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“You think so?”
“Iknowso.”
“Hmm.”
For a moment, we sit in comfortable silence while she stares out the windshield, and I stare at her. I never really believed in God, or Buddha, or any form of a higher power. I guess I always thought that if any of those were real, then it was pretty shitty He or She or They created something as evil as Beaker. But lately… I don’t know. It’s hard to deny an ethereal being when I’ve been sent so many guardian angels in my life. Gina was the first, then Zeke, Esme… and now Maggie. “Can I ask you something personal, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“Of course,” she almost sings. “There’s no such thing as personal between us.”
“Do you and Big H want children?” I know that it’s considered rude to ask people this, but Maggie’s right—thereisno such thing as personal between us. We shareeverything. Almost too much sometimes.
“We have children,” she quips.“We have you and Holden.”
I exaggerate my eye-roll. “You know what I mean.”
After a moment, she answers, “Yes, and no.”
I watch her, clearly confused.
“Actually, we’ve been talking about opening up our home to foster kids. Maybe even adopting a couple down the road.”
I sit taller, my surprise evident. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t want any of your own?”
She shrugs. “Maybe it’s weird, but I don’t feel this overwhelming need to birth a child out of my vagina, especially in order for me to love them as mine, you know?”
Like Holden.
Likeme.
I can picture it now—having little kids running around the greenhouse and gardens, Mags and Big H chasing after them. They would make great parents, foster and otherwise.
“I think Big H and I are at the point in our lives where we’d rather help kids who need it instead of creating a new life.” She hesitates a beat before adding, “Kids like you, you know?”
The emotions that hit me are instant and overwhelming, and suddenly, I’m forcing myself to breathe through the burn behind my eyes, in my nose. I fail. “Well, shit, Maggie,” I cry. “You’re just out here making me sob. No big deal.”
“Sorry,” she says through a giggle, reaching up with both hands to wipe the tears from my cheeks.
I rub my eyes, and when I lower my hands, I notice a familiar figure walking toward us. “Is that Holden?” I ask and rub my eyes some more. He’s on the sidewalk, carrying a large cardboard box, and I reach over, honk the horn. His head snaps up, spotting us instantly, and he jerks his head in a nod. He doesn’t move closer, though. Instead, he takes the few steps to the door of a gift shop, and I murmur, “What the hell’s he doing?”
Maggie stays silent, and when I look over at her, she’s grinning from ear-to-ear. “Watch,” she says, pointing toward the store.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see Holden placing the box on the counter, smiling—possiblyflirting—with the middle-aged woman behind it. And then, he reaches into the box and pulls out one of the clay vases I created.
“What is he doing?” I whisper, watching him pull out another vase and then another. The woman takes a moment to inspect them, five in total, before looking up at Holden and nodding. Holden’s mouth moves, and then he’s turning, pointing to me. The fuckerwaves, and the woman joins him, and Maggie hisses, “Wave back!”
I wave back.
Maggie says, “The owner of the store came into the nursery the other day when you were at Jimmy’s and wanted to buy some of your work.”
I lower my hand, facing her with wide eyes. “Is that why he was asking if I had any sentimental attachment to them?”
Maggie nods.
“Is that why you brought me out here? To see—”
