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MAGGIE
Sort this all out, my ass! I fume on the way to school.
What’s it to Tyler if I’m involved in a happy, healthy relationship? I’m not, of course, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t be. If things had worked out differently with Mila’s father, maybe I would be in some sort of a relationship, even if it wasn’t a perfect one.
Did he really think I’d wait around for him all this time, especially after he left without a word and no follow up contact? The thought makes me irrationally angry, and I have a moment of weakness while I picture dumping those lavender hand towels on his head this evening.
Taking a deep breath, I focus on the road, and on Emily. She’s right about the business side of things. I shouldn’t be doing things to send our customers running. And if I had done something wrong, I might feel bad about it. In this case, I didn’t, and that’s what bothers me. I hate having to grovel for Tyler’s business over something that’s really not my fault. Except for the towel. I can scrounge up an apology for the wet cloth to the head.
But, I’ll try to get him to reconsider staying for Emily. With gritted teeth, I’ll deliver those hand towels and ask Tyler Daniels—the guest of our inn—if there’s anything I can do to change his mind. It should be easy to focus on business; after all, I am a professional.
My Bluetooth signals an incoming call, distracting me for the moment. I answer with a grimace. “Hey, mom, what’s up?”
“That’s how you greet your mother?” Mrs. Marshall has, without a doubt, perfect etiquette. My simple pleases and thank-yous will never be enough to impress her, but today she doesn’t have time to dwell on me. “I’m hearing rumors about Mila. Are they true?”
“What rumors?”
“Did Mila get in a fight at school this morning?”
I nearly careen off the road. “Mother! How can you possibly know about that?”
There’s dead silence as I ease the car back between the yellow lines.
“Well,” she says with a dramatic sigh. “I suppose that’s to be expected.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve warned you about this—about Mila falling in with the wrong crowd. She doesn’t have a strong father figure, you know, and that’s just not right. A young mother needs a husband, and a little girl needs her father. I know you thought your father was strict, but at least he was there for you.”
“Thanks, mom,” I say, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel and doing my best to tune out the familiar argument. “I wasn’t aware of your thoughts on the matter.”
“Sarcasm is not a pretty look on you, Margaret.”
“Are you ever going to call me Maggie?”
“I named you Margaret for a reason; it’s a beautiful name.”
“It’s old-fashioned.”
“It’s elegant and understated.”
“If only I’d inherited those same qualities, huh?” I ask, knowing my mother wishes I was more of a Margaret. Ironically, the name sets off butterflies in my stomach because the only other person who seems to use it still is Tyler. “I know, I’m a bit of a letdown.”
“Self-deprecation is a crutch, Margaret. It’s not funny, and you know I don’t like it. I refuse to indulge you.”
“Well, I don’t like you always criticizing my parenting style! Mila is a wonderful, loving girl, and we’re doing just fine on our own. We don’t need your input on every decision in our lives, and we most certainly don’t need a man around—Mila has plenty of great influences in her life.”
“The inn is temporary, Margaret. They are not your family no matter what you say. One day, you’ll move on, or they’ll move on, and you’ll be all alone. Again.”
I grit my teeth and hover my finger over the hang-up button. “I have to go, mother.”
“Are you at the school now? If Mila’s been fighting...”
“Goodbye, mother.”
I slide from the car, annoyed at how much my mother’s phone calls and visits get to me. A long time ago, I realized that I would never be her ideal picture of a daughter, so I gave up trying. I focused on becoming me—Maggie Marshall—instead of the glorified Margaret my mother had pictured.
I’m happy with the outcome, but my mother is still struggling to reconcile her dreams for me with the reality of who I am. After my father’s death, her meddling only grew worse. It’s been over ten years since he passed away. His loss was hard on both of us, and my mother’s way of coping seems to be taking control of my life.
