Page 92 of Bourbon and Secrets

Nodding, she chuckles. “I can’t believe you’re sleeping with him.”

It feels like so much more than just sleeping with him.Sighing, I give her a side-eye glance. “We don’t do much sleeping. And why is that so hard to believe?”

Maggie barks out a laugh, and then shifts to fully look at me. “Faye, you’re this independent badass. And he’s a...dad.”

Okay, that’s not what I was expecting her to say.

“He’s old. Like, a decade older than you,” she says and squints like that’s the grossest thing in the world.

“He’s thirty-eight. I’m thirty. That’s not gross.”

As her gaze travels back to the front window, she says, “I mean, he’s good looking, that's very obvious. It’s like a thick-fit dad bod he’s working with.” She tilts her head to the side. “He does have that I’ll-take-care-of-you-vibe about him, though, too. And you’re...”

I wrap my hands around my mug, shifting my stance, and try not to be instantly triggered that she’s going to say something offensive. “And I’m what?”

Focused on our neighbor just beyond the screened-in porch and yard, she says, “You always take care of everyone else. You were the one who always stepped up, especially when mom couldn’t when we were little.”

My chest warms, and I feel a sense of relief that I can’t figure out how to process. But she keeps going. “I could see why you’d want to take a break from having to be that way and feel what it’s like to be on the receiving end of it.”

Eyes blurry and throat thickening with emotion, I turn my head slowly to look at her. It feels like the simplest observation, but when someone sees you and says it out loud, it’s validating. And hearing it from Maggie feels like we owe each other more than what we’ve been giving and receiving for a long time now.

“We could probably offer the barn to them since it’s barely used,” Maggie suggests. “Mom left this place to both of us, so if you think it’s a good idea, then so do I.”

I blink, not knowing how to process this, because this feels like a version of how we used to be. Sisters and friends in a way that wasn’t wholesome like an after-school special, but love and care in the small moments. Friendship that lingered in the familiarity of each other’s favorites—cake for dinner, impromptu dance parties, and an over-appreciation forPractical Magic. Our relationship was one of the most important things in the world to me when I was younger. I just had never stopped to recognize it or call it out. It was something that I felt lucky to have, and then I felt punished when I didn’t. I welcomed the punishment—for my choices, for what I helped bury and the lines I allowed to blur. And all of it had been for the wrong person—all of it was wrong.

My voice sounds raspy when I say, “Maggie?”

She stares out the window, eyes glassy, almost afraid to look at me. “Yeah?” she says as her chin wobbles.

“I’m sorry I stopped,” I tell her.

Her eyebrows pinched, she turns to me, questioning what I’m saying.

“I stopped taking care of you. I left you, and Mom.” I swallow the lump that’s rising—a tide of apologetic emotion that needs to surface and crash. I had my reasons at the time, but I should have found a better way.

A tear escapes, and she immediately bats it away as she shakes her head.

Before she can argue with me, I make her a promise. “I’m not leaving now. I can’t change the past, but I promise you, I won’t leave you again.”

She looks at me in a way that feels like she’s holding something back. It’s like she wants to say more, but instead shetilts her head forward, resting her forehead on my shoulder. She hadn’t done it in a long time. Maggie never loved getting hugs—physical touch wasn’t her favorite unless it was on her terms. And when she needed comfort, she opted for a shoulder to rest her head on while she rummaged through her thoughts. She loops her pointer finger with mine and whispers, “I missed this. Missed you.”

I look up, trying to keep more tears from streaking down my face. “Me too,” I whisper. We stay like that for another minute, letting this moment sink in as we watch Lincoln toss hay bales from behind the front porch windows.

Taking a deep breath, she wipes her face and smiles before moving through the front door and heading up the stairs. “I’m borrowing that showgirl fan with the pink fluffy feathers,” she says.

“Wait, what?” I ask, processing what she just said.

“I have a date later,” she calls out.

I hold up my finger and turn toward the stairs. “First of all, fuck no, you’re not!” I shout on a clipped laugh.

She ignores me and keeps walking. When she almost hits the top landing, she stops to look back at me. “I’d like to come to one of your shows. At Midnight Proof. If that’s okay?”

My stomach swoops with excitement, abandoning the request for my feather fan prop. It might even be nerves rooting around at the idea she’ll finally see something I’m proud of doing. It’s a part of me that feels equally vulnerable and empowered.

I swallow roughly, smiling up at her. “Yeah, that would be more than okay.”

She takes the rest of the steps two at a time and disappears from sight. The door to the bathroom shuts, and the shower turns on. When I move back out onto the porch, I feel relieved—the weight of losing her was something I didn’t even realize I carried.

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