You and Me and Him (26 page)

“Hey, that’s my swing.”

I twist around, and there’s Nash, standing in a puddle of light by the boat launch.

He walks over and grabs the chain of my swing like nothing ever happened. Like we haven’t spent the last couple weeks, the longest of my life, incommunicado.

“I had dibs,” he says.

“Well, if you had dibs . . .” I get out of the swing and move to the one next to it.

“Thanks.” He sits, pushing the seat back and forth with a gentle, hypnotic motion. “A bake sale for the food bank? Kids stuffing their faces with cookies to feed the hungry? The irony!”

“I had to do something to get your attention.”

We swing in silence for a few more minutes, and then Nash dives in.

“I was so hurt.”

“I was too,” I say. “Hurt. And miserable. And lonely. And pissed off.”

Nash keeps swinging.

“And sorry,” I say. “So, so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“No, that’s the thing. You didn’t. I mean, you did kiss him, which was shitty. But I was really mad because Tom didn’t like me. Seriously, just once can’t the cute new guy be gay? Is that so much to ask? Anyway, I took it out on you.”

“Yeah, you kinda did.”

“I’m sorry too,” Nash says. “Incredibly sorry. I can’t believe how close I came to screwing this up permanently.”

“Good. Remember that. Because no guy is worth our friendship.”

“I know.”

“Good.” We move back and forth like twin pendulums on a clock that is winding down. “Kayla—” I start to say.

“Kayla is a sad little future prom queen who sabotaged you in hopes Tom would land in her lap.”

“God, I’ve missed you.”

“I know.”

We laugh together this time, but my laughter merges with some tears. I’m hiccupy and a little snotty, but I’m grinning from ear to ear. Nash looks me up and down and hands me the crisp cotton handkerchief he always carries.

“Pull it together, Mags.” He pulls me off my swing, and we walk, elbows linked, across the park. I rest my head on his shoulder for a minute, and he kisses the top of my head. “I missed you too, friend.”

When we get to my house, Mom starts into her usual speech about calling when I’m going to be late, but stops short when she sees Nash.

“Naaaash!” she squeals, giving him a big hug. “Where have you been? We’ve missed you around here.”

“Hi, Mrs. Bower,” Nash says. “Mr. Bower,” he adds, shaking Dad’s hand. “I’ve missed being here.”

I grab a couple oranges from the bowl on the counter.

“That’s a great snack . . .” Mom starts in.

“Mom . . .” I say.

“Right. I forgot. Sorry.”

When we get to my messy room, Nash gives a fastidious little snort. “Have we been wallowing, Miss Maggie?”

“We have been miserable, Mr. Taylor, as you well know. Now sit while I clean this mess up.”

Nash clears dirty clothes off the chair by my desk and perches himself on the edge of it, making as little physical contact with my room as possible. He peruses the photos of me framing my mirror.

“What’s this?”

“That? That was a brisk, clarifying walk down memory lane,” I say. “I learned some things I don’t want to forget.”

Nash nods with what I decide is approval. He points to my fourth grade photo. “I thought you hated that one.”

I smile, loving him for remembering something like that. “I used to. But in view of recent events, I’ve come to appreciate its charms.”

He nods again.

“So, spill.” I resume my cleaning frenzy. “What brought you back into my ever-lovin’ arms?”

“The truth is Tom did.” Nash examines his fingernails while he says this. “Well, Tom and your fiery and unintentionally public discussion with Kayla today. Anyway, he’s pretty upset about how everything happened, and he wanted to know if there was anything he could do to make things right between you and me again, short of dating me, of course.”

“Of course.” I hurl a big pile of shoes into my closet. They crash and tumble against the back wall. “I can’t believe him. What did you say?”

“I told him he could stay away from you,” Nash says.

I look at him.

“Kidding, I’m kidding.” He smoothes down his hair. “Well, I did say that, but I also said that if Tom was serious about you, I would step out of the way.”

I freeze, wondering if I’ve heard Nash right. “You said that?” I ask. “For real?”

“Yes,” he says, his face pinching a bit. “You can have Tom with my full support and approval.”

“You’d really do that?”

“Maggie, you’re my best friend. I know on the friendship spectrum, I lean toward the ‘it’s all about me’ end, but this last little episode has been ridiculous even for me.”

I think about Tom kissing me and know this won’t really be behind us unless I tell Nash everything. “In the interest of full disclosure . . .” I fold some T-shirts to avoid eye contact with Nash. “You should know that he kissed me. Well, we kissed. Again.”

