’ve been in a great mood with Maggie and you both deserve to stay in it.

This side of inner me makes good points.

I tell her again, more peacefully this time.

“It’s nothing.”

I hold up my phone to her, though there’s nothing to see on it since the lock screen has long since come up.

“Something…uh…did bother me, but it was stupid. No need to worry.”

Lie, that knotted, stinging part of me acknowledges in a whisper. I just don’t wanna confide in her too much again because I still can’t trust her not to—

With a big mental shove, I push that away. I don’t want that stuff.

No matter how real those old feelings are—were—they belong in the past. We agreed that the past is the past.

She has my trust. Of course she does. Just like I have hers.

I walk to Maggie, whose green eyes are still absorbing me. She’s trying to discern whether I’m telling the truth, I know, and the closer I get to her, the more I hate that something was able to bring up the old resentment I hold towards her.

Held, I mean. The resentment I held towards her.

I get next to her, slip my thumbs over her cheeks, lean down and touch the line of my nose to hers. Then I kiss her. My heart thumps happily when she kisses me back, her free arm going around my waist for a squeezing half-hug.

This is what I want: our solidity.

We’ve earned this from each other in present times; past times don’t matter because what we have now is real and true. The dumb shit we did when we were younger does still hurt when I think about it—I’m sure the same can be said for her—and that makes sense, but it doesn’t mean that what we have now isn’t strong.

We make each other strong.

Both of us have a sore spot of weakness for the other, but we still make each other strong. It’s undeniable.

That’s what I want to focus on.

Our kisses continue until she whispers, “Okay.”

She’s responding to what I’ve said aloud, but it feels like she has also heard what I’m thinking.

Good thing she actually hasn’t, because then she’d have heard all my thoughts, and I don’t want to hurt her with those. I don’t want to hurt myself either.

Needing another little bit of steadiness from present-day Maggie, I lean back enough to see her. I look at the familiar casual prettiness of her hair hanging long over her shoulders. I look at the perfect shape and features of her face. I look at the lips I just kissed, which are tipping into a sweet little smile. I look at the graceful hand she’s holding the mac and cheese spoon with and then the rest of her, which is in lounge clothes—including the extra sweatpants I bought—because she hasn’t put on her Thanksgiving outfit yet.

Yeah, this is the version of her I want in my head. And the me that’s standing here with her is the version I want in hers.

As if once again in some kind of knowing, her small smile grows. Then she turns to the mac and cheese, which hopefully hasn’t been overcooking…. Nah, it looks awesome as she gives it a few stirs to make up for its recent stillness.

“Ready to try this?” she asks.

My mouth starts to water; I forgot I’m supposed to be a taste tester.

“Ooh, yeah. Gimme.”

She giggles as I close my hand around where hers is holding the big utensil so both of us can guide a bite of the steaming food to my mouth. She warns me that it’s hot, and I think of joking about how steam does generally mean things are hot. Instead, I just blow on the food and shovel it into my mouth.

Aw, hell yeah.

“Mmm,”

I hum, feeling my eyes go wide as I nod at her.

“Okay, that’s some good-ass mac and cheese.”

Her face lights up.

“Really? We did a good job?”

“We did a great job. How about a tad more salt and pepper?”

We put the finishing touches on the food and then this time she joins me in trying it. In unison, we say.

“It’s perfect!”

and we laugh and end up in one more peck of a kiss. Well, two more pecks. Wellll, three….

And we are officially back to normal, both in my head and with each other.

“Okay, okay,”

I say on another laugh against her lips.

“We’re gonna be here forever if we don’t—”

“Yeah, we gotta get ready to go,”

she laughs again, too, through my words. We let go of each other and she turns the stove off, then moves the mac and cheese off the heat.

“Let’s pack up and get changed.”

That’s what we do. Soon, she’s stepping out of the bathroom just as I’m exiting my bedroom. I’ve changed the clothes I somehow got food on, and she’s…damn, man, she’s in a dressy outfit that looks so good on her it makes my hands ache. Fall-colored and clinging yet comfortable, classy and sweet and a different angle of Maggie.

