Chapter Thirty: Maggie

Days have passed since the tragic confrontation I had with Evan.

After what happened I came to terms with the fact that as long as Evan and I aren't comfortable talking about our past we can't just disclose personal details about our lives now.

If the perspectives were switched and Evan probed me about Levi, I'd be just as uncomfortable and wouldn't know how to answer either, let alone consider answering.

It was easy for me to ignore the humiliation when I thought more about what Evan must've felt instead of focusing only on myself. Upon realizing that, I found it easier to let go of the embarrassment because were my feelings more important than Evan's discomfort?

Still, I'd be lying if I said the same thoughts don't trouble me. It was inevitable that despite doing my best to suppress my curiosity, it entertained ideas that were borderline... psychotic. Sometimes I'll catch Evan staring down at his phone from across the room, a smile on his face, and that was enough to make me skeptical.

I wondered if he only avoided my questions to spare my feelings, and is only pitying me because he's moved on.

I know all of these thoughts are just a product of me overthinking the situation, but it still didn't stop the bitterness from manifesting in very ugly ways.

I can't deny that I am an open book. There are times when I concealed the intensity of it all, but even though Evan Williams brings out the best in me, he also brings out the worst.

Not that he does it intentionally, but because seeing him end up with anybody else is enough to trigger emotions in me that are too dark and twisted;

That I wonder if I was paying back my sins for loving him by finding ways to hate him instead.

* * *

It took a while before he dropped the issue.

Not that he bothered me about it, but it was obvious he still needed closure. However, he isn't one to persist on an issue especially when it makes the other person uncomfortable.

He's accommodating, which is why it was easy for me to adjust to my new living conditions, unlike the first time I moved into his apartment and avoided him like the plague. These days we can just run into each other, exchange a few greetings, and let it be... not awkward.

It was refreshing, and perhaps I would've never admitted this in the beginning, but those short, brief interactions are the highlight of my day, because they serve as a reminder that despite how long it's been, the connection isn't lost.

I can't explain it, but it's almost like walking through the house you grew up in while the lights are off. It's been years since you've last gone through those narrowed corridors, climbed those creaky stairs, and walked into your old room.

The place is engulfed in darkness but you still know where to go. You know which direction to get to the bathroom, kitchen, your parent's bedroom, or the attic where you spent many nights having sleepovers with your siblings.

It's old, it's decaying and one of these days it might collapse. But it's still the same home in your mind, the little palace that felt so vast and welcoming when you were younger, stayed quite the same even as you grew older. Like a map that was engraved in your mind.

That's what Evan feels like to me, after all these years.

That's why when Monday rolled around and I noticed Evan hadn't left his room- which was strange, as he tends to wake up before me - the alarm bells in my head instantly went off.

I approached his bedroom door and knocked softly once, twice, and then three times, but when he still didn't answer, my heart started pounding, as I yelled in the loudest voice I could muster:

"Evan? Are you okay? It's 7:30, already." a groan emitted from inside the room, and my eyebrows furrowed at the response "Evan, is everything alright? Can I come in?"

I didn't need an answer, even though I wanted to respect his boundaries, my concern could only get the best of me, and the next thing I knew I was opening the door to his bedroom and letting myself in.

Everything was organized, all except Evan's bed which was left in disarray, and when I took a closer look it seemed as though he was writhing beneath the covers, his body covered from head to toe and I wondered how he wasn't burning inside there.

"Evan? Are you okay?" I flipped the light switch and walked to the foot of his bed, inspecting his condition. He looked like a lump of dough from where he lay and when I proceeded to poke his sides to elicit a reaction, I got none.

That's when I took the initiative and sat beside him, pulling the comforter that was covering his face, and once his face was revealed, I was quick to notice the unusual complexion of his skin - it was pale, and when he groaned at the brightness of his room, I reached forward and placed a tentative palm on his forehead.

I picked up on the alarming temperature of his body. "You're burning." to confirm my suspicions, he released a cough that sounded like it came from the pits of his stomach.

Despite my worry, I wondered how long he'd hidden his fever. I noticed he stayed inside his room the entire time yesterday, and only came out to use the bathroom twice.

"How long have you been sick?" I asked, and it was obvious he wanted to answer but was finding it difficult to do so, but once he spoke, his voice was hoarse and weak.

"I-I can't recall. I haven't been feeling well recently, especially during class, and I thought I was just losing sleep and if I tried to rest once in a while, it'd go away. But it persisted and it only got worse yesterday." he explained, his eyes drooping as he tried to fight the exhaustion attempting to overpower him.

