Pirate Gil and his shoulder length, shaggy hair in college a la Dave Grohl.
Gil’s voice brings her back to the present.
“Every guy had long hair in college.” Gil sits down on the sofa next to Quinn. Maggie watches Biscuit nudging Gil’s hand with his head to be petted.
“Not Ben. Never Ben,” Maggie says.
“No, never Ben. Shame. How different his life might have been had he been a long hair.”
“Ben’s life is just as it should be and as intended,” Maggie says in an uptight voice. At times she’s been jealous of Ben and Jo’s seemingly perfect life.
While everyone grabs a bowl and a spoon, she sits in the available space in the corner between Gil and Selah.
“Ben’s life is just as Josephine intended,” Selah says. “They are the perfect American dream. Handsome, two-point-five children, golden retriever, big house, cars, and vacation home. If I didn’t love them, I would hate them.” Selah makes a face and eats a cookie.
“It’s your worst nightmare, Selah,” Gil says.
“Oh, I know.” She shudders. “Not my American dream. Some of us are breeders, some of us are not. Wouldn’t trade places for anything.”
“You know you’re not missing out. Didn’t you sleep with Ben freshman year?” Quinn asks.
“I did indeed. It was nice.” Selah shrugs.
“Nice?” Gil asks.
“Nice is Selah’s way of saying boring,” Maggie adds.
“Nice is boring,” Selah says.
“Nice doesn’t have to be boring,” Gil defends.
“Oh sweetie, you are one of the nice guys. Never boring though.” To emphasize her words, Selah nods.
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments, but will take it.” Gil rubs the back of his neck.
Maggie senses his awkwardness. “Why do we always go for the bad boys when we are younger, never realizing they are called bad boys for a reason? We waste so much time.”
“Cause the bad ones make you appreciate the good guys when you finally open your eyes and see them,” Quinn says.
“I still like bad boys.” Selah surprises no one with this statement.
“And pirates,” Maggie mumbles with a mouthful of ice cream.
“Arrgh,” Quinn adds, and they all crack up.
Gil puts down his empty bowl and leans back into the sofa with his long legs extended and his feet resting on the edge of the ottoman. Maggie notices his shirt rides up slightly, revealing a thin slice of skin and a noticeable line of hair extending down from his navel.
Gil catches her staring, but doesn’t immediately pull down his shirt. He avoids looking at her directly, but out of the corner of her eye she thinks she sees him smirk.
“Something about fresh air makes me tired,” says Quinn.
“Probably the oxygen and lack of smog does you in whenever you leave the city.” Maggie teases him. There are times she misses life in the big city, but can’t imagine fighting the everyday battle of living there anymore.
“I could never live in New York. Too big, too many people,” Gil adds.
“I couldn’t go back, but I loved the city when I was there,” Maggie says. “But you can lose yourself.”
“Sometimes when you lose your way, you find yourself.”
“Wow, Q, that was deep.” Selah sounds surprised.
“I have my moments. I should probably go to bed on a high note.” Quinn stands and takes the tray of empty bowls over to the sink.
“We are old if Quinn is going to bed at eleven,” Gil says, craning to see the clock on the kitchen wall.
“I’m still on East Coast time. Not old.”
“Yes, Peter Pan, you’ll never grow old.” Gil laughs. “Quinn, the perpetual teenager.”
“I think I’ll go to bed as well.” Selah yawns and stretches. “Too much wine.”
“Then there were two,” Gil says, turning to lean closer to Maggie.
“Then there were two,” Maggie repeats, remembering how she and Gil always tended to be the night owls of the group, hitting their second wind at midnight, and studying or drinking into the wee hours.
“Are you tired? I can go up
Gil’s voice brings her back to the present.
“Every guy had long hair in college.” Gil sits down on the sofa next to Quinn. Maggie watches Biscuit nudging Gil’s hand with his head to be petted.
“Not Ben. Never Ben,” Maggie says.
“No, never Ben. Shame. How different his life might have been had he been a long hair.”
“Ben’s life is just as it should be and as intended,” Maggie says in an uptight voice. At times she’s been jealous of Ben and Jo’s seemingly perfect life.
While everyone grabs a bowl and a spoon, she sits in the available space in the corner between Gil and Selah.
“Ben’s life is just as Josephine intended,” Selah says. “They are the perfect American dream. Handsome, two-point-five children, golden retriever, big house, cars, and vacation home. If I didn’t love them, I would hate them.” Selah makes a face and eats a cookie.
“It’s your worst nightmare, Selah,” Gil says.
“Oh, I know.” She shudders. “Not my American dream. Some of us are breeders, some of us are not. Wouldn’t trade places for anything.”
“You know you’re not missing out. Didn’t you sleep with Ben freshman year?” Quinn asks.
“I did indeed. It was nice.” Selah shrugs.
“Nice?” Gil asks.
“Nice is Selah’s way of saying boring,” Maggie adds.
“Nice is boring,” Selah says.
“Nice doesn’t have to be boring,” Gil defends.
“Oh sweetie, you are one of the nice guys. Never boring though.” To emphasize her words, Selah nods.
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments, but will take it.” Gil rubs the back of his neck.
Maggie senses his awkwardness. “Why do we always go for the bad boys when we are younger, never realizing they are called bad boys for a reason? We waste so much time.”
“Cause the bad ones make you appreciate the good guys when you finally open your eyes and see them,” Quinn says.
“I still like bad boys.” Selah surprises no one with this statement.
“And pirates,” Maggie mumbles with a mouthful of ice cream.
“Arrgh,” Quinn adds, and they all crack up.
Gil puts down his empty bowl and leans back into the sofa with his long legs extended and his feet resting on the edge of the ottoman. Maggie notices his shirt rides up slightly, revealing a thin slice of skin and a noticeable line of hair extending down from his navel.
Gil catches her staring, but doesn’t immediately pull down his shirt. He avoids looking at her directly, but out of the corner of her eye she thinks she sees him smirk.
“Something about fresh air makes me tired,” says Quinn.
“Probably the oxygen and lack of smog does you in whenever you leave the city.” Maggie teases him. There are times she misses life in the big city, but can’t imagine fighting the everyday battle of living there anymore.
“I could never live in New York. Too big, too many people,” Gil adds.
“I couldn’t go back, but I loved the city when I was there,” Maggie says. “But you can lose yourself.”
“Sometimes when you lose your way, you find yourself.”
“Wow, Q, that was deep.” Selah sounds surprised.
“I have my moments. I should probably go to bed on a high note.” Quinn stands and takes the tray of empty bowls over to the sink.
“We are old if Quinn is going to bed at eleven,” Gil says, craning to see the clock on the kitchen wall.
“I’m still on East Coast time. Not old.”
“Yes, Peter Pan, you’ll never grow old.” Gil laughs. “Quinn, the perpetual teenager.”
“I think I’ll go to bed as well.” Selah yawns and stretches. “Too much wine.”
“Then there were two,” Gil says, turning to lean closer to Maggie.
“Then there were two,” Maggie repeats, remembering how she and Gil always tended to be the night owls of the group, hitting their second wind at midnight, and studying or drinking into the wee hours.
“Are you tired? I can go up
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