“Is any of it too tight?”

she asks me diffidently. Her fingers brush over the cardigan she has unbuttoned over her dress, then the skinny belt around her waist.

“It feels good, but….”

“Does it?” I ask.

She nods and actually gives a smile.

It makes me smile.

I say.

“Then what I think of how it fits doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter what anyone thought. The only important thing is how you feel.”

Raising my eyebrows, I add.

“But for the record, no, I don’t think it’s too tight. I think you look amazing.”

I shrug.

“I always think that.”

Her expression has shifted so much over these last seconds: she was briefly crestfallen like my, ‘My opinion doesn’t matter,’ thing was code for me not liking the clothes, and then she looked relieved and happy, and now she’s settling into something else. Calmness? Surety?

It reminds me of when we stood at my bar counter, sweaty from exercise but still standing close with our hands on each other, and she told me I’ve been making her want to like herself.

I’m as moved now as I was then.

Even more so when she tells me.

“You’re right.”

After a beat, more softly.

“Being judgmental towards myself gets so old.”

“Yeah, fuck that,”

I say.

“However you are is awesome, so love it.”

I only barely catch myself before I keep going with something that gives away how I love her.

This is not the moment I want to tell her that. I want to tell her when we aren’t about to rush out the door to go eat food with another person. Or just…generally not in a moment that isn’t the best it can be.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to suspect there were any other words on my tongue. She’s just grinning and clasping her hands together low in front of herself—and looking at me the way I know I’ve been looking at her.

“You look amazing too,”

she says.

“Luke Bramhill in a button-down shirt….”

Shaking her head, she tsks.

I’m wild about the brightness in her eyes.

Once again, I’m following in her footsteps and grinning too.

She comes to me and holds out a hand.

“Ready to go?”

I take it, my chest feeling warm over these moments and how much I know my mom is going to like her.

“Yep. Let’s go.”

—

“Mom, you are not,”

I laugh out, covering my eyes with one hand. My cheeks are hurting from constant smiles and burning from new embarrassment.

“Of course I am!”

She puts the photo album down in front of where Maggie sits next to me; the girl has already eagerly moved her empty plate away.

“These pictures are so cute!”

Maggie giggles.

“Cute pictures were meant to be shared, Luke!”

I move my hand away and shake my head at the two of them.

“The very first time I introduce my girl to my mom, though? Dang.”

She glances at me from where my mom is flipping to a certain page in the album, warmly holding my gaze only long enough to make my heart do a happy little dance. Once she’s looking at the album again, she hunches her shoulders with excited eyes and a grin.

“Aha,”

my mom says, ceasing her page-turning. She all but squeaks as she points out the pictures that somehow got brought up as we were all finishing our desserts.

And damn it, Maggie’s face fully lights up with joy at little-kid me wearing a t-shirt, a Halloween costume cape, and a pair of swim trunks with every fake weapon I owned sticking out of them.

“Oh my God!”

She presses a hand to her chest and lets out a delighted laugh.

“This is….”

I prepare for her to poke some fun at me. Instead, she pores over each picture while my mom talks about how much I loved any movies with battling in them: superhero ones, ninja ones, fantasy ones. Maggie’s laughter doesn’t continue and no jokes come, even when a couple pictures feature me having messily drawn a superhero eye mask on myself with a marker—her mouth just falls open in amusement that honestly looks sweet.

“I love all of this!”

she announces.

“Oh, Luke, I love this!”

My mom is on the other side of her, so I can’t see Maggie’s face when she turns it her way, but I’m sure she’s smiling.

“Thank you for showing these to me!”

We all exchange smiles now, and Maggie keeps talking.

“Oh my gosh, it reminds me of when I was about seven and I was obsessed with the Care Bears. I loved them so much that I insisted on being called my own kind of Care Bear name depending on, like, my outfit or even my mood. If it was time to eat and I was hungry, I wanted to be called Hungry Bear, or if I was wearing a lot of purple, I wanted to be called Purple Bear.”

My mom and I laugh, and Maggie joins right in.

“Really?” I ask.

She nods. “Yes!”

My mom puts her hand on Maggie’s back and says.

“That is precious!”

I have to admit.

