Chapter 59 It Was… Good. Really Good
Maggie reached out, touched his forearm lightly. “Of course. Go. Is she— will she be okay?”
“They think so. It’s her heart again.” He dragged a hand across his mouth. “But that’s why I’m asking. The big favor. Luna.”
Maggie blinked. “Your cat?”
“Yeah.” Matthew’s shoulders dropped with visible relief that she hadn’t hesitated. “I can’t take her on the plane. Boarding places are full last-minute. I know it’s a lot, but— could you look after her while I’m gone? Feed her, scoop the box, just… keep her company?”
Maggie nodded before he finished. “Of course. It’s fine.”
Matthew exhaled again— loud, grateful. “Thank you. Seriously. I came by earlier, knocked a few times, so I could ask you this favor. I was beginning to worry I'd have to leave a note.”
“No worries needed,” she responded. “Thank God I’m here now. How long will you be gone?”
“At least three days. Maybe four if they keep her longer.” He pulled his keys from his pocket, already moving toward his own door. “Come on, I’ll show you everything.”
Maggie followed him inside his apartment— same layout as hers but warmer, lived-in, cat toys scattered across the living-room rug. Luna— a sleek black tabby with white paws— looked up from the couch, green eyes narrowing at the newcomer before she stretched and hopped down.
Matthew crouched beside her, scratching behind her ears. “She gets wet food twice a day— morning and evening. Half a can each time. Dry food is always out. Fresh water every day. Litter box is in the bathroom; scoop once a day. She likes to sleep on the windowsill in the afternoon.”
Maggie nodded through every instruction, crouching beside him so she was eye-level with Luna. The cat sniffed her outstretched hand once, then bumped her head against Maggie’s knuckles— approval granted.
Matthew stood. “I leave today at six. I’ll text you the flight details so you know when I’m back. Food’s in the pantry— dry in the blue bin, cans on the second shelf. Treats are in the jar by the fridge if she’s extra good.”
“Got it.” Maggie rose too. “Don’t worry about her. I’ll take care of everything.”
Matthew’s eyes shone for a second— relief so sharp it almost looked painful. “Thank you, Maggie. Really. I owe you big.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” She touched his arm again. “Just go take care of your mom. Call me when you land, okay?”
“I will.” He pulled her into a quick, grateful hug— brief, brotherly— then stepped back. “I’ll bring Luna’s stuff over before I leave. Carrier, food, her favorite blanket.”
“Perfect.”
Matthew walked her to the door, held it open. “Safe afternoon.”
“You too.” Maggie stepped back into the corridor. “Text me updates about your mom.”
“I will.”
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Maggie swiped her own door open again, stepped inside, and let the lock engage. The penthouse welcomed her with cool silence— sunlight glittering beyond the windows, the faint scent of her own lavender candle still lingering from earlier. She kicked off her sneakers, padded barefoot to the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of water. Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Lily.
You home?
Maggie smiled— small, tired—and typed back.
Just walked in. You good?
Three dots appeared. Then:
Coming over. Study sesh?
Maggie leaned against the counter, thumbs moving.
Sure. When?
Now-ish. 20 minutes? What food you got?
Maggie opened the pantry— sparse.
Cereal. Planning grocery shopping tomorrow.
Lily’s reply popped up instantly.
Love cereal but I’m craving mashed potatoes. Remember that time you made them? That was the best mashed potatoes I've had in a long time.
Maggie laughed— quiet, surprised— then typed.
Sorry to disappoint. No potatoes here.
Branching at the store. I’ll bring some.
Maggie rolled her eyes fondly.
You coming to study or eat mashed potatoes?
Lily’s response was immediate.
No harm in doing both.
Maggie shook her head, smiling wider.
If you bring potatoes, you’re cooking. I’m not doing any cooking shit today.
We’re cooking it together, Lily insisted.
Nope.
Yes.
No.
Yes.
No.
The back-and-forth continued— three more teasing messages each— until Lily sent a voice note: her laughing, keys jingling in the background. “Fine, you win. I’ll cook. But you’re peeling.”
Maggie hit record, laughed into the mic. “Deal. See you soon.”
She set the phone down, took a long drink of water, and wandered to the living-room window. The campus spread below— students still crossing paths, sunlight glinting off glass. She pressed her forehead to the cool pane, closed her eyes for a second, and let the quiet settle.
Twenty minutes later the doorbell chimed— bright, cheerful.
Maggie crossed the room, opened the door.
Lily stood there— backpack slung over one shoulder, canvas grocery tote heavy in her other hand, cheeks flushed from the walk. “Your personal chef has arrived.”
Maggie stepped aside, smiling. “Come in.”
Lily kicked off her shoes, padded straight to the kitchen, and set the tote on the counter. Potatoes rolled inside— russets, golden ones, a few small reds. She pulled out a chilled bottle of coke from the fridge, cracked it open, and drank half in three long gulps.
“Thirsty,” she gasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Maggie leaned against the island, arms folded. “Did you run here?”
“Power-walked.” Lily set the bottle down, already unpacking— potatoes, butter, heavy cream, chives, garlic. “So. The coffee date, how did it go? Spill.”
Maggie’s smile turned shy— almost reluctant. “It was… good. Really good.”