Stealing Home by Tara Wyatt

Ten

Advice on ice was a tradition Maggie and her friends had started a couple of years ago. It had all begun one hot summer day when Aubrey was navigating a sticky situation with a neighbor and had turned to the crew for advice over margaritas. Then, a few months later, Jess had done the same thing when she was struggling with whether or not to come out to her grandparents. Over drinks and snacks, they talked over the problem and each doled out advice. Now, anytime one of them was facing a dilemma, all they had to do was group text “advice on ice” with a date and time and the squad would gather.

And although Maggie was in desperate need of some advice, this time it was Laurel who’d texted everyone. They all sat on her living room floor, a repeat of the Real Housewives of Atlanta playing quietly on the TV in the background. A frosty pitcher of margaritas sat on the coffee table, along with a tray of take out sushi and dumplings.

“Okay, so what’s going on?” asked Aubrey, her graceful legs stretched in front of her, her back resting against the front of the couch.

“All right, you know Julia and Angela, my sisters-in-law?” asked Laurel. They all nodded. “So Angela is a total social media addict, and she takes a ton of pics to post on Insta. You guys know social media isn’t my fave, so I don’t post much and don’t even go on that much. Anyway, I was having lunch with Julia the other day, and she told me that Angela edits the photos she posts to make me look heavier. I didn’t believe her, so she showed me a before and after on her phone, since she had the original pic, and the one Angela had edited.”

“What?” said Jess, her mouth hanging open. “That’s insane.”

“Was there a big difference between the pictures?” asked Maggie.

“There was. I mean, this is totally weird, right? And I have no idea what to say to Angela. I don’t know her that well, and I don’t want to cause family drama. But, like, I want to know why she’s doing it, and obviously tell her to stop, but…” She trailed off and shrugged. “I guess they’re her photos and she can do what she wants with them. Maybe I just won’t be in photos she takes anymore? I’m just so uncomfortable with this and have no idea what to do.”

“You have every right not to be in pics with her if you’re not comfortable with it,” said Aubrey.

“Um, yeah, and you have every right to ask her what the hell’s up, too,” said Jess through a mouthful of dumpling.

“Do you know if she does this to other people, too?” asked Maggie.

Laurel shook her head. “I don’t know. Julia didn’t say.”

“Well, I think you should ask her about it.” Maggie took a sip of her drink. “Maybe it’s a jealousy or an insecurity thing.” Given that Laurel was model-gorgeous with her tall, lithe frame, auburn waves, bright green eyes and wide smile, it was entirely possible.

“And I’d go through her pics to see how often she’s doing it and how big a difference she’s making so that when you do ask her about it, she can’t just deny it,” said Aubrey. “Bring those receipts.”

“You’re not the one in the wrong here,” said Jess. “So don’t feel like you’re the bad guy for questioning her. Because you’re not.”

“So you think I should just ask her, point blank?” asked Laurel, looking uncertain. “I’m upset and confused, but I also don’t want this to be like a family thing, you know? What if she denies it and it just causes tension? My parents already don’t love her—they’re still warming up to her, and if my mom found out about this, she’d be so pissed off. I feel like she looks for an excuse to not like Angela.”

“I know it’s a tricky situation,” said Jess. “But I think you should ask her and see what she says. Not that there’s much of an excuse for that.”

“Right, but keep an open mind,” said Maggie, chewing on a cuticle. “Listen to what she has to say and then decide if you want to keep taking pictures with her.”

“Or keep hanging out with her at all,” said Jess.

“Well, they’re family, so she won’t have much of an option there,” Aubrey pointed out. “I agree that you should ask her and hear her out and then decide what to do from there.”

They spent the next little while unraveling the situation and chiming in with their thoughts while taking breaks to watch the drama unfolding on TV. After about half an hour of discussion, Laurel nodded and polished off her drink, pouring herself another from the pitcher. “Okay, I’ll talk to her. Thanks, guys. Y’all always give good advice.” She took a sip and then turned her attention to Maggie. “So, how are things going with Dylan?”

Maggie ran a finger around the rim of her glass, scooping up some salt and then licking it off. “I…I don’t know.”

“Why, what’s going on? Is the sex not what you hoped it would be?” asked Aubrey, leaning forward to study Maggie, who blushed.

“No, it’s not that. The sex…God, the sex is amazing. He’s amazing.” She shook her head sadly, feeling lost. How could someone who’d broken her heart so easily also be amazing? He’d tossed her away without a backwards glance, but here he was, sweet and thoughtful and funny and great in bed. Just the thought of him made her stomach dip and swirl in a way it shouldn’t if they were really, truly nothing but friends.

“Do you think it’s helping you get the closure you were looking for?” asked Laurel.

Maggie popped a piece of sushi in her mouth to stall for time, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I was looking for at the beginning anymore. I wanted the chance to say goodbye to him and end things on my terms…to get him out of my system and know everything between us was in the past, safely buried. But now, everything’s so mixed up.”