“Yeah, that’s funny and cute as hell.”

Then I laugh again as I think to ask.

“Did you come up with your names yourself or did you rely on, like, your parents seeing you in a dress and deciding to call you Dress Bear?”

“Both!”

Maggie says, and something about that really cracks us up.

My mom looks back and forth between us with an expression that screams she couldn’t be happier to see us laughing so much together.

I couldn’t either.

Our little gathering has been awesome. Maggie started out shy and quiet, which had me realizing I’d kind of forgotten that’s her natural state—I’ve gotten so used to spending time with relaxed, lively Maggie that I’ve come to see that as how she always is. I could tell she was worried about what my mom would think of her. But Mom was welcoming and excited to be around her and talk to her, and it wasn’t long before Maggie was loosening up. Since then, she has managed to stay graceful and put-together even as she does things like laugh this way with me. And I’ve been able to tell that my mom likes her a lot, just as I knew she would, even so soon after meeting her.

Plus, all the food has been damn good. My mom’s turkey and couple of side dishes are always perfect. This time, we also had my and Maggie’s mac and cheese and chocolate cake instead of whatever store-bought stuff I usually bring, which paid off so well. They were hits. I think this just might have been the best Thanksgiving meal I’ve had.

I’m so happy.

Once Maggie calms down a little from laughing, she tells us.

“It always made me happy to be called my own Care Bear names, and I remember being really upset when some of the kids at school started making fun of me for it. They called me Stupid Bear! It made me cry!”

I’m torn between being mad on small Maggie’s behalf and amused because adult Maggie is still grinning. She nods in agreement with how my mom has gasped and said the kids were mean for doing that, but she doesn’t look terribly hurt about it anymore.

“I know,”

she says, then points at me.

“And I didn’t know Emma yet ’cause I met her in third grade, so I didn’t have anyone to tell the others to shut up and leave me alone.”

She giggles.

“I mean, I think the teacher eventually stepped in, but you know she didn’t tell any seven-year-olds to shut up.”

“She should’ve,”

I say teasingly.

“Bunch of little assholes!”

My mom and Maggie reprimand me even as they laugh. I assure them I’m kidding because of course no child needs to be told to shut up by an adult…but I do really think they were some assholes to be mean to a fellow classmate.

“Now, Emma is one of your friends that you live with, right?”

my mom asks as she starts flipping through the album again.

“Yes, ma’am,”

Maggie says.

“And you met her in the third grade? What about your other one?”

“We met Joy when we were in sixth grade.”

“Wow, you’ve all been friends a long time! You said you wished Emma had been there to help with those mean kids when you were seven? Is she a protective kind of friend?”

Maggie and I say, “Yep!”

at the same time and laugh at the same time. She meets my eyes and is once again so wildly pretty with this brightness about her and I just…mmm.

I bide my time. Through more easy talk between her and my mom, then through them adoringly looking at pictures of my various childhood Halloween costumes while I try to remember how each Halloween went. I know the Yoshi year took a turn because that costume was clunky and I tripped stepping onto a sidewalk from the street and scraped up my hands when I caught my fall.

After I recall that memory aloud, my mom freshly bemoans that I’d gotten hurt. Then she excuses herself to the restroom and my moment arrives: the second we’re alone in the dining room, I get to my feet and reach for Maggie’s closest hand, then pull her to stand with me. My other hand takes her jaw with gentle purpose, and I sneak a kiss from her.

She kisses me back, stepping closer to me while her hand holds mine. I somehow both hate for the sweet exchange to end and enjoy that it ends because she’s smiling.

“Poor you when you were little,”

she says. She drops her head from mine so she can take both of my hands and look at my palms like they’re still all scraped up.

“I’m sure that hurt.”

After a pause.

“Remember when you scraped them ’cause you fell in my parking lot?”

I’d just begun to think about that, actually.

“Yep. Looks like I’m not very good at walking.”

She tsks, nods, rubs her thumbs over my palms.

“Yeah, I’m sorry to say that’s what falling down a couple times in your life means.”

I chuckle and so does she. She tugs me closer and I wrap her in a hug.

Against her hair, I murmur.

