December 23, 2014
7:30pm
Le Bernardin
155 West 51st Street, New York, NY
She’s really beautiful. Long, flawless legs, flowing brown hair that falls perfectly at her shoulders. Her smile is contagious, and she has a really soothing tone to her voice. I should be enjoying my date tonight, and thank my father tomorrow for setting me up with one of his colleagues daughters.
But I can barely focus.
She’s talking about a project she’s working on at the office. She works for BuzzFeed, which is kind of cool. I love watching all the videos they put out, but at this moment, I can’t remember what she told me the project is all about. My mind is constantly drifting from our conversation. I keep thinking about the way I left Maggie earlier. It was happy hour at Mercury Bar, our favorite place to have a drink after work. Denise, our waitress of choice, even set us up with some really cool holiday cocktails and a couple of on the house appetizers as a Christmas gift, since we’re always there on her nights. None of it got Maggie to smile. She’s miserable.
She’s miserable and it’s Christmas. I’d give anything to help her, but I have no clue what I’m supposed to do. I can’t make Hunter love her again, and frankly, I don’t want that asshole anywhere near her. If I see him, I might punch him in the face, and that wouldn’t be very holly jolly.
“I’ll stay.” I motioned Denise over, prepared to order another round of holiday concoctions for us. “I don’t need to go on this date.”
“It’s a date. You need to go. There’s no reason why you should stay single forever, you’re too nice of a guy.” She managed a half smile for me, before she focused back on her empty glass.
“They’re all the same, Mags. Boring, superficial. I don’t click with any of them.”
“You must click with someone.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been on countless dates since I’ve known you. There was that one you were with for like a month right? Cindy…Shera—“
“Cheryl.”
“Right. What happened to her?”
“Weird tits. Pointy ones.” I smirked and took a drink.
“You’re stupid,” she said it, but it still got her to laugh, and I joined in.
I knew who I clicked with, I knew who I wanted my next dinner date to be with, but as I stared back at her, I couldn’t get the fucking words out. It was probably my best opportunity to tell her how I felt too.
But I chickened out. I always chicken out when it comes to her. My heart pounds, my throat gets really dry, and my tongue seems to get all twisted up where I can’t speak for at least ten minutes.
“What can I get you guys now?” Denise smiled brightly.
“Another round.”
“No,” Maggie protested. “We’ll just take the check.”
Denise laughed slightly and glanced nervously between us.
“Seriously, another round.” I smiled for Maggie and nudged her.
“I’m telling you, we’ll take the check,” she gritted it at Denise.
I knew she wasn’t going to tolerate me canceling the date for her sake, so I decided to back down. “Yeah, the check is fine.”
Denise nodded slightly, and walked off.
“Mags—”
“I’ll be fine, Justin, okay?” Maggie swept her hair out of her eyes and licked her lips, but wouldn’t meet my gaze. “You’ve already done enough for me, and I’m finished wreaking havoc on your holiday season.”
“You’re not—“
She threw some bills down on the table. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Just go, or you’ll be late.”
I sighed.
“Go, Justin.”
So I did.
I could kick myself, because I have no idea where she wound up. She shouldn’t be alone. Tomorrow is Christmas eve, and despite the fact that she and I will both make an appearance at the office, I know I’ll leave in the early part of the afternoon and she’ll end up staying late into the night.
There's no denying she's going to be alone on Christmas. The very thought makes my heart ache. I’m not a real romantic. At least, I don’t consider myself one. I just…care about her. I really do. I always have. Something inside, has been holding out for her all these years.
That could explain why I don’t click with any of these women that I meet for dinner. Hard as I try, I can't find anyone that compares to her.
“Is everything okay?”
My dates voice catches my ears and I snap to attention. “Yeah, everything is great.” I flash my ‘lawyers smile’, the one I show to reassure clients that they can trust me. “You want some more wine?”
She glances at her half full glass. “I think I’m okay.”
She knows I’m not interested in our conversation. I can tell it’s pissing her off. She probably spent an hour getting ready for this date, because my father talked me up really well to her father, made me sound like some kind of dream date. I feel like a jerk, because any other guy would have been totally immersed in conversation with a beautiful woman like her by now.
I’m completely bored though. I always am. It’s always the same thing. I’m not into model types, and that’s always who I end up with. I like a casual woman who knows how to kick back and have a good time, a woman that isn’t afraid to stuff her face. Someone real, I guess.
She’s not the one. I knew that when I agreed to the date. I should stop doing that.
“I’m sorry,” I sigh, and take my wallet out. “I just…I’m distracted, and it’s not fair to you.” I throw some bills down on the table. “Order whatever you want. It was nice to meet you.”
“You’re just going to leave?”
“Pretty much.”
I’m such a jerk.
