“No, but I don’t have the time or the bandwidth to put up with privileged women who need to pick on other people just because they’re bored or want to feel better.” Maggie’s eyes blazed. “And if she’s stupid enough to try it with me, she gets what’s coming to her.”
“Start shit, get hit,” he replied, thinking of DangerNoodle’s frequent quote.
“Yeah, well, I imagine that’s frowned upon at casual suburban get-togethers.” Maggie looked frustrated, and there was a hint of a blush on her cheeks. “Kit’s continually telling me to chill out. And Deb is the mother of Kit’s best friend, so . . . yeah. I don’t want word to get back to him that I went full feral at a football party.”
“Kit is . . . ?”
“My son.” Now she smiled, a little wider, more natural. Just a little rueful. “He went to college this year. U Dub.”
“Miss him?”
“A ton.” She took a deep breath. “I tried harder, when he was here. To fit in, I mean. To not be quite so . . .” She gestured down at herself. “Me. He had enough shit going on.”
Aiden desperately wanted to ask what kind of shit she was referring to, but knew enough about her to know now wasn’t the time.
“I’ve just found it’s best not to interact a whole lot,” she muttered. “In person.”
“Not to pry, but . . . what do you do for a living, then?” he asked. “Because that’s got to be challenging.”
She let out a short laugh. “I work from home. Freelance editor.” He must’ve seemed skeptical because she laughed again. “Don’t worry, I present well in writing when I want to. I even use smiley faces and exclamation points when necessary.”
His eyebrows went up. “I can’t even imagine that from you.”
She rolled her eyes, then shifted to a hyperfriendly expression. “Hi! This is Maggie Le from Le Editorial. Here are the critique notes for your textbook. They may seem comprehensive, but I do hope you find them helpful. Thank you for your business!” Then she shot him a wide smile.
He cracked up. “You sound like a sociopath!”
“Yes, well, I have a different voice when I don’t get paid, but otherwise, you’re not wrong.” Her grin was tiny but evil. Adorably evil, if that was a thing.
When was the last time I thought of someone as adorable? First cute, now adorable? Other than, say, someone in a movie or TV show, or animated characters and whatnot, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered anyone either of those things.
“What do you do, then?” she asked. “I just figured you went to community college, maybe had a day job too. Are you studying for anything in particular?”
“I’m not trying to get a degree or credential, or anything like that.” He leaned back. “Once Dad died, I knew my mom needed help, but she didn’t need, you know, constant care. Not like Dad. But I didn’t want to go back to the west side until things were settled, and I had all this free time. So I tried a bunch of different things.”
“Like what? Basket weaving?”
He grinned. “If they’d offered it, I might’ve. I considered pottery, but I don’t like the feel of clay, and I can’t draw for shit.”
She grinned back.
“Besides, I met Gandalf and Dork in English class, and wound up starting the guild with Malcolm—Mouse, you know—and that’s been a nice distraction too.”
They were quiet together for a moment, a comfortable sort of quiet, just surveying each other with amused affection. Despite the pain in his foot, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this content.
She glanced at her phone. “I really ought to go,” she said, and this time, she sounded more regretful than wary. “I should get a little more work in, and if I don’t call Rosita by six, she’s going to probably get in the car with all five of her brothers and go hunting for your ass.”
He chuckled. “They look out for you, huh? That sounds nice.”
“They’ve got my back.” She smiled. “Sometime, I’ll tell you about them. Maybe.”
She started to put on her jacket. Out of habit, he got up, then winced and almost immediately sat down.
“Shit.” Maggie rushed to his side and, to his shock, felt his head. Then her eyes widened. “Sorry. Habit. I wanted to see if you had a fever. But I guess that’s not the point? Your foot hurting?”
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.