“I’m sorry you got called Stupid Bear. Dig around in your memory for names so I can look them up and message some people. ‘Hey, I just learned you hurt my girlfriend’s feelings almost twenty years ago. It’s time for you to tell her you’re sorry.’”

Maggie snorts lightly into a giggle that warms my shoulder and makes me smile.

“You’re the best, Luke,”

she says against that spot.

“You are.”

I start shifting my weight from one foot to the other, swaying us lightly while we hug.

“My mom likes you.”

“Really? But you haven’t gotten to ask her, have you?”

“I haven’t, but I can tell.”

She snuggles into my embrace the only little bit more that she can with us being so close.

“I’m so glad you think so. I like her too. She’s so warm.”

I hum my agreement.

“Yeah, she is.”

“And the turkey she made was amazing. I can see why Thanksgiving food is some of your favorite.”

I groan, happy that I ate that turkey just a little while ago and already looking forward to leftovers.

“Yum. God, I miss it already.”

“Leftovers will help with that later.”

After a moment’s thought, she adds.

“What a blessing it is to be able to be full of food. We need to get around to doing our donating.”

I nod as big as I can while hugging her.

“Yes and yes. In fact, I know we originally landed on the homeless shelter for that, but now I’m thinking we should also include the food bank.”

Her nod is as big as she can make it too.

“Let’s start that tomorrow before we both go to work.”

She starts slipping out of my hug.

“And hey, let’s clean up this stuff on the table that we’re done with.”

I’m normally the one who cleans up after this meal, so I was going to get around to it in a little while, but I don’t try to put it off now. It’s really nice that Maggie apparently wants to see to it as much as I always do—not that I’d really expect anything less from her, but still.

By the time my mom is back in the dining room, I’m wiping down the table while Maggie works in the kitchen, rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. There was a moment of difficulty in deciding to let her do that since we still don’t agree on how things should be arranged in a dishwasher, but she shooed me away and I let her. All that really matters is that my mom doesn’t have to do anything herself.

“Aw, honey! Thank you!”

She seems to catch the sounds of Maggie in the kitchen and she gives a small gasp, then asks me more quietly.

“Is Maggie doing dishes?”

“Yep!”

She comes over and hugs me around the shoulders. I stop what I’m doing and return the squeeze.

“I love you. And I kind of think I already love her.”

We share a surreptitious laugh before I whisper.

“I love you, too, and that girl already has a chokehold on my heart, so I get how you feel.”

“Mmm. I can tell.”

She steps away from me and gives me a long, absorbing look.

“The happiness between you is so clear.”

I knew she could see it, but it still does something good to me to hear her talk about it.

She adds.

“I can’t wait to get to know her even more. She’s so great. And on that note, I can’t believe you never talked much about her before a few days ago.”

Smiling, she gives my arm a light smack.

“You were over there falling for this girl from work and I had no idea! How could you not have dropped me any hints?”

It’s overwhelming how fast a single truth rushes into my throat, fighting to be spoken over any other response to what she’s said: the truth that I don’t only know Maggie from work.

My mom still doesn’t have a clue about what happened with us in high school. She doesn’t know Maggie brought happiness to my life before now. She doesn’t know how I ruined it the first time. She doesn’t know that Maggie….

Should I finally tell her about all of it?

But as soon as I wonder that, I realize the answer is no. No, of course I shouldn’t. Why did that even pop into my head? If there will ever be a time for that, which I doubt because the past is supposed to be behind me, this is not it.

“You okay, honey?”

she asks, and I notice she’s frowning now.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry or—”

“No, don’t be sorry, Mom,”

I stop her, patting her shoulders.

“I’m okay. I just got lost in my head for a second. You didn’t offend me.”

I take a deep breath, then tip her a smile as I decide on an answer that’s truthful in its way.

“I guess I didn’t say anything sooner because…honestly, we didn’t always get along. We really didn’t get along. Then a guy was bothering her and I helped her with that, and somehow it changed our dynamic, and before we realized it, we were feeling good things for each other. We knew we wanted to be together, so now we are.”

My mom’s smile and understanding expression are back, along with pride.

