Haven

4. MAISIE

"When do you finish?"

"Five," Maisie said, "like usual." The frappe was barely coffee. It tasted like milk and sugar more than anything else. She sipped it anyway, stirring with her straw occasionally. The syrups seemed to cling to her teeth, and she ran her tongue along them idly. It occurred to her that when she first started dating George, she'd still had braces. She watched him as he gazed out of the cloudy window, followed the line of his jaw where stubble gathered hesitantly, the hair he'd been growing out for years curling gently at his neck. She imagined she could see past the colour of his eyes and into his brain, wondered how he saw her. Dark circles spread under his eyes like bad makeup, but it was a pretentious sort of tiredness, like he could have gotten more sleep but he had simply chosen not to. He wore eyeliner up until about a year ago, when he decided he couldn't be bothered anymore. She felt, with a crushing sense of her guts filled up with iron, that she was in love with him.

"What are you looking at?" he said, smirking.

She wasn't conscious of the smile spreading across her face until it was too late. "You."

He pretended to flip his hair, grinning. "Oh, well, I guess that's alright then."

"Shut up." Maisie was fuzzy with affection. "I'm going to the bathroom, I'll be right back."

Time felt like it had stopped, cornered in by cubicles and sinks and awkwardly low hand driers. Maisie stood in front of the mirror and reapplied her lipstick, the sticky click of the tube satisfying as she got more product onto the wand. She leaned forward over the sink and gently tapped it back on where it had rubbed away, mainly around the straw. The tap below her was dripping steadily, a small pool of water sliding down the curve of the sink. Her lips stuck as she pressed them together. 

"Hey," someone said behind her. 

Maisie glanced in the mirror, and found Josie's reflection behind her own. Josie stood slightly behind her, hands hanging at her sides. Maisie straightened up and clicked the lipstick shut. She put it back into her pocket. "Hi," she said.

Josie's reflection watched hers, eyes flicking around, not landing in one spot enough for Maisie to figure out what she was finding. The tap dripped. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Maisie turned to face Josie properly, "you?"

"I'm good," she said, picking at the sleeve of her jumper. "I saw you were here with him."

Maisie nodded. "Who George? Yeah. Are you here with work?"

"No," Josie glanced behind her at the close sound of footsteps, but whoever it was passed the bathrooms without coming inside, "those are Freya's friends."

Maisie forced herself not to react. She had no idea who Freya was, and Josie knew that. Whatever she was trying to do wasn't working. Maisie wasn't interested. She didn't want to know who Freya was because then she'd know more about Josie, more to think about, more to miss out on. The bitterness clung to her tongue and didn't let go. She wished there was some kind of development in her life that she could keep secret from Josie, but not much had really changed. "Well," Maisie scrounged for the right words, "you looked very happy." Those were not the right ones.

"I am." Josie straightened up her back and put her hands back at her sides. Her face morphed, one corner of her lips turned up and eyebrows lowered. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Maisie couldn't help the hot feeling crawling up her throat. She swallowed it, but it vibrated in her stomach. "It has." It wasn't Josie's fault, really, but it felt like it was, and that was all that counted.

There was a moment when all Maisie could hear was the tap dripping, and brief snatches of conversation from outside the door. She was sure if Josie listened hard enough she'd hear her thoughts, but they wouldn't keep silent no matter how many things she threatened them with. Josie glanced over her shoulder, hesitated, and half turned. Her chest rose and deflated with her breath for another few seconds. "Maisie," she said half-heartedly.