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I follow Maggie to the elevator, waving to the front desk as we pass. Maggie fills me in on what the urgent care doctor said as we ride the elevator up to the ninth floor. I think the antibiotics he prescribed are overkill for a simple scratch on the head, but I’m glad they’re taking her fracture seriously.
The rooftop restaurant has bright white walls with colorful chairs and plants tucked into every available nook and cranny. I’ve never been here, but Greg brought Jackie a few months ago and she hasn’t stopped raving about the fried garlic in the pork tacos ever since.
“I’ve been dying to know—what is Kel short for? Kellen? Kelsey?” Maggie slips into the seat opposite me, her ponytail swinging back and forth as she scoots into the booth.
My face scrunches at the memory. “So, my full name is Thomas Michael, Jr. I’ve never ever gone by Thomas, it’s my dad’s name. My mom had always called me Mike or Mikey, but when I got to first grade, there were half a dozen other Michael’s in my class. So, I started the day as Mike A., but by the time there was a Mike C., Mikey, Michael, Mike N., Mike R., and Mike S., I was almost in tears.”
Maggie reaches out, laying a hand on mine, her brow furrowed. “Oh man, that must have been awful. I’ve always been the only Magnolia, but I can imagine it was no fun when you were little.”
I shrug. “The kid sitting next to me leaned over and whispered to me, ‘you should go by Kel since there’s too many Mikes.’ That’s the day Nate and I became best friends.”
“You got a new name and a best friend on the same day? That’s so sweet.” Maggie pauses. “Can I ask? What’s the deal with Nathaniel? Every time his name comes up, Jackie looks like she’s about to cry.”
I look up from perusing the menu. “Nate and I grew up running around the vineyard. My parents used to sit up at the tasting room with Jackie and let my little sister Sydney and I run around all afternoon with Nate and Greg. Well, Nate and I would run around helping Greg, and Sydney would follow us around, wanting to do whatever we were doing. Sydney and I would often go home with Nathaniel after school, and my mom would pick us up after work.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
Just then, the server comes to take our drink order. After a moment of awkward hesitation, Maggie orders a glass of cabernet—smiling sheepishly at me when she skips over the Sunshine Cellars pinot on the menu. I order an IPA before going back to my story.
“It was great. I learned a lot over the years, but it was always the plan that Nate would take over from his folks one day, so I never counted on having a job there or anything. That’s when I went into nursing. Then about five years ago, Nate got an opportunity to do a two-year study in France. I don’t know why they made the decision, but he was still in the middle of his studies when Greg and Jackie decided to sell the winery to Mr. Sutton.” I rub my hands over my face, my stomach clenching like it always does when I think about that night.
“He came home for the 4th of July because it’s both his and Sydney’s birthday, and we always have a huge celebration. That was the night Greg announced his decision to sell, and Nate lost his shit. I was worried I would have to stop him from driving to Mr. Sutton’s house right then and there. Nate and Sydney had some kind of blowup that night too, and now everyone refuses to talk about him.”
“Wow.” Maggie leans back in her chair. “That sounds awful. Have you patched things up with him yet?”
It doesn’t feel as terrible to tell Maggie about the situation as it does to think about it when I’m on my own. Or leaving Nate yet another voicemail that he doesn’t return. He and I had our own fight that night, one of the few times we’ve actually come to blows.
I shake my head. “He didn’t appreciate me being understanding of Greg’s point of view and let me know with a punch to the face. I didn’t appreciate him making my baby sister cry, and let him know with a punch to the gut.”
Maggie’s eyes go wide. “Oh my god.” She’s silent for a moment, eyes sad as they take me in, and I’m both filled with a desire to make her smile and also turn the conversation away from such an uncomfortable topic.
The server brings our drinks and takes our food order while I tell her stories about the crazy things Nate and I would get up to on the vineyard. The rubber snake he put in Sydney’s backpack, the treehouse we built in the big oak that got hit by lightning. Maggie tells me about the trouble she got into with her sisters, and we both agree that if Olive had siblings the world might never recover.
“You know, you’re not anywhere near as grumpy as you pretend to be, Kel,” Maggie points out as she polishes off her tacos, licking the mole sauce off her finger in a way that has the blood leaving my head in a hurry.
I shift in my seat, trying to ease the discomfort of my semi rubbing against my jeans. “It’s not an act. I really am grumpy when random women wander through areas of the vineyard that are clearly marked as ‘no trespassing’ or when they ruin their cakes by gunning it up a steep hill covered in gravel.”
Maggie’s brow furrows. “How do you know about the frosting? I didn’t think you’d looked in the box.”
I open my mouth to speak, but she grabs my wrist. “Jackie can’t cook. She definitely can’t bake, can she?” The wheels are turning in her head, the realizations flitting across her face at rapid speed. “The mac and cheese is your recipe. You made the chocolate chip cookies. Olive said she helped.”
The words squeeze out of me one at a time. “I’m the one who fixed your frosting.” I lean back in my chair, dragging a hand over my face.
When I look up, Maggie is regarding me, her head tipping from side to side. Finally, she grins. “You are a complete softy, aren’t you? That hard exterior is just a front to keep people away from your ooey-gooey center.”
My cheeks are on fire, and I want to crawl under the table to get away from Maggie’s laughing eyes. Besides, if I was under the table, I could not only hide from her, but I could put my tongue to work distracting her from this conversation. Instead of sliding off my chair like Olive, I down my water to cool off my burning face.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I think it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Olive mentioned that she loves to bake, and I assumed that she meant with her mom, or Pilsbury-style baking. But she meant with you, didn’t she?”
With a sigh, I crack and spill the truth to this woman who I can’t resist. “You’re not completely wrong. June’s wife, Shelby, is a true Southern belle. She can bake a pie that would make you cry. When our breakup was still new—Olive was about five—she came to me after one of her weeks with June and would not stop talking about the biscuits she’d made with Shelby. It was Shelby this and Shelby that.” The memory still burns. “I admit, I wasn’t in a great head space at the time. I was still pretty angry over June leaving me, and I was dealing with it by letting my jealousy of Shelby rage out of control.”
Maggie sips at her glass of wine before reaching out to rest her hand on top of mine. Every time she touches me, it sends both a zing of desire up my spine and a wave of something soft and comforting through my chest. How she makes me feel both at the same time is a mystery, but I’m happy to spend a few hours/days/months/years figuring it out.
I clear my throat before continuing. “I’ve spent the last few years learning how to bake. Partly so I could show up Shelby at a potluck, but mostly so that Olive didn’t love her more than me.”
“Olive adores you.” That same sad look I’ve seen before flashes across Maggie’s face, but it’s gone before I can comment on it. She gives her head a sharp shake, then gives me a piercing look. “Why do you hide your secret kitchen skills? You let Jackie have all the credit for fixing my cake.” Maggie purses her lips. “You let Jackie take credit for everything. Why?”
I shrug. “Embarrassment, mostly.” Maggie doesn’t respond, just raises an eyebrow. “Nate and Greg used to give me a hard time about it. Greg even bought me a frilly pink apron for my birthday right after the Pilsbury incident.”