“Ah. That makes sense. Seems like you would’ve told me someone was annoying you that badly, but….”

She shrugs in a way that tells me she’s not going to dwell on it.

“We’re close, but I know you don’t tell me everything, and I know I don’t tell you everything either!”

I chuckle with her.

“Oh, for sure.”

Her eyes seem to shine.

“I’m just happy you’re happy. I’m happy that happiness swept in and swept you off your feet. I’m happy you were there for her and that you didn’t refuse a change of heart so your heart could have something good.”

She gives me a smile and laughs softly behind it.

“And how special that things were ready and waiting to be different. Just needed the two of you to be ready for them to be different.”

God, what an incredible bunch of thoughts.

And God, I have the best mom ever.

She’s right about me and Maggie. I hadn’t thought of the timing like that, but it makes so much sense hearing her say it. More than she even realizes.

I hug her for real this time and she gives me the biggest squeeze she can, which both amuses me and makes me feel like I’m once again her little boy.

“You rock, Mom,”

I tell her.

“Thank you for rocking and for everything.”

“You’re welcome! I think you rock! And thank you for always coming to see me on Thanksgiving.”

“Psh. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

After we step out of this hug, she says.

“Okay, I’m gonna go see if Maggie needs my help with anything.”

I hold up an, ‘Are you serious?’ hand, but she doesn’t see it because she’s walking away, so I voice it.

“Are you serious? Go sit down somewhere! You never have to bother with cleaning on Thanksgiving and you’re not starting today!”

She cackles as she leaves the room.

Maggie is making less noise now and seems to have heard me.

“Uh oh, Luke,”

she calls.

“is she trying to come mess around in the kitchen?”

“Yes!”

I call back, realizing I’ve started grinning.

“Keep her from it at all costs!”

I hear her say.

“Mrs. Bramhill, put the roasting pan down,”

and her tone nears the bossy tone she’s taken with me before, which cracks me the hell up.

I only manage my normal volume as I say through my laughter.

“Ah, Mom, good luck fighting Bossy Moss.”

It’s okay that she doesn’t hear me because I can hear her learning where she stands with this new shade of Maggie this very second.

Might work one of her nerves eventually, but that’s okay too. It won’t diminish how the girl has charmed her.

I know that from experience.

—

It was already cold outside when we left for my mom’s, but sometime during the few hours we spent there, the partly-cloudy sky went fully cloudy and rain started up, so the afternoon feels extra cold by the time we’re back home. Shivering and hunching our shoulders, we complain while we ascend the stairs to my front door as quickly as we can without slipping.

We also yawn, as we’ve been doing for a while now.

“I need a nap,”

I say.

“A cozy, comfy, warm nap.”

“Yes,”

Maggie agrees from in front of me.

“but please let it be cozy and comfy and warm by not stealing the blanket from me.”

“Aw, I’d never steal the blanket from you,”

I promise her as I get my key ready.

She chuckles.

“You have, though.”

I send a confused frown to the hair cascading down the back of her coat.

“Who you talking to?”

We reach the top of the stairs and get to be side-by-side, allowing me to see her face. I snort at the quizzical expression she’s turned on me, which promptly makes her smile.

She points at me.

“I’m serious!”

“So am I!”

I point at me too.

“You’re saying I’m a blanket stealer?”

“Big time!”

“Well, this is news to me.”

I get us through the front door, then shut it tight, locking us safely away from the cold, wet air while Maggie tells me about how I hogged the blanket a few times in my bed last night. I have no memory of it. The only thing I remember is a feeling from before I fell asleep and after I woke up: absolute fucking satisfaction that she was next to me.

That feeling was so true and perfect that I just about ache to have it again.

After we’ve gotten our coats and shoes put aside and our leftover food stored in the refrigerator, I shuffle to a standstill in front of Maggie and make a fresh, light promise to her.

“I’m sorry for making you cold during the night, and if I do it again, you may disturb my peaceful slumber and make me act right.”

That makes her laugh a little bit like my promise on the stairs did.

“Okay,”

she accepts. “Deal.”

Our yawns come back, and I gesture to my room. She nods. It’s time for a snooze.