“In what way?” asked Jess.

“We had all these rules we agreed to. No sleepovers, no cuddling, booty calls only, etc. And we keep breaking them. And I don’t care that we’re breaking them. We agreed on boundaries and we just keep going out of bounds and I’m terrified because I like it. You know he said he wanted to be friends?” she asked, picking up steam. “One morning, he tells me that he wants us to be friends. That he wants to get to know me and spend time together. Then, he tells me that he’s thought about me a lot over the past ten years, and he’s just so…so sweet all the time, but also like manly and protective. I mean, what is that?”

“Yeah, what an asshole,” said Laurel flatly. “I don’t know how you put up with that.”

“But now we’re spending time together and sleeping together and I don’t know what we are. It’s confusing and scary and it’s stressing me out.” The words came out in a tumbling rush, and when she was finished speaking, she took a healthy gulp of her drink.

“Whoa, whoa, okay,” said Aubrey, rubbing her shoulder. “Let’s unpack this and figure it out. You started sleeping with Dylan to get closure because he broke your heart ten years ago.”

“Right.”

“And the sex is good.”

“Yeah.”

“And now that you’ve reconnected, he’s said that he wants to be friends and get to know you.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“And what do you want?”

Maggie blew out a long breath through her nose. “I wish I knew.” She bit her lip and toyed with a loose thread hanging from the hem of her T-shirt. “Do you guys think it’s possible for a man and a woman having a sexual relationship—who have a romantic history—to just be friends without getting feelings involved?”

A silence fell over the group as they all chewed and sipped thoughtfully. Finally, Jess spoke. “Don’t take my word on this because I haven’t dated a dude since high school, but…Uh, probably not? I think the chances of someone’s feelings getting involved are pretty damn high in that situation.”

“Which is what I warned you about,” said Aubrey kindly. “So now you have to figure out what you want.”

Maggie clenched and unclenched her fists, frustration rolling through her. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I want more, but then I remember the past. And what if I put myself out there, and he doesn’t want more? I don’t know if I can take that kind of humiliation again. Ugh. I did this for closure, and I don’t even know what that means anymore.”

“Maybe you were just looking for an excuse to get close to him again,” suggested Laurel. “You two definitely have unfinished business. Is it so bad if it doesn’t end in ‘closure,’” she asked, making air quotes around the word, “like you thought it would?”

“What if this is the Universe or whatever pulling you two back together?” asked Jess.

“What if he just breaks my heart again?” Maggie asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her stomach twisted as she voiced her deep-seated fear out loud.

“You told me that I should just ask Angela what’s up. Maybe you should do the same with Dylan. People change a lot in ten years. You need to know why he broke up with you, and how things could be different this time around.”

Why was it so easy to give advice, and yet so difficult to follow it? Maggie wondered, tracing a pattern through Laurel’s carpet.

“Oh my God, did she just throw a drink in her face?” asked Aubrey. She waved her hand at the remote on the coffee table. “Gimme that. Oh, we gotta rewind this.”

Laurel leaned over and gave Maggie’s arm a squeeze. “Figure out what you want and then go for it.”

It was a question Maggie mulled over for the rest of the evening, and on the drive home. What did she want? Did she want to be with Dylan, to give the two of them a second chance? Maybe. Probably. It felt good being with Dylan, plain and simple. And yet she couldn’t get past how he’d hurt her. And she didn’t know what he wanted now. What if this was just sex to him? A fun little fling, a blast from the past. The idea made her throat ache.

Oh, shit. She was in trouble, wasn’t she?

“I’m such an idiot,” she muttered to herself as she walked up the stairs to her apartment. What had she thought would happen when she got involved with Dylan again? She should’ve just stayed away from him instead of jumping into bed with him like the sex-starved lunatic she apparently was. Because now, she was a mess. She felt tangled and torn and like a puzzle put together all wrong.

As she climbed the last few steps and rounded the corner to her hallway, her footsteps slowed when she saw the large, rectangular box sitting by her front door. For a second, she racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d bought anything online recently. Frowning, she picked up the surprisingly heavy box and let herself in to her apartment. She dropped the box on her bed and then picked at the tape holding the lid down with her fingernail until she was able to peel it off. The lid slid away, revealing overlapping gold tissue paper. She parted the paper and gasped. Nestled inside was a stunning pale gold gown, sparkling with what looked like Swarovski crystals. She slipped her fingers under the thin beaded straps and gently pulled it out of the box, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Intricate crystal beading covered the bodice in a stunning Art Deco-style pattern. A sheer tulle skirt flowed from the waist, dropping down in a cascade of shimmering fabric. She gasped when she saw the label. Chanel.