I took a deep sigh "Why didn't you just tell your professors that you weren't feeling well? They would've excused you, you can't keep wearing yourself out like this."

"It's fine," coincidentally that affirmation was followed by another dry cough "I've experienced this before, and I can handle it on my own. J-just gotta power through it, you know?"

I couldn't help but frown at his words. I don't know how often Mason and Tiffany took care of him, but if he's so used to ignoring his health like this, I can only assume they prioritized their jobs more than they did their son.

He told me they were lacking in a lot of things. They weren't bad parents, but they didn't know how to be good parents either.

They were loving, but they weren't nurturing, they liked to provide, but only things they were able to offer. They showed up when it was necessary, but absence was always the norm. That's why he hated when they were there, but he hated them more when they weren't.

"You don't just power through these things, Evan. You have to take care of yourself." I reprimanded.

He only nodded "I know. It'll pass, though. Don't worry."

"It won't if you stay in bed all day. You need to eat and take some medicine." I stood up from his bed and was about to walk out of the room when the sound of his rasping voice stopped me.

"W-where are you going?"

"To make you breakfast, then I'll go out to buy paracetamol because we don't have any, then call the NYU's administration and tell them you'll be resting for a few days-"

"Maggie, you don't have t-"

"Evan," I turned around and shot him a pointed look, and maybe it's because he was too tired to fight back or he sensed that I wasn't in the mood for protests, either way, it didn't make much for him to surrender "You won't be able to attend your classes." he croaked.

"Because I won't be. I'll stay here until you get better."

"Don't do that because of me. You have other things to worry about-"

"Why do you do that?" the question surprised him "Why are you hell-bent on refusing my help?"

He didn't know how to respond at first "I...don't know. Maybe it's because I'm not used to this."

"What? Being taken care of?"

His silence was enough.

The tension in my shoulders dissipated as I said in a much softer tone "Well, you should, just because you don't get it doesn't mean you don't deserve it."

I took a step back and offered him one last smile "I'll go make you some breakfast. For now, just rest."

* * *

So much of what I know can be traced back to how my mother raised me.

Growing up, my mother mostly stayed at home. She was able to monitor me 24/7 and know right away when something was wrong. She could pinpoint when I was doing fine emotionally, physically, or mentally. She could read me like an open book.

Be it a mother's instinct, I still appreciate her love as if it's this priceless thing not everyone has in their life, which they don't. It was one of the many things about her I'll forever cherish because my mother is a lot of things, but being neglectful isn't one of them.

All of her habits remained etched in my memory, unforgotten. Perhaps because so much of my childhood was submersed in pain and longing, the splatters of her affection made what often felt difficult to accept as my own, sometimes worth remembering.

There are so many scars I wish I could forget, but I'll always cherish the way she aided them.

I wish I could forget those nights when I laid in bed, crying myself to sleep, but those mornings when I woke up and her arms were around me?

Or when I worked myself to the bone at school because I had something to prove to other people, and how she'd greet me with a kiss on the head and tell me I did a great job once I came back home?

In the end, it was only her praise that mattered.

But when the exhaustion got to me and how I wanted to stop killing so much of who I was just to become someone that I wasn't; she'd come to me, sweep me up to my feet, and show me that I should've just been aspiring to be who she is instead, because even though she isn't a lot of things, she is loving, and nurturing.

She knew what to provide if you told her, and when I wound up sick, I only ever asked for one thing - her chicken soup. It wasn't anything groundbreaking, but it was special to me. She had her own recipe for it, which to this day I can emulate. I'm not good at cooking, but I knew how to recreate this, especially since she isn't here. I find myself visiting memory lane now and then.

The scent of ginger, garlic, and turmeric boiling in the pot permeated the air, and I was brought back to all those years when I would hear the sound of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons blasting in the kitchen as she cooked. It was one of those few, short-lived moments when our house felt like a home

Sticking to tradition, as I turned off the stove and lifted the soup pot to let it cool, I couldn't help it as my hips swayed while Can't Take My Eyes Off You played from my phone.

Evan smiled as I entered his room. "You look like it."

Confused, I placed the steaming bowl of soup by his nightstand and asked "Look like what?"

His eyes beamed despite his appearance appearing sickly "The kind of person to listen to old school music."

I chuckled. "It's what my mother played when I was younger. I grew to love it along the way."

