Page 83 of That Friendzone Feeling
“Iwas beside myself.Mymom told the teacher that we’d woken up one morning to find he’d passed away peacefully in his sleep.”Shepauses and presses her lips togetherfor a second. “ValerieGarciawept and wept.Sheloved that little thing.”
Maggiesighs and looks past me toward the garden. “Andto this dayIstill worry what happened to him.Allthese decades later, and still it sometimes pops back into my mind whenI’mwashing dishes or weeding or making a bed, or whatever.Whenyou feel bad about something, it’s impossible to shake it off completely.”
Ifonly she knew she’s describing exactly what lives and breathes in my heart every single day.
“Wereyou ever tempted to confess?”
“Oh,God, yes.Iwas racked with guilt from the moment it happened.Ihad a candle in my room, and every night for about a monthIlit it for littleLincolnand thought a few nice thoughts about him.”
Similarto me lying in bed and saying sorry to my parents night after night whenIwas a kid.Istill do it every once in a while.
ShouldItell her?Christ,I’mso torn.Halfof me thinks it’s the right thing to do.Theother half suggests it would cause nothing but harm.
“Doyou think if you’d told the teacher andValeriewhat had happened and been honest and taken responsibility that you might not still carry the guilt with you?”Inudge the last chunk of sandwich across the plate, my stomach clenching like it’s resisting being ripped in two.
Sheshrugs. “Mymom said no good could come of it.Shesaid it wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t bringLincolnback.Allit would do is upset everyone all over again.Shesaid it was an accident,Ididn’t mean any harm, and the people who love me know whoIam, andIshouldn’t let myself always be known as ‘the girl who lost the hamster.’”
Maggiepicks up a couple of crumbs from the counter and drops them onto my plate. “Whateveryou think you need to get off your chest”—her voice is soft—“you can tell me if you like.Ifyou think it would make you feel better.Becausefeeling better is important.”
MaybeIshould.
Irest my elbows on the table, my pulse racing asItake a breath and part my lips.
Butnothing comes out.
HowdoIspill the biggest secret of my life to the person who suffered the hardships caused by raising five boys, instead of three, because of whatIdid?
Itwould be the most selfish actIcould commit.Ican’t reopen old wounds forMaggie,Jim, andTomjust to cleanse my own conscience.
Maggie’smom was right.Nogood could come of it.
So,Ishould keep my mouth shut and my guilty secret to myself.
Maggietakes my chin in her hand. “ButIdon’tneedto know.BecauseIdon’t care what it is.You’remyWalker.Iknow who you are.AndIlove you.”
Herwords are like a magical warm blanket wrapping around me.They’reeverythingIneeded to hear.AndIknow she means it.Iknow she andJimloveTomand me like sons.Andin this moment, the love and gratitudeIfeel for them is almost tangible, as if it’s something sitting here on the table between us thatIcould touch.
Maggiepulls my face toward her and plants a giant kiss on my cheek. “AndthankGodthat beard’s gone.”Sherubs my face. “Lookhow handsome you are.”
Shenever fails to make me smile.
Ipick up the last bit of sandwich.Itshakes a little in myhands, and there’s a strange floaty feeling in my head.Thismight be what the start of a sense of relief feels like.
AsIpush the last bit of cheesy goodness into my mouth,Maggiewhisks away the plate and heads toward the dishwasher.
Ihaven’t done whatEmilysuggested.Ihaven’t confessed all.ButI’vedone my version of it.Andthere’s a chance it might help.
BehindmetheFrenchdoors open, andElliotappears. “Hey,Iknow that smell.Where’smine?”
Myyoungest cousin pulls the beanie from his head, revealing a mess of dark brown hair.Hepushes his black-framed glasses up his nose, which is red from the cold, and sniffs. “GoodGod, it’s freezing out there.”
“Okay, another one on its way,”Maggiesays, retrieving the cheese and mayo from the fridge. “How’sit going anyway?”
Ihadn’t realizedElliotwould also be visiting this weekend untilIgot here.Helives inManhattanand owns a tech company with our cousinOwen.Owenruns theWestCoastend of their business fromSanFrancisco, whileElliotruns theNewYorkside from an office inMax’sbuilding.
Elliotpulls off his gloves and wipes his feet on the mat. “Theground’s rock hard.It’salmost impossible to get the stakes in.”
“Whatare you doing?”Iask, picking some cheese from my chin.
