“Four days,” Evie said.
“Four days,” Maggie echoed.
“Call me if you need me. Anytime.”
“I will. Have fun. Tell your mom I said hello.”
Evie smiled. “I will. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Then Evie was gone, and the apartment felt immediately, oppressively empty.
Maggie stood in the doorway for a long moment, listening to the silence, before closing the door and facing the weekend ahead.
She’d planned for this. She had a list—meal prep, deep cleaning, finally organizing the storage closet, maybe a long run along the river. Productive tasks that would keep her busy and distracted.
Instead, she found herself sitting on the couch with Sarah’s journals, reading entries she’d avoided for years.
Maggie’s trying so hard to make everything perfect. Turkey from that fancy butcher. Homemade everything. She’s been cooking for two days.
I love her for it. But I wish she’d just order takeout and sit with me instead. I don’t need perfect. I just need her.
Maggie closed the journal, chest tight.
She’d spent that Thanksgiving running herself ragged trying to create one perfect day. Sarah had been too sick to eat most of it. They’d ended up with soup from a can and watching old movies, and Sarah had been happier than she’d been in weeks.
Maggie had missed the point entirely.
Her phone buzzed.
Evie:Made it to Sacramento. Mom already asking a million questions about you. Send help.
Maggie smiled despite herself.
Tell her I’m terrifying but very charming… and good looking.
That’s what I said. She wants to know when she can meet you.
Soon. After the restriction lifts.
She says that’s too long and I should just bring you for Christmas.
Maggie’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. The invitation was tempting—scary but tempting. Meeting Evie’s family. Being introduced as her girlfriend. Making it real in a way that went beyond just the two of them.
Let’s talk about it when you get back. For now, enjoy your family.
Missing you already.
Miss you too. So much.
Thursday arrived without Maggie’s permission.
Maggie went for a run first thing, pushing herself harder than usual, trying to outpace the loneliness that had settled over her like a fog. By the time she got home, her legs were shaking and her lungs burned, but she felt slightly more human.
She showered, made coffee she barely drank, and tried to remember what people did on Thanksgiving when they were alone.
Her phone rang at 10 AM. Lisa Grant.
