Closest To My Heart

Chapter Thirty-One

Maggie blinked back at Tag in mute disbelief. Was he really asking her to choose between him and her family? Granted, she'd vowed to do just that if it came right down to it, but never in a million years had she expected him to be the one to force her hand.

"Look, Maggie," he said, his voice softening as he moved to stand between her and her mother. "If this is what you really want, then go. Spend the week with them, spend the summer, spend the whole goddamn year if that's what you want. Hell, I'd drive you there myself if I thought that you really wanted to go! But I don't believe that you do." Tag sighed in frustration, raking a hand through the thick, dark hair that Maggie's own fingers had been tangled in only one day before. "I'm not asking you to choose me over them, Maggie. I'm asking you to choose yourself."

A smile rose up from her heart, although Maggie couldn't tell if it had actually reached her lips. Of course he wasn't asking her to choose between him and her family—Tag would never do that to her. But her parents, on the other hand... If she didn't go with them, at least for a little while, that's exactly how they would see it. They would feel that she had chosen Tag over them, and they would be heartbroken. Especially her father, and he had enough trouble with his heart already.

Maggie laid her palms against the table to steady herself beneath the burden of her dilemma. On the one hand, she didn't want to disappoint either of her parents, and she certainly didn't want to upset her father in light of his condition. But on the other hand, she had her own life to live, and she didn't want to spend it in vain, trying to be something or someone that she wasn't. And hadn't Sean's little stunt just proved that their father's heart was strong enough to withstand a bit of startling news?

Maggie turned to look at her father, who stared straight ahead and steadfastly refused to meet her gaze. Patrick O'Donnell had always been her hero, and the only thing she'd ever wanted in life was for him to be proud of her. But at what cost? How could she ever expect her father to be proud of her if she couldn't even be proud of herself? It was high time she started making choices that were right for her, and she opened her mouth to say as much when her eyes caught a glimpse of her father's breakfast.

Oatmeal, she thought, belatedly registering the fresh melon and decaf coffee her father had also ordered in place of his typical three-eggs-with-extra-bacon platter. He hates oatmeal.

Maggie's fledging resolve withered alongside the heart in her chest. The stark reality of her father's condition slammed home, and her emotional concerns suddenly seemed selfish and petty in comparison. Yes, her father's heart could obviously handle a little bit of unexpected news from one—or both—of his wayward offspring. But a rift in the family was a far more stressful situation, and that's exactly what Maggie would create by walking out on them right then. She turned back to Tag and watched the hopeful smile fade from his lips.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I have to go."

Tag simply nodded. He attempted a weak smile and brushed a single tear from her cheek before leaning in to give her one last, stolen kiss. His arm brushed hers as he reached past her to take one of the photos from the table, and then he turned to go. Two steps from the table, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder, the same anguish that Maggie was feeling reflected in his eyes.

"Take care of yourself... Margaret."

*****

Maggie sank into her seat and let her head drop into her hands, knowing she had just made the biggest—and possibly worst—decision of her life.