"What did she normally listen to?"

Grinning, I recalled those nights she had the record player on and invited me to slow dance with her in the middle of the living room.

How she'd tell me about each artist whenever a different song came on "Bill Withers, Ben E. King, Jackie Wilson, Paul Anka, etc. The classics."

"Put Your Head on My Shoulder is an absolute masterpiece," he remarked.

I laughed, nodding "It's my favorite as well."

Taking the spoon and feeling the bowl to see if the soup is hot, I began helping Evan eat and I could tell he enjoyed it, as I grew proud of his responses.

"This is delicious," he said.

"Thanks, It's my mother's recipe. The first time I tried to cook it, it wasn't nearly close to hers, it tasted horrible. Heck, even this one doesn't hold a candle over how she cooks it."

"I bet she'd say otherwise," Evan mused. "How is she, by the way? Your mom?" I stiffened at his question, lowering the spoon I was about to bring to his lips as all motor functions stopped working.

I didn't want to appear affected, but I couldn't help it. I've thought about her for a while, and I guess that was a coping mechanism because it's been almost a year since I've last talked to her.

I've tried to keep in touch since I left Los Angeles, and I've succeeded on most occasions, but over time my father grew wary and assumed she was planting ideas in my head to keep him and me apart, so he told me to reduce interactions with her - which I've refused.

Instead, it was her that grew distant, and it didn't take a genius to know he was behind it. When she kept refusing my calls I stormed up to him and demanded answers, and after one allegation after the other, a massive argument erupted between the two of us.

"It's you! Of course, it's fucking you! Why else wouldn't she call?"

He smirked at my accusation "Have you considered that all this time, she hasn't been a good mother, and this was only inevitable?"

Staggering, I couldn't ignore the ache that stabbed through my chest at his words "You don't love her, and you never did, so what gives you the right to speak on her character?"

"That's the thing, Maggie. I rejected her because I knew her too much, and not because I didn't know her enough. She gave you her best because out of all the things she's done, giving birth to you was the only goddamn thing she got right. You have what she doesn't. You're smart, headstrong and you get shit done. Your independence and work ethic aren't a product of her raising you, it's because you're destined to be like that, and if you don't let her go, she's only going to ruin you."

"Says the person who wasn't even there for me growing up."

"At least I'm not the one who sold you to a family in exchange for money. I may haven't been the best dad but everything I do, I do it for you. All of this is going to be handed to you in the end so you wouldn't turn out like her, because your mother? She stayed at home and did nothing. She got tired of doing things before she even started."

He stared at me and the look on his face was condescending - it was cold and mocking as if whatever that came out of his mouth was nothing but the truth, a harsh reality I needed to accept.

"I wouldn't be surprised if this isn't any different."

I wondered why I reminisced about good moments with my mom more than usual. Be it because I miss her terribly, or because I needed to convince myself of what I know is the truth.

That my father is wrong, that he doesn't know her, and she's always been there for me, and the only other reason that she'd stop is because of him. Of course, it's because of him.

Sure, she has her moments, and a lot of what she's done hasn't been the smartest, but she tries her best. She always does, and she loves me. She'd reach out if it weren't for him because she cares, and it's not because she got tired, she wouldn't grow tired of me. She just fucking wouldn't-

"Maggie?"

I didn't realize I had zoned out - for how long, I have no idea. But when I looked back at Evan he looked concerned, staring at me tentatively as he put his hand over my own.

"Are you okay?" His voice sounded like what the gentle gliding of knuckles on one's face feels like.

It was soothing and made me want to cave in; to cave in and give him a glimpse of all the hurt I bore, all the agony I've endured, and all the screams I've silenced in fear of being painted as hysterical, but with him, I didn't have that fear. One look at him and all the reassurance in the world can be found in those eyes.

He'd let me scream at the top of my lungs what was wrong, and he'd listen to every single word.

My lips twitched at the thought, desperate to say what I want just to get it out of my chest, but before I can do anything I know I'm going to regret it, the doorbell rang, surprising us both.

I cleared my throat and was quick to stand up. "I'll answer that."

I scurried out of the room, shaking my head as a stab of shame pierced through me because even though I didn't say anything, the fact I even thought about it was pathetic. Perhaps because everything felt so fragile that I saw it as an opening to be vulnerable, but once the moment ceased, I could see now how I'd dodged a bullet.

However, that moment of clarity was quick to evaporate once I opened the door and was welcomed by familiar blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, and a smile so bright it could light up the room.

