Maybe Now (Maybe 2)

“What is wrong with you? Be honest this time.”

I’m not getting out of this without complete transparency. I slide my hands from her waist up to her shoulders. I squeeze them and then gently move her off me. “Laptops,” I tell her.

We use our laptops for the serious conversations. The ones we know will require too much patience for signing or lip-reading or text. I walk to her living room and grab my laptop out of my bag. When I make it back to her room, she’s sitting against the headboard with her laptop, her eyes following me to my spot on the bed. I open up our messenger and begin the conversation.

Ridge: For the record, I wanted to avoid this conversation tonight. But I’m not sure there’s a single emotion I can feel without you reading it.

Sydney: You’re not as transparent as you seem to think you are.

Ridge: I only feel transparent to you.

Sydney: Well, let’s see if you’re right. I’m going to try and pinpoint what’s bothering you.

Ridge: Okay. Are we taking bets? Because if you guess right, I’m taking you out on a date tonight. But if you guess wrong, you’re going on a date with me tonight.

Sydney: ;) We’ve never been on a real date before.

Ridge: You better guess either right or wrong then, or we won’t be going.

Sydney: Okay. I’m gonna take a stab at it, then. I can tell by your body language that your mind is somewhere else tonight. And based on the past twenty-four hours you’ve had, I’m going to assume your mind is on Maggie.

Ridge: I wish I could tell you you’re wrong. But you’re right. I just hope you know it’s completely innocent. I just can’t help but feel bad for everything I said to her.

Sydney: Have you spoken to her since you left her house today?

Ridge: She texted after I left and gave a two-sentence apology to both of us. But I didn’t respond. I was too angry to respond. Now I don’t know how to respond because I feel guilty, but also don’t feel like she deserves any kind of apology from me. That’s what confuses me. Why do I feel guilty if I don’t feel like apologizing for what I did?

Sydney: Because. It bothers you that deep down inside, you know if you and Maggie were in any other situation, neither of you would speak again. You’re both so different. If it weren’t for her illness, the two of you probably would have ended your relationship long before y’all did. But that’s not the situation, so she’s probably having a hard time processing the fact that you’re only in her life because you have to be.

I read her message and I feel the truth dig straight into my bones. Sydney is right. Maggie’s illness is the only reason we’re still connected. As much as I knew that, I haven’t wanted to admit that. But there’s me and there’s Maggie and we’re on opposite sides of the earth right now with this string called Cystic Fibrosis tying us together.

Ridge: You’re right. But I wish you weren’t.

Sydney: I’m sure she wishes it were different, too. How do you think that made her feel that you were at her house simply because you needed to be and not because you wanted to be?

Ridge: I’m sure that made her feel resentful.

Sydney: Exactly. And when people feel resentful, they act out. They say things they don’t mean.

Ridge: Maybe so, but what was my excuse? I lashed out at her like I’ve never lashed out at anyone. And that’s why I can’t stop thinking about this situation, because I feel like I lost my patience with her.

Sydney: It sounds like you did. But I don’t think you should regret it. Sometimes caring about someone means saying things you don’t want to say, but that need to be said.

Ridge: Yeah. Maybe so.

Sydney: Your heart is my favorite thing about you, Ridge.

She really does love the side of me that Maggie never could. I think that’s why it just works with Sydney and me. I finally have someone who is in love with the entirety of me.

Sydney: I won’t lie, though. Sometimes your heart scares me.

Ridge: Why does it scare you?

Sydney: Because. I worry that Maggie is spiraling downward. And I know you worry about that, too. I’m scared your guilt and your worry are going to force you to get back together with her, just so you can fix her.

Ridge: Sydney…

Sydney: Hey, we’re being uncomfortably honest right now.

I look at her, completely dumbfounded by that response. She looks up at me with a hint of fear in her expression, like she thinks I might actually agree with that asinine concern.

Ridge: Sydney, I would never leave you in order to fix her issues. I would be broken without you. Then who would fix me?

She reads my message, and I watch as she reaches a hand up to her laptop screen and runs her thumb over my words. Then she highlights the sent

ence and copies it. She opens a Word document and pastes it below a bunch of other messages.

I lean over to get a better view of her computer screen, but she hurries and closes out the Word program. I only got a half-second glance, but I could swear the title of the document said,

“Things Ridge says.”

Ridge: Did that document have my name in the title?

Sydney: Maybe. Don’t worry about it.

I glance down at her, and she’s trying to stifle a smile. I shake my head, almost certain I know what she just did.

Ridge: Do you save things? Things I say to you? Like…you have an actual file of things I’ve said to you?

Sydney: Shut up. You act like that’s weird. Lots of people have collections.

Ridge: Yeah, of tangible things, like coins or taxidermies. I don’t think most people collect pieces of conversations.

Sydney: Fuck off.

I laugh and then highlight her sentence and copy it. I open a new Word file and paste it into the document, then save the file as, “Things Sydney says.”

She shoves me in the shoulder. I close my laptop and then shut hers, and slide them both to the other side of her. I wrap my arm around her and rest my chin on her chest, looking up at her. “I love you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Quick bean church.”

I tilt my head. “Say that again. I’m pretty sure I misread your lips.”

“Quit. Being. A. Jerk.”

I grin at my bad lip-reading and then kiss her chest. Then her neck. Then I peck her on the lips and pull her off the bed. “Time for our date. Let’s get dressed.”

She signs, “Where are we going?”