Role Playing(42)

Unable to speak, he nodded.

“You take anything?”

“I’m probably due for painkillers.”

She sighed. “Okay. There’s enough soup for you for tonight. You set for, like, coffee and breakfast?”

He cleared his throat. “Um, yeah. I don’t really eat breakfast anyway, but I have some English muffins.” Somewhere. Probably.

“You’re a nurse, you know the drill. Have some food with your pill tonight and tomorrow morning.” She looked determined. “Then, how about I stop by, and we’ll grab groceries? Special circumstances, and all.”

He felt unaccountably lighter at the thought, especially after her whole “no more IRL interactions!” bluster, but he forced himself not to smile too much, lest he scare her off.

“Thank you,” he said, hoping he could somehow get across how grateful he was. Then he frowned. “Um . . . I’m sorry, I hate to add this, but I usually grab groceries for my mother as well. She doesn’t live that far. Would it be . . .”

“You want to drop off groceries for her too? No problem.” She sounded so “don’t be silly,” he felt relief hit him in a wave.

“God, you’re a lifesaver,” he groaned. “I was not looking forward to asking anyone else for help. Not because, y’know, toxic masculinity or anything. Just . . . couldn’t think of anybody I’d be comfortable asking.”

“Believe me, I get it. You get points for recognizing toxic masculinity, by the way,” she tacked on, with a tiny, surprised smile. “Especially at our age. You okay to get to bed?”

“I would squash you like a bug if I fell on you,” he pointed out. “But I appreciate it. Don’t worry. I’ll take a pill and take a nap.”

“All right. I’ll be here at eleven tomorrow. That work?”

“Perfect.” He felt like hugging her, but they’d already agreed: no physical contact. Instead, he gave her an up-nod. “You’re surprisingly personable for a hermit.”

“Yeah, well, you’re surprisingly old, period,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, I’ve got your back now.”

She gave him an up-nod in return, as well as an adorkable little wave. She tugged on the heavy coat she’d slung over a kitchen chair. Then she grabbed her reusable grocery bag, crossed the living room, and left, closing the door behind her.

He hobbled up the stairs, slowly. He really should’ve taken the pill earlier. Or maybe even crashed on the couch downstairs so he didn’t have to maneuver this. But it had all been worth it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this. Someone having his back.

He had not expected it to come in the form of a tiny woman with no filter and lots of attitude.

Somehow, it made it even better.





CHAPTER 18


TOO BLEAK, STOPPED CARING

A few hours later, Maggie was still processing her IRL interaction with Otter.

Or rather, Aiden.

The considerably older, very-different-than-she’d-pictured Otter/Aiden.

She’d barely managed to keep focus enough to go through some brief edits, and she got half as much done because her brain kept flitting back to the strange turn of events that afternoon.

No wonder he had seemed so mature. The man was her age, not some barely legal . . .

She frowned at herself. “Really?” she said to herself aloud, irritated. “You’re going to fixate on that now?”

It wasn’t like he’d deliberately catfished her. If anything, it had been a series of comedic misunderstandings and a lack of information. At any point in their texts and messaging, it could have come out. But they simply hadn’t talked about it. They both knew they were in the same town and they had some common acquaintances, but they’d never brought it up. If anything, it reminded her of days in college, when she’d hung out with her few core friends and they’d talked about everything under the sun: whether ghosts were real, how to right social wrongs, whether you could swim in bubble tea, whether marriage was a social construct or not.

The one thing they didn’t do was small talk.

In true introvert fashion, she and Aiden had focused more on deep dives into esoteric topics than the mundane realities of “Hey, how old are you?” Frankly, it was part of what she had liked about him. She liked that, for a few hours at least, she wasn’t Maggie, frazzled, divorced, empty-nest-facing editor. She was Bogwitch, a badass bitch who wielded a mean blade and liked black-and-white movies. And she had enjoyed the too-pure-for-real-life Otter, who kept his rowdy cohorts in line, was a force-of-nature healer, and liked animation in any form. Also, the fact that he was a college kid meant she didn’t have to worry about any potential romantic expectations, period. He was not a viable candidate, he wouldn’t hit on her, and she sure as hell would not hit on him.

But that seemed to fly out the window now, although she wasn’t sure why. She’d been single for years, and had no desire or intention to date.

Not that I want to now!

But . . . there was something there, and she had to admit, it had her rattled.

That night, at six on the dot, Rosita called her. “Tell me everything,” she said without preamble.

Maggie sighed. She didn’t talk to Rosita all the time. Her job, her family, her extended family’s restaurant, her aging parents—all this stuff kept Rosita busy, so they tended to send each other little texts, memes, and GIFs periodically. When they did talk, it was usually a big download of words, catching each other up. There was never awkwardness: it was always like they’d spoken to each other the day before. So she wasn’t surprised by her best friend’s eagerness, even if she was dreading it.