Read Online The Meaning of Maggie by Megan Jean Sovern - Free Book Online

“Mom’s not here. Now push me back to the living room.”
    â€œBut Dad . . .”
    â€œNOW, Maggie.”
    I wheeled him back and for a long time, we sat in silence. I didn’t get it. Why weren’t we yelling? Why weren’t we handing out serious punishment? Why weren’t we calling Mom?
    â€œWhat are we doing, Dad?”
    He kept a steely focus on the hallway. “We’re fighting a war of attrition.”
    Cool! We were wearing down the enemy by trapping her in a room with no phone, no food, no access to theoutside world. Man, Dad was so smart. He knew that eventually, even a fox has to come out of its hole. To arm our defense even further, Dad showed me the ransom he was holding in his chair: Tiffany’s makeup bag. Ha. Amazing. She wasn’t going anywhere. Tiffany hadn’t left the house without makeup since birth.
    After an hour passed I had my doubts, but on hour two, his plan worked. The door creaked open, and quiet long-legged footsteps tiptoed down the hall. When Tiffany turned the corner, she found Dad and me with our arms crossed, waiting for her.
    Dad spoke first. “Well hello, Tiffany.”
    I echoed him like a corporal to a captain. “Well hello, Tiffany.”
    â€œOkay, Maggie. You can go to your room now.”
    â€œNo way, Dad. We’re in this together.”
    â€œGo. Now.”
    Fine. FINE. I walked to my room and pretended to shut the door. When the coast was clear, I snuck back and hid behind the couch. No way was I going to miss this. This was going to be good and I needed to hear every detail. It wasn’t every day that Law of Mom rule forty-five 29 was broken.
    â€œI don’t know what the big deal is, Dad,” Tiffany huffed. “We were just sleeping.” What an idiot defense.
    Dad let out a deep breath. “There’s no way you’re spooning 30 with boys on my couch under my roof.” Well played, Dad. Well. Played.
    â€œIt’s not fair. Layla’s boyfriend is over all the time and you never yell at her. She’s your favorite!”
    Amazing. Not only was this a good argument, it was totally true. In Dad’s eyes, Layla could do no wrong. When Layla came home from spring break with blond hair, Mom freaked but Dad just sighed, “Well, blondes do have more fun.” When Layla failed geometry, it was the teacher’s fault. When Layla needed money, he always opened his wallet. But when Tiffany wanted money he always asked, “What for?” And when I wanted money, he always said, “No more candy, Maggie.” Layla was the favorite and we all knew it.
    â€œThis isn’t about Layla. It’s about you.”
    Tiffany burst into tears. I almost felt bad for her. I put myself in her shoes. 31 I thought about Clyde and me on that couch. Hugging our guts out while watching a documentary about whales because we’re thoughtful and adorable. I thought about our mansion and our Porsche and the 2.5 kids we would have according to the lastgame of MASH I played. And then I had a mini panic attack and reminded myself, “Career first, Maggie. Love second.”
    Dad wheeled over to Tiffany and tried to console her. “I’m just worried about you, honey. I see so much of myself in you, which is good because I’m really cool, but bad because I’ve done some really uncool things. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I made.”
    Whoa, that was heavy and Dad never got heavy. Where had it come from? I racked my brain. Was it a Dylan lyric? Maybe an early Springsteen rarity? I couldn’t come up with anything. I decided it must have been a Dad original.
    Tiffany was too Tiffany to understand what he meant so she unleashed the line she’d fed Mom many times before. “I just want you to love me for me, Dad.”
    Dad wasn’t buying it. “You can’t use that on me. I invented that in, like, 1968.”
    Tiffany sobbed some more and I