The Muse's Undoing

I figured.

Maggie and I haven’t quite forgiven each other, but we’re on speaking terms. I came to her wedding, but I wasn’t in it. She apologized to Fischer for her part in keeping him away from me, but she never apologized to me. She still claims she was only trying to protect me. Defensive to the end. I’m struggling with forgiveness because I know she was also—maybe mostly—trying to protect herself and her status with the Marches.

I greet them politely but without hugs. They walk into the living room around the same time the kids come galloping in.

Fischer and I gravitate toward each other, and he reaches for my hand. I do one better and put my arm around his waist, pulling him to my side. He rests his freezing palm on the middle of my back.

Vaughn greets his aunt and uncles, and the call for presents grows raucous.

“Is it inappropriate to have a martini at a child’s birthday party?” Fischer asks.

I look at him. “Have whatever you want.”

He sighs. “I should help Nicole.”

“Let my mom do it,” I tell him, tightening my grip.

“Is she behaving?”

“Yes, actually. I see a long, heartfelt email in your future.”

“Ugh.”

“You behave, too.” I press a kiss to his temple, noticing Maggie watching us.

She looks like she has something to say.

Nicole and Mom corral the boys and get them all seated on the floor. I steer Fischer toward the couch where he rests his cane and has a seat. I sit next to him, and to my surprise, Maggie abandons Stuart and takes the spot next to me.

I sling my arm over Fischer’s shoulders, and he grips my thigh. “Seven, huh?” Maggie asks enthusiastically. “I wanted to be a career cheerleader when I was seven.”

“What did you want to be?” Fischer asks me.

“Superman probably,” I say.

“He wanted to be a reporter. So he could meet Superman.”

“You what?” Fischer asks, leaning away so he can see me better with his shitty eyesight.

I shrug. “Why would you assume that has anything to do with you?”

“Did you know other reporters when you were seven?”

“To be fair, you were still in college.”

“Reporting for the university newspaper.”

“Well, I don’t know how I would have known that,” I say.

“No?” Maggie pipes up. “So you never read the articles Mom and Dad cut out and put on the fridge?”

I sigh. “I feel like it had more to do with Superman.”

“You probably thought Fischer was Superman.”

I stay quiet. I don’t remember a lot about being seven, but that does sound like the kind of thought that would have crossed my mind. It probably would have explained a lot to me about Fischer—if he had a secret identity.

Fischer gives my thigh a squeeze, and I catch him grinning at me. He looks at ease. He looks…happy. Even with the whole family here, he’s still smiling at me like I light up his life.