As I sign in at the school office, I’m doubly upset by the way my mother refers to the inn as if it’s this fickle thing—a place that might not be around tomorrow. Years ago, the inn was the only place I found that’d hire me, let me work and live in the same location, and support myself and a new baby. All because of Emily and Claire.
The inn has been more to me than a job, and the people who work there are more than friends. Hence the reason my mother’s insinuations that it won’t last are hurtful; it breaks my heart to think things won’t always stay the same.
If I could freeze life today—the way it is now—I would. I would eat Jax’s food forever while Emily directed troops from the front desk. I’d want Mila to wiggle her way up to the reception desk and learn English words with Luca while he scolds her intermittently for answering the phone. I’d want Lelia to fuss at Mila for jumping on the freshly made bed, and then watch as the two used lavender-scented towels like face masks, making Mila giggle and grin with impish delight.
This isn’t how I’d pictured family life. I’d pictured the house, the husband, the pack of kids, and the loving warmth that went with it. But life took unexpected twists and turns, and here we are.
It helps to focus on the positives as I drag myself toward the principal’s office. This is the same school I attended years ago—Westley, the elementary school that feeds into the high school where I’d met Tyler Daniels, trouble-maker extraordinaire.
I’m in the middle of working myself up over the memories this place holds when I reach the principal’s office and poke my head into the waiting room. I’ve been here before, and I know the receptionist, Shonda, quite well. She’s got skin the color of a latte and a sense of fashion straight off the New York runway. The woman’s nails are a work of art in themselves, and if I ever have a real date, or an event that requires dressing up, I might pay the principal’s office a visit.
“Hi, Shonda, I’m here to see...” The sound of a throat clearing stops me dead in my tracks. I turn slowly and come face to face with a familiar build. “Tyler?”
“Well, look who it is.” Tyler doesn’t bother to stand, instead surveying me with a critical eye. “What brings you here, Miss Marshall? Is it still Marshall? Or are you married, now?”
“Do you two know each other?” Shonda asks, raising a beautifully manicured fingernail as she sweeps it around the room.
“Extensively,” he says.
“I can step out if you need a minute,” she says, glancing between us.
“I have no problem with you staying,” Tyler says. “There’s no hard feelings from me.”
“Really?” I step forward, all of the stress from my mother, the inn, the news of Mila fighting at school bubbling up, and suddenly, I’m ready for my own fight. “Because it didn’t look that way when you stormed out of the inn this morning.”
“I didn’t storm anywhere. I walked quickly; I had places to be.”
“Where, school? Aren’t you a little old to be sitting in the principal’s office?”
“I could say the same for you, Margaret.”
“Margaret?” Shonda raises her eyebrows. “I always thought of you as a Maggie.”
“I am a Maggie,” I tell her. “It’s just this...this man seems to be stuck in the past. He’s a little slow on the uptake.”
“A little slow?” Tyler rises to his feet. “No, I don’t think so. I know exactly who you seem to think you’ve become, Maggie, and I don’t like it. What happened to the Margaret I used to love?”
“Yep.” Shonda stands, hikes a super-fashionable purse up her shoulder, and trots out on a pair of heels that send her height skyrocketing to the moon. “That’s my cue to leave. Have fun, y’all, and please don’t throw things. Principal McNeal hates when the children throw things.”
“We’re not children!” Both Tyler and I say this at the same time, causing the three of us to all freeze and look at one another.
“Well, this is awkward.” Shonda gives us one last look as she closes the door behind her. “Bye.”
“I’m not a child, anymore, Tyler,” I tell him, my voice thin icicles. I can see them pricking at his cool exterior, but I don’t care. Better to clear the air now so we know where we stand. “Please don’t treat me like I am one.”
“I can see you’re not a child.” Tyler pauses, gives a glance toward my chest, my hips, and if I’m not mistaken, it seems to halt his breath for a minute. Finally, he returns his focus to my face. “But you haven’t let go of our childhood mistakes.”
“You weren’t a child when you left.”
“I was in college! It’s not exactly the time men are known to make their best life choices.”