When she saw me, the gleam in her gaze remained but it was obvious that my presence confused her. "Hi," she greeted with a slight crinkle in her eyes. "I'm Alyssa. Is Evan here?"

My mouth went dry as I found it difficult to speak which made her smile drop "Did I get the wrong house? I'm sorry to bother you, I probably misread his address-"

Snapping back to reality, I was quick to step forward and stop her before she walked away "Uh, sorry no, you're looking for Evan Williams, am I right?"

Once she realized she wasn't lost, her cheery demeanor returned and she nodded enthusiastically "So I'm in the right place?" she asked.

I smiled, although I doubt it reached my eyes the same way hers did "Yeah, you are."

* * *

Circumstances play a huge role in relationships, and watching Alyssa take my place beside Evan as she assisted him through his recovery, made me realize how much more simple a simple life can get.

Trial and error are expected in any relationship, but you expect those after the honeymoon phase ends, and as I observe the way Evan treats Alyssa with so much warmth and adoration, and how she reciprocates it, I couldn't help but wonder... What if?

"I got so worried when you hadn't replied for two days straight," she said, squeezing any excess water from the washcloth she was holding before lightly dabbing it against Evan's forearms "You should take care of yourself more, you know that?"

I stood by the door of his bedroom, and from my angle, I noticed how fixated he was on her - who wouldn't? She was lovely in every way and exuded such a pleasant aura.

She handled Evan with so much care and attentiveness that at times I forced myself to look away because the intimacy they shared was electrifying. It was like fireworks.

The kind you watch during New Year, alone in your bedroom while everybody else is having a good time.

"But it's nice to know someone is here to take care of you," I was caught off guard when she suddenly looked at me. "I'm sorry but I never got your name. I'm a friend of Evan's. We met when he came here to New York, and you are?"

I was like a fish out of water, agape. But I needn't answer her query considering Evan did it for me "She's my cousin." he scrambled to say as I blinked at his improvisation.

Maybe I was just overanalyzing the situation which may have caused me to see things that weren't there, but I'm sure once those words left Evan's mouth, the slightest bit of relief could be seen on her face "That's nice, have you lived in the city for long?" she asked.

I thought, considering Evan lied about my identity, that I'd keep up the ruse, spewing lie after lie, but the question pounds my head as to why he even had to lie at all.

Sure, it wouldn't be the most normal thing in the world if he told her that he's sharing a flat with his ex, but what makes things more uncomfortable was the proximity in which he distanced the two of us.

It was one thing to say "Oh, she's just a friend." but to say I'm his fucking relative?

I tried not to take it personally, but the lie he told confirmed all of my suspicions - that he's glossed over his dating life because he's uncomfortable talking about it with me.

I'm not entitled to that information, he doesn't owe me shit, but it still fucking hurts. His world is moving too fast and I'd be lying if I said I tried not to catch up with him, but it just goes to show how Evan has already left so much of what I still cling onto.

He has something better now, why the fuck would he want me back when he has someone like Alyssa? Over the next hour, she's told me so much about her that it'd be dumb for Evan not to have fallen in love with her already.

She attends Columbia, an Ivy League school, and she's passionate about becoming a journalist - something I thought I was passionate about until I wasn't, and it only goes to show how you could love something so much until you realize there are people out there who could offer so much more, and with the way she looks at Evan... I could just tell this isn't any different.

She stayed for 2 more hours, and once I walked her out the door, the silence exchanged between Evan and me was too palpable. It was wholesome one second, and then the next...

"Why did you lie to her about who I am?" it wasn't asked out of spite, it was akin to a plea, that if it weren't given to me, it would destroy me much more than it would compel me to destroy him back.

He stood in the middle of the living room, his blanket draped over his shoulders, and in that split second, he looked like he could never do any harm, which makes this situation more incomprehensible.

When he took a while to answer, I had no choice but to fill in the blanks myself "This isn't the first time, is it? That you lied at the expense of someone's discomfort?"

He avoided my gaze. "It just wouldn't feel right to tell her the truth, given our history."

My throat tightened at his confession "So it's true then?" I asked, my voice so meek I wondered if he even heard me, "You are seeing someone?"

I already knew the answer, even when he tried to hide it, but a part of me still wished it wasn't true, thinking if I tried to change the ending multiple times inside my head, it'll echo into reality.

But it's never like that.

"Yeah," he answered, the shame in his voice driving one last nail into the coffin "I guess I am."