The In-Between

Prologue

I hated Maggie, everything about her – the way her face turned so red I could see it in the dark, her stupid laugh, and the way she would reach for me. I hated her green eyes and nose that wrinkled when she cringed; I hated her dances around the room, the waft of shy innocence around her, and the fact that she couldn't light a cigarette to save her life. I hated her.

​It's fine to have that feeling of hatred for her and all, but I never did until tonight. I'll tell you. Truth is that firecracker of a woman never did anything to me, but we hated each other despite all of the innocent kisses and walks home from the bar hand-in-hand.

​I bet you're wondering what the hell happened to make me hate her so much, for the beautiful blushing of her cheeks to make me suddenly hot with anger. Honestly, it was my fault for picking someone like her in the first place.

​Maggie first caught my eye the way many women did for me back then – in a skimpy top, holding a Jack and ginger at a party. Her green eyes sparkled that night against her deep brown curls. I watched as she laughed at some frat guy's joke, resting her hand on his shoulder. My eyes kept floating back to her all night, but I never got the chance to get her a drink.

​Instead, I chose to be that creepy guy. You know the one I'm talking about, right? The kind that stop you on the street and ask if you have someone to walk you home. Yeah, I was that guy.

​"Hey," I shouted out to her as she walked away from a friend.

​She turned half-heartedly, eyes wide with shock, her house key poking through two of her knuckles. "Hi," she whispered.

​"Listen, I know what this looks like, and I swear I'm not trying to be creepy, but I know the people throwing the party and I know they wouldn't want you walking home alone."

​"How do you know Nick and Kenzie?"

​"I go to college with them. You?"

​"I went to high school with Kenzie," she loosened her shoulders.

​"Nate," I stuck my hand out. "Ignazio, but call me Nate."

​She shook my hand, "Margaret, but for the love of God, call me Maggie."

​"It's very nice to meet you, Maggie. Can I walk you home?'

​She didn't let me walk her home that night, but instead left me with 10 digits scrawled in pen on the back of my hand, like some big-shot 80s movie. She always did things like that.

​Now, for all those hopeless romantics out there, I'd love to tell you this all ended in some romantic gesture and we would date for the next 8 years, have a little spat and get engaged or whatever. Absolutely not.

​Our relationship was always about the in-between. We met formally for the first time in-between a party and a few short hours before the sunrise. Our worlds collided in-between major relationships, where neither of us knew how to sleep alone. Sometimes, we would be in-between breakdowns, jobs, and aspirations. Somewhere in the in-between, we shared cigarettes and Jack on the balcony. I let her rub my hand and I kissed her head, even though she was a good foot shorter than me. We were good at the in-between, where life was uncertain, and so were we.