—

Once we were in sweatpants and long sleeves, snuggling under the comforter on my bed with that feeling of satisfaction descending on me once more, it was easy to drift off. We napped solidly, and after we woke up later, we were glad that I apparently didn’t roll the blanket around myself again. Chuckling about it helped wake us up enough to get back to the rest of our day.

Time has drifted easily too.

We’ve done our own kitchen cleaning. I’ve texted Paxton and Maggie has done the same with her friends and parents. We’ve made plans for the people-in-need shopping we want to do tomorrow and talked about putting my Christmas decorations up sometime this weekend, as well as a mini tree. We’ve gotten snacky enough to start in on some of the leftovers from my mom’s. And for the last little while, we’ve just been lazily, drowsily watching TV.

Not been too lazy and drowsy to keep from laughing, though.

Arrested Development has been cracking us up, and we just now found the ‘Egg’ episode and are falling sideways on each other in my oversized chair while we laugh our asses off about that scene—

—just like when we were sixteen.

I vividly remember us being that young and this amused.

And I’m not rattled like I was earlier today when I was recalling that time in our lives. I’m only eager to pause the show and guide Maggie’s face close enough to mine that I can press kisses to her grin-touched cheek.

Because actually, this is more than it was back then.

We are more than we were.

Knowing that reminds me to remind her in the spirit of Thanksgiving.

“I’m thankful as hell for you.”

“I’m so thankful for you, too, Luke,”

she replies. Her face turns and lifts so she can, to my pleasant surprise, smack a kiss onto my forehead.

Damn. Who apparently loves forehead kisses? This guy.

“And….”

Her laughter fully fades and she hesitates, looks over my face but not into my eyes, takes hold of my hands where they’re still on her face. I can feel the blush coming to her cheeks.

Voice gentling, I ask, “What?”

Her voice comes out more delicately too.

“I—I’m also thankful for…Kyle. Before him, I…to tell the truth, I felt these nudges about you, and I heard these little whispers in my head, but who knows how long it would’ve taken me to stop ignoring them if we hadn’t come together because of him?”

The admission reaches into me.

At last, her eyes touch mine, full of green softness.

“Who knows how long it would’ve taken me to get back to you?”

Too long, some part of me knows.

I have a feeling my voice isn’t going to come out very strongly, but I still have to make my own admission.

“I guess I’m thankful for him, too, ’cause I wonder the same thing about myself, and the answer I have sucks.”

She nods a little, then whispers.

“It would’ve taken too long?”

The exact thing I thought.

“Yes,”

I whisper back.

One corner of her mouth curves up in a tiny, sweet, shy hint of a smile.

It fits how I feel about what we’ve said. I didn’t know Maggie had those nudges and whispers, but I know I did. Truly, when would I have decided to listen to them if an outside influence hadn’t come up? Months? Years? Ever?

I’m reminded of what my mom said about us earlier—that things between us were ready to change whenever we were ready to make room for them to. The truth of that still makes a crazy amount of sense.

I finally give Maggie a little smile of my own and say.

“I’ll never tell him I’m thankful for his bullshit, though.”

“No, never,”

she agrees. A single light laugh moves her shoulders, so different from the laughter we were in a minute ago.

But one of her hands leaves where it’s been holding mine and she slips her fingertips down my cheek, and between that touch and the look in her eyes, I can tell her warm happiness hasn’t gone anywhere.

Neither has mine.

I’m still glad when that heartier laughter bubbles up in her again, though, because the moment we were having before was so fun and funny and here’s another thing I’ll never do: get tired of having times like that with her. I want all of them forever. I want us to be silly and open and close forever.

Smiling, I ask.

“You laughing at the show again?”

She nods.

“Yes. Can we go back and rewatch that one part?”

“Oh, we can, and we will.”

And we do.

And we dissolve into more uninhibited laughter.

And we might have a few sore muscles later because of that, but it’ll be worth it.

She’s worth it.

She’s worth everything.

I put my arm around her and draw her into me as I get more comfortable. She snuggles against me and we finally get back into the show, my chuckles and her giggles relaxing into comfortable silence—until the next funny thing comes along, that is.

It feels like the perfect way to end our good day.