Holy shit. A Chanel gown. This had to be a mistake. This wasn’t her dress. She couldn’t afford anything like this. God, this dress probably cost half a year’s salary. Gingerly, she set the dress down on her bed, afraid she’d somehow ruin it and have to spend the next ten years paying it off. An envelope peeking through the tissue paper caught her eye, and she opened it, pulling out a single rectangle of thick white card stock.

Thought you could use something to wear tomorrow. - Dylan

Slowly, she sank down onto her bed, avoiding the dress. A confusing storm of emotions roiled through her. Excitement. Happiness. Surprise and worry and fear. Doubt. And underneath it all, a creeping resentment. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she got up and paced through her apartment, but when that didn’t dispel the weird energy snapping through her, she picked up her phone and called Dylan. The team had been out of town on a short three game road trip, and they’d had an off day for travel today. He answered on the second ring, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine.

“Hey,” he said casually, and she could picture his body language just from that single syllable. He was sprawled out in an armchair or on a sofa, his arms over the back, his legs wide in front of him, that maddeningly cocky smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

“Hi. Um, so…the dress.”

“Shit, did I get the size wrong? I had to guess. Although I think I know your measurements pretty well.” She could practically hear his wink.

“No, uh, I don’t know. I didn’t look at the size. Listen, you didn’t have to do that.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s not that. I…” She trailed off. She what? “I’m not comfortable with it.”

A silence stretched between them, so long that she wondered if the call had somehow disconnected. “Tell me why,” he said finally.

“Because I could never afford this on my own. And I feel like…like you’re buying me, or like it’s charity or something, and it puts us on unequal footing.”

Another silence.

“It makes me feel like that diner waitress who drove a rusted Corolla and lived in a shitty part of town. The girl who wasn’t good enough for you.” Her chest tightened as she spoke, and she sank down onto her living room floor, staring out the darkened window, clutching the phone in her hand.

“Shit, Maggie, I didn’t mean to make you feel anything but beautiful. It’s just a dress,” he said. She could hear the caution in his voice.

Closing her eyes, she sighed. “I…I get that. But things are so confusing between us, D. I don’t know who we are to each other or what we’re doing, and this is just muddying the waters even more and—”

“You called me D.”

Her eyes flew open, and she pressed her hand to her mouth. Oh God, she had. “I guess it just slipped out.”

“Maggie, listen to me. You were always good enough for me. More than good enough. When I was with you, I felt like so much more than just a jock.”

Something warm expanded in her chest at his admission. She clung to the tiny reserve of courage she had. “Then why did you break up with me? Tell me the truth. Please.” Because I’m starting to feel things I don’t know if I should feel. If I should want to feel.

There was a long pause before he answered. “I was stupid. Immature.” She waited, giving him the space to say more, but he didn’t. Even though he couldn’t see her, she nodded. She’d wanted an explanation for why he’d ended things between them and he’d given her four words. It felt like there was more, beneath the surface. That he wasn’t telling her the whole story, and she didn’t know what to do with that. She wanted to trust him, but it wasn’t easy, especially when she felt like he was holding the full truth back. When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “I’m sorry if the money stuff makes you uncomfortable. I obviously didn’t mean it to.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not the same guy I was ten years ago, but I can’t change the fact that I have money. I was trying to do a nice thing.”

She’d hoped calling him would help her get some clarity, but now she felt more inside out than before. “I know. I guess I still have some baggage from the past.”

Dylan snorted out a masculine laugh. “Don’t we all? Listen, wear the dress, or don’t if it makes you uncomfortable. It’s up to you, okay? If you don’t want to wear it tomorrow night, that’s fine. I just want you to come with me. You’re still coming with me, right?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” She didn’t feel sure at all. It felt like she kept wading into deeper and deeper waters, less and less sure of her ability to swim.

“Okay. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”

“Sure.”

“Did you want me to come over tonight?”

She scratched at her cheek, and for a second, she was tempted, but she knew she needed some space tonight. “Um, you know, I’m really tired, so I think I’m just gonna crash,” she said, her voice coming out higher than normal.

“Oh, yeah. Okay. So I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, tomorrow. Night.” She ended the call, unable to take any more awkwardness. Pushing up off the floor, she walked back into her bedroom, her eyes immediately moving to the dress, roving over the luxe fabric splayed across her bed. Ever so carefully, she ran the tips of her fingers over the crystals adorning the bodice and tried to picture Dylan going to the trouble of picking it out for her.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Mama,” she whispered, sitting down on her bed. “I loved him once, and I could love him again, and that terrifies me because he hurt me worse than anyone has ever hurt me. I should’ve stayed away from him, but I can’t seem to. I’m weak when it comes to Dylan. I always was. Weak and soft-hearted and foolish.” She dropped her head into her hands. “I just want to be enough for him, and I don’t know if I ever will be.” She glanced over her shoulder at the dress, shimmering softly in the light. “What am I supposed to do?”

But as usual, Mama didn’t answer, and so with careful movements, Maggie put the dress away and tucked the box into her closet, out of sight.