“Where?” Nash brushes some imaginary lint off his sweater sleeve.

“On the lips. And my neck. And my forehead.” I wait for his reaction.

“I meant where did this happen?”

“First time by the lake. You already knew about that. Second time at a party last weekend.”

Nash’s eyes widen when I mention the party. “And?”

“And I definitely wanted him to. I didn’t stop him, not the first time.”

“What about the second time?”

“The second time Tom was drunk and he just wanted a warm body. And I told him to stop. He just wants to be friends anyway.”

“That sounds extremely friendly.”

I laugh. “It was, except for the part when we stopped kissing, and he said he didn’t mean it. And then he told me he was the one who told you about the kiss, when I thought all along it was Kayla.”

“Oh, Kayla did her part, and more than her share of the damage.”

“But why did Tom do that to you? It must have hurt like hell!”

“Yeah, it did. But I think he was trying to find a way to let me down easy. Good intentions, but just between you and me: he’s not that great at relationships.” He waves his hand like he’s shooing a cat off a table. “His loss, Maggie.” Nash sighs. “Was it fabulous?”

I nod. “Yep. Pretty much.”

“So now you’ve been kissed.”

“I guess, sort of, yeah.”

Nash looks a little wistful.

I rush to reassure him. “But not technically. Not by someone who actually likes me. Are you freaking out?”

Nash takes a deep breath. “I was for a second. And it’s going to take me some time to get past all the twinges left over from whatever crushy thing I had going with Tom. But I’m also thinking that now that you’ve crossed the kissing threshold, maybe there’s hope for me too?”

“No doubt. That is definitely going to happen.” I throw Neshie on the bed. “So, we’re okay?”

“Sure. I’m a new and improved Nash. This way if the actual man of my dreams ever does show up in Cedar Ridge, he’ll find me much more lovable and irresistible.”

I give Nash a hug and sit on the bed across from him. “Did Tom make the book? Your Crushology book?”

“Oh, honey. Tom has his own chapter!” Nash shakes his head. “But it’s okay. I’m already kind of getting over him. Mostly.”

“This has all been such a shit show!” I flop back on my bed. “I was so wrong about Kayla, and Tom. The one thing I’m sure of right now is you.”

“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Right back at you.” I sit up and look Nash in the eye. “So, what should we do now? What do you want?”

“What do I want?” He’s quiet for a long minute, and when he continues, I can hear the longing and ache in his voice. “I just want someone who wants me back. I want to sit on the same side of the booth while we’re having coffee. I want to slow dance at my own prom and have a beautiful first kiss, and second kiss . . . I want . . . sweaty palms and jellyfish, the whole thing.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Jellyfish.”

“Do you think I can really have all that?”

“Definitely.”

Billie’s already on the turntable, so I flip the record over and put the needle down.

“Ain’t Nobody’s Business” starts playing, and I sing the intro right along with Billie. She’s right. No matter what you do, somebody’s going to complain and criticize. So you might as well do what you want. For the first time, I believe the words down deep.

Then the music shifts, and Nash and I both leap from our chairs, singing along as loud as we can. “‘If I should take a notion, to jump into the ocean, ain’t nobody’s business if I do-ooo.’”

I realize whatever I decide about Tom, or my weight, or who I’m friends with, or whatever: it’s my decision. My business, and nobody else’s. Nash and I collapse onto the bed when the song ends. The needle pulses at the inside edge of the record, but both of us are too tired and happy to care. Nash reaches across the bed and links his pinkie with mine.

“Maggie Bower,” he whispers. “You are my pinkie partner for life.”

I smile and whisper back, “I know.”

Nash stays late, and I sleep better than I have in weeks. Mom knows it’s been rough, so she lets me ditch school. In the afternoon I realize I haven’t told Quinn about Kayla or Nash, so I throw my coat on and head over to Square Peg before my shift starts. As soon as I walk through the door, he can see something’s different.

“Something happened!” He claps his hands together. “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me!”

I take off my coat and throw it on the stool. “I told her off.”

“Kayla? No joke?” The girl in the R&B section is listening, so he lowers his voice. “What happened?”

“Not much to tell,” I say. “She stopped by the bake sale to say hi and buy some cookies. I said I wouldn’t sell her any cookies. I also told her she screwed up, that she’s really bad at the whole friendship thing.”

“Just like that?” he says. “‘Hi, Kayla, you’re a lame friend’? How’d that go over?”

