Role Playing

by Cathy Yardley

Some people might think this erratic, possibly a cause for concern. She preferred to think of it as not giving a single, solitary fuck.

“I don’t like leaving the house, though. In fact, I’ll do a lot to actively avoid leaving the house.

The problem was Maggie was not the type to make friends. She knew she was isolated. She had been since childhood, growing up in her grandparents’ house. She’d certainly been isolated in her marriage, for a variety of reasons.

Maggie’s divorce had broken her, no matter what Deb said. It wasn’t an accident or some careless thing, like a mug nudged off a counter, a vase bumped by somebody’s elbow. She was broken like a bottle on a bar edge, and it felt like she had rage pulsing through her every single day.

compared to Riley’s dark good looks, Aiden looked like a goofy ginger lumberjack: stocky, bearded, his russet hair more unruly than it had been in years.

If working in hospice had taught him anything, it was how invaluable having clear boundaries was, even more so when he was essentially “treating” family.

She knew enough to know that long-term isolation wasn’t good. For him, anyway. For me, it’s fine.

It was just . . . nice. It had been a long time since he’d had pure, uncomplicated nice in his life. So long, in fact, that he hadn’t realized just how much it soothed him.

“Kind of auburn hair, built like a linebacker. Total bear material.” Maggie sighed. “Can straight women date bears? Is that a thing? Are we appropriating the term from gay culture?”

“Oh my God. You’re like six feet and you’re built like a tank, and you have the audacity to try puppy dog eyes at me?”

She supposed she ought to feel sorrier about cockblocking the woman (or whatever the female equivalent of cockblocking was—clam slamming? cunt shunting?—

He smiled back. “Careful, Boggy,” he teased. “People will say we’re in love.”

My best friend from middle school, although married to a guy, is bi. Granted, I don’t think her parents know, and sometimes she feels like she doesn’t represent it well since she’s married to a guy and has several kids, but I tell her that’s total bullshit. It’s not like you have to get verified like Twitter, for fuck’s sake.”

The idea that there might be an explanation for something he’d always felt like a freak about was eye opening. The thought that he wasn’t alone in it was more comforting than he’d ever realized.

Most people drain me like an old cell phone battery. You don’t exhaust me either. I feel better after I hang out with you.”

But after Trev left, she was so angry, she thought her fury had basically burned away any residual feelings of that nature. The first year, the thought of being with anyone had made her almost bug eyed with wrath.

“Again: Why?” Maggie felt anger bubble in her bloodstream. “I don’t hand over a résumé of my past partners when I start seeing someone. Did she tell you all about her boyfriends from college? Provide you with a list of past lovers?”

Aiden turned to see Maggie covering her face with a pillow. “I can’t believe you did that!” she said, her voice muffled. He pulled on a robe. “If you can’t believe that,” he teased, pulling the pillow from her and kissing her soundly, “just wait till you see what I do with them.”

It wasn’t okay . . . not really. But here, in Maggie’s arms? It was better, and that was a pretty damned good thing.

She knew, or should’ve known, that Aiden wasn’t like Trev. He wasn’t going to point out that she’d gained some weight, or warn that not wearing a bra around the house would make her sag more, or recoil from stretch marks. The way Aiden was touching her now was almost reverent.

Maggie seemed to plug into him on a cellular level. She just got him.

This was acceptance. This was her small town. This was where her heart was. This was home. Aiden was home.