Closest To My Heart

Chapter Four

Standing on the dampened bathmat in her brother's bathroom, Maggie slipped into the change of clothes she'd retrieved from her car, thankful that she had packed clean underwear along with her other gym attire. She usually reserved her yoga pants for actual yoga, but in this case, she was willing to make an exception. Going to the condo to pack a suitcase seemed pessimistic somehow, like giving up and admitting that her relationship with Kevin was through. She wasn't willing to do that just yet, and she could only hope that he wasn't, either.

After stuffing her dirty laundry into her gym bag and brushing her teeth with a Q-tip, Maggie attempted to finger-comb her thick, damp curls, but soon gave up the endeavor.

Who cares, anyhow? she thought, opening the door and hurling her bag into the bedroom across the hall. It's not as if I have a job to go to.

God, she missed her job! Granted, she was only a shop girl—"A glorified cashier!", her father had fumed—but she was good at it. And the boutique! All those colors and fabrics and exotic designs imported from around the world... they were heavenly! Henri was an absolute dream, the best boss a girl could ever hope for. He'd taught her so much about product placement and art and design, and they'd cried together over peach mimosas on the eve of the shop's final closing. Maggie missed him immensely, but Paris had been his lifelong dream, and she was happy that he'd found someone to share it with.

Maggie sighed, realizing that she no longer had someone to share her own dreams with. She wandered down the hall to her brother's room, seeking a distraction from her misery. Tag was gone for the day, which suited her just fine, but she didn't want to be alone, either. The door to Sean's room was partially open and she could see him sitting at his desk, but she knocked anyhow.

"Enter," her brother said, not turning around.

Maggie pushed the door open wide and crossed over the threshold, gingerly stepping over the flotsam that littered the floor. Sean's room—with its teetering piles of books and CDs, plus the myriad of posters on the walls—was like stepping into a time machine. Maggie was suddenly fourteen again, seeking that special brand of comfort that only a big brother can provide.

"It smells like Ramen noodles in here," she said, crinkling her nose in distaste. "And feet."

"Are you here to critique my housekeeping skills?" he asked, still typing.

"No," Maggie sighed, and then flopped down on the bed. "I'm bored."

Sean stopped typing and turned around. "It's barely nine o'clock, Maggie."

"Don't remind me," she groaned, sitting up to face him. "Hey, why aren't you at work?"

"I am," he said, motioning to the computer screen.

"Oh," Maggie said dejectedly. "I should probably leave you alone, then, huh? Maybe I'll go shopping."

"Are you sure that's wise? I mean, you are unemployed..."

"Shut up," she said, trying not to smile. "Besides, the 'joint savings' is mine, remember?"

Sean laughed and turned back to his typing, his bony shoulders hunched over the keyboard. Maggie could hear her mother's voice clear as a day, nagging him about the perils of poor posture, and she felt a sudden wave of homesickness.

"So where'd you meet this Tag guy, anyhow?" she asked, making conversation in an attempt to shake off her melancholy. "He doesn't seem like your usual type of friend."