“Ton o’ bricks,” I say. “But I told her to leave me alone, that she’d had more than enough chances from me.”

“How do you feel?”

“I was shakin’ like bacon yesterday, but I feel okay now. I think I feel good.” I grin as I realize this is actual happiness.

The bell jingles and Tom walks in. He’s smiling, trying to look relaxed, but I can see in his eyes he’s not sure if he should be there.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I say back.

“Missed you at school.” He holds out a Ziploc bag with some deformed cookies in them. “I made you cookies.” He looks embarrassed. “I’ve never really baked before. I know they’re kind of ugly, but I think they taste okay.”

I take the baggie and peer at the cookies through the bag.

“They’re plain old chocolate chip.”

“My favorite.” I pull one out and take a bite. They’re a little burned, but he’s got the right idea. And nobody but my grandma ever made cookies for me before. “Thanks.”

We stand like that for a minute, and then I put down the cookies and grab Tom’s hand, pulling him through the store and into the back hallway. Standing in the narrow hall creates a forced intimacy that amplifies the voltage I feel whenever Tom’s around.

“Great speech,” he says.

“Oh.” I cross my arms over my chest. I can’t find a safe place to look when he’s standing so close. “You heard?”

“Yep. Me and about a hundred other people.”

We both laugh, but it’s not easy like it was before.

“So, yeah. Sorry about the other night,” he says. “I shouldn’t have . . . Well, there’s been so much going on, and I was a little . . . I’d been drinking . . . I shouldn’t have tried anything.”

“Yeah. It was a rough night. I needed a friend, not a make-out session.”

“I know. Or I should have known.”

“Yeah, you should have.”

“And I shouldn’t have told Nash about the kiss.”

“Yeah, that was a bit of a dick move.”

“Yeah, well, I thought it might make things better, but I don’t really have an excuse.”

“Good. I hate excuses. So I guess an apology will have to be enough.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Accepted.” I tilt my head and look at him a minute; the neon hanging over the counter lights half his face as it penetrates the hallway. “You know, Tom, you’re not really who I thought you were.”

Tom smiles. “Neither are you, Maggie.”

He holds his arms open for a hug at the same time I stick out my hand for a handshake. We laugh, and he settles for the handshake.

“Ahem.” Quinn coughs and knocks on the wall near the hallway entrance. “Hate to interrupt, but we have some actual customers. A little help?” Quinn returns to the store.

“Is he mad?” Tom asks.

“Not a chance, but I should get back out there.”

“Yeah, okay.” Tom smiles. “See you later?”

“Sure.” I retreat behind the safety of the counter.

“Nice work, Maggie,” Quinn says. “Now if only that dumbass Nash would pull his head out of his butt, it would be a golden day!”

“He already did!” I tell Quinn everything, about Nash and Tom and all the crazy ways things got mixed up and made right again.

“Hallelujah!” Quinn says when I finish. “All is well in Maggie world! You deserve it, hon.”

I’m still grinning as Quinn turns to ring up a customer. Some other browsers drift around the store, still looking through the bins, hoping to find an album that will remind them of who they used to be. Over the speakers, the Kinks sing “Ev’rybody’s Gonna Be Happy.” I don’t know if everybody will be, but I think I am. At least for the moment.

This book, like all books, bears the marks of many generous people. Kerry Sparks, agent extraordinaire: Thank you for believing in the work, and in me, when neither was fully formed. You have been a patient mentor and tireless champion. Thanks also to Kate O’Sullivan, my amazing, thoughtful editor: You taught me so much through this process. Both the book and its author are so much better than they were before you got a hold of us. I am so grateful to all the people at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt who helped bring the book into being, especially the copyeditor, Erin DeWitt, who gave the book such thorough attention, and Susanna Vagt, who wowed me with her cover designs.

I would have been unable to write this if not for the support and encouragement of Kelly Milner Halls. Thank you, friend, for being a mentor to me as I became a writer. Kevin Shields, thanks for helping me make sure I got things right for Nash. My gratitude goes out to all the excellent friends and writers who were willing to read for me: Pete Fromm, Beth Cooley, Sheri Boggs, Kerry Halls, Carole Allen, Anne Walter, Ava Walter, Claire Rudolph Murphy, Mari Hunt, and Jen Menzer. You each showed me ways to make Maggie and Nash’s story more complete. Thanks, too, to all the editors who read the book and took the time to offer feedback even though it wasn’t right for them. Every piece of that made the book better and helped me become a stronger writer.