She starts ripping into me, calling me every name under the sun, tells me how she’s going to make sure my father knows what a jerk his son turned out to be. I couldn’t care less about Benjamin’s opinion, so I barely pay attention to her outbursts. Instead, I walk away from the table, and out of the restaurant. After hailing a taxi, I immediately call Maggie, just to check in with her.
When she doesn’t answer, alarms go off inside of me.
I direct the driver to take me to Penn Station, and I grab the first subway to Brooklyn. I’ve only seen her new place once, when I took that weekend and helped her move some of her stuff into it. Despite how much of a wreck she was, the smile stayed on her face for me the whole time, and when we were done, she told me how thankful she was to have someone like me around.
It was another time that I could have told her how I felt, but didn’t.
What’s stopping me? Am I afraid of her, or just afraid that I might be in love and not sure if she could ever love me back? It’s probably the latter. I know if I told her, and she told me that she didn’t feel the same way, it would crush me.
An hour later I arrive on her block, and I try to call her again. There’s still no answer. When I reach her building, I find her name on the set of doorbells and buzz her apartment. I wait a good ten minutes, and she doesn’t answer then either. I sigh, and reach for my wallet, producing the spare key tucked behind my bank card that she gave me for an emergency.
Is this an emergency?
Yes.
I unlock the door and take the elevator up to the seventh floor. 7C. I knock. “Mags?”
No answer.
I press my ear to the door, and make out the distinct sound of a shower running. She’s either home and not answering or she left the water running this morning. I take the chance that she’s actually inside, and open the door. It’s a complete violation of her privacy, but I’m worried. I can’t help myself.
I walk in. The studio is as dismal as the day I helped her move in. She hasn’t painted the stained white walls, and it’s drafty enough to make me shiver. “Maggie.” I call out.
No answer. Just running water.
I draw closer to the door that leads into the bedroom and bathroom. Knocking and calling out her name doesn’t get her to answer either, so I enter.
The steam inside the bedroom is mind blowing. I can tell the water has been running for hours. My heart jumps up into my throat and I rush to the closed bathroom door. “Maggie!” I pound on the door, wait exactly five seconds, and then push it open.
Jesus.
She’s there, in the tub, shower running with a wine bottle in her hand, fully clothed, soaking wet, and passed out cold. “Maggie.” I go to the side of the tub and grip her by the shoulders, shaking her. “Maggie wake up.” I reach out and turn the shower off.
“Maggie!”
Her eyes open a crack, and she groans.
I take the bottle from her, sighing when I realize it’s empty. “C’mon.” I lift her into my arms, and awkwardness ensues immediately. I don’t know what else to do though. I can’t just leave her in the tub like this, all wet and drunk.
“Jus—“ She wraps her arms around my neck and leans her head against my chest as I carry her away.
“I’m going to help you change into some dry clothes, okay?”
“Mm.”
I put her down on the bed and immediately regret my choice when she starts to vomit all over her blanket.
“Shit.”
It’s disgusting. Her vomit is the color of the wine, burgundy red, and it stinks to high heaven. I wait for her to finish, and then I start to strip her out of her nasty clothes. “I’m…I’m not going to touch you or anything. I just want to help you change.”
“Touch me baby.” She cackles, but gets interrupted by a harsh hiccup and a groan.
I shake my head roughly, doing my best not to stare at her naked body after I slip the rest of her underwear off. It’s impossible.
She’s beautiful, even now. It takes all of my stamina not to reach out and touch her thighs, her breasts…
“Sit up for me. Let’s get your shirt on.”
She sits up, but only because I’m supporting her from behind. I struggle to get her arms through her sleeves, but once that’s accomplished, getting her pajama bottoms on is easy. My fingers glide against her smooth as silk skin on the way up, and I start to sweat.
Stop it.
I put her on the bean bag chair in the corner of her bedroom and pull all of the bedding off, tossing it into the bathroom so we can figure out where to bring it for washing in the morning. I put her back on the bed next, and find a spare quilt and toss pillow out in the main room of the studio to cover her with.
“Better?”
Her eyes open a little wider and she nods. “Little. Mmhm.”
“I’ll leave you a bucket and some water, okay? Don’t drink anymore tonight.”
“Stay.” She reaches out to me.
Is it the drunk part asking me, or is she really asking me? Either way, I know I can’t turn her down right now, even if it’s the better choice. The safer choice. The one that will keep our friendship in tact. “Okay.”
I strip down to my undershirt and boxers, draping my work clothes on the back of chair so they'll be somewhat fresh for the morning. I make sure to grab the bucket and a couple of bottles of water, leaving them at her bedside, before I climb in beside her. She snuggles up against my chest, and her lips curl into a sleepy smile She’s content now, she feels safe. I reach out and stroke her hair, and give her the softest kiss on the forehead.
She’s a wreck.
But I’m not going to let it ruin her Christmas.
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