Saturday morning tea became a ritual for Maggie and Keith. Keith was constantly finding reasons for Joan to send Maggie over. Inventory, tagging, checking clothes for holes, any number of things became good reason for Keith and Maggie to sit and visit.
Knowing the friendship that took place between Keith and Joan, Maggie was always careful not to relay any information about her relationship with her mother that would cause Keith to either dislike her mother, or go running to her with information that had been passed on by Maggie. Keith, having grown up inside a less than desirable household himself, knew better than to push Maggie for information she was not willing to let go of. Rather than push her for information about her home life, they built their friendship on things they had in common. Their love of books, art, classic literature and fashion kept them busy carrying on discussions of things they admired, disliked and wanted.
Keith suspected there was much more to Maggie than she let on. He, himself, was a gay man that grew up amidst a family of military “gentlemen”; far previous to the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ generation of soldiers. He left home at the age of sixteen for fear of losing his life were his father to find out he preferred the company of gentlemen over ladies. He suspected something much more sinister behind the long, heartrending, distant blue eyes of Maggie, and hoped that she would one day open up before she imploded. She began to open up and smile more often as of late, but still, she stepped back each time he moved to hug her. He knew instinctively her affective distance had nothing to do with him, but it was distressing to him just the same.
“Mags?” He spoke quietly to her over their morning cup of lemon zinger.
“Yeah?” She answered not looking up from the magazine article she was reading.
“Mags!” He said more poignantly.
Maggie looked up from her article and smiled.
“So serious. What’s up?”
Keith paused for a moment wanting to find just the right words.
“If there was ever anything you wanted to talk about, you know that you can come to me, right? I mean, I know that your mom and I are friends, but nothing we talk about leaves these walls.”
“Yeah. Sure. Why so solemn? Did mom say something to you?”
“No. It’s just that you’re so beautiful and smart and…well, I could go on for a decade… my point being that I never hear you talking about boys, family, anything you’d think teenage girls fancy. I worry about you. That’s all.”
Maggie smiled genuinely at her friend and placed her hand on his.
“Aw, Queenie… you don’t have to worry about me. I just don’t have time for stuff like that. Besides, all the boys I know are just plain stupid. You know I don’t have patience for that sort of stuff. They want to talk about baseball, and wrestling. I want to talk about Renaissance art and turn of the century poets.”
Just as Maggie completed her sentence, a young man walked by the window and both she and Keith turned their heads to watch him walk by. When they both realized the other was doing the same thing, they broke out in giggles that seemed to erase the seriousness of the previous conversation.
“Definitely at least an eight.” Maggie said pleasantly.
“Honey child, that man can park his size eight boots under my bed any day of the week! AND, eat crackers to boot! I give him a nine and a half.”
They both laughed until they cried at the mental images that conjured.
“Keith. I love you. You know?”
With that, Maggie got up and put another pot of water in the coffee maker, and tears filled Keith’s eyes.
“I love you too, kiddo.”
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