“Yeah, well cry on someone else’s shoulder. I’m here for my daughter, not to argue with you.”
This seems to startle Tyler. “Your daughter? How old is she?”
I cross my arms. “Did you really not know?”
“I tried not to pay attention to what happened at home once I’d left.”
“Obviously.” I wave a hand. “Mila is almost seven years old.”
“Seven?” He hesitates. I can see his brain calculating. “That would mean...”
“She’s not yours,” I say shortly. “I’m positive. I...dated someone else after you, which is none of your business. Why are you here, anyway?”
“My daughter.”
His answer isn’t the one I expected, and though I’d prepared for a fight, this one shook me. “Excuse me?”
“My daughter, Jessica. That’s why I’m here today.”
“But last night...” I pause in confusion. “You didn’t—”
“I didn’t have her with me because she stayed at my mom and dad’s. It’s the first time we’ve been home since she’s been born, and my mom insisted her granddaughter spend the night.”
There’s a hole inside me, and it’s growing bigger. Memories I’d long since tried to erase come flooding back. “You left because I told you I wanted to settle down.”
“No, Maggie—that’s not why. Please, don’t think that.”
“We dated, we slept together, and then suddenly, you weren’t there anymore,” I tell him. “You left the day after I told you I loved you.”
Tyler’s face contorts in pain, and I almost feel sorry for him. But I’m too preoccupied trying to understand the timeline of events. “You can’t imagine how many times I picked up the phone to call you.”
“Well, you didn’t.” To be fair, I add to it before he accuses me of the same thing. “And neither did I.”
“So...are you married?” he asks. “Mila’s father, is he...does he work at the inn?”
“I’m unattached. Jax, the chef, is just a friend.”
A throat clear interrupts us. This time, it’s coming from a wide-eyed man whose pinched forehead says he’s unamused by our too-loud arguing. “Am I interrupting something?” he asks pointedly. “The girls are waiting.”
He backs into the office and leaves me in the lobby with Tyler. Our previous conversation is left dangling in the air as I work through what the principal just said—the girls.
“Did you get a phone call about your daughter fighting?” I ask slowly, thumbing toward the office. “Was he talking to both of us?”
“I did,” Tyler says, sounding puzzled. “But Jessica is an angel; seriously, I don’t know where she learned her manners because it’s not from me.”
“No, Mila is an angel,” I correct. “She’d never pick a fight.”
“It wasn’t Jessica,” he says, his eyes flashing as he steps forward. “I guarantee it.”
“The Daniels family that I know tends to be stubborn,” I say. “Could she have inherited that part of your personality?”
“The Marshall genes that I know are impossible to please. Could your daughter have that quality?”
“Don’t talk about Mila like you know her!” I’m back to yelling at him, wondering why we keep yo-yo’ing between hot and cold. “You haven’t been around to meet her.”
“There’s one way to settle this,” Tyler says, gesturing with mock politeness toward the door behind me. “After you, princess.”
I give him the eyeroll to end all eyerolls, but I move forward. I’m worried my blood pressure has been through enough for one day, and with Mila having only one parent, I have to take care of myself. If I died, my mother would want custody of Mila, and I’m not subjecting my daughter to the same criticism I went through during my formative years.
Plus, I don’t want to fight in front of my daughter—or the principal. I’m red-faced and feeling hot all over, wondering how much Principal McNeal heard.
“Good morning, Principal McNeal.” I give a tight smile and offer my hand for a shake. “How are you?”
“I’m, ah...fine.” Principal McNeal reaches out and tentatively grasps my hand.
At this awkward greeting, I’m newly convinced that he heard everything. If I had any doubt, it’s obliterated by the curious stare he gives Tyler as he follows me into the room.
“Please,” Principal McNeal says, addressing Tyler and I as if we’re the children here, while our daughters look on with large eyes—eyes that, I now see in Jessica, are mirror images of her father’s. “Take a seat.”