Read Maggie Sweet for Free Online

house on West Main, has a plantation accent saying chay-ah for chair and cen-tah for center. Theo wears cameo brooches, clothes edged in silk ribbon, and her hair in a chignon like Princess Grace.
    Now Steven was saying, “Theo, I insist. You already work too hard and good old reliable Maggie doesn’t have anything else to do.”
    I stopped dead in my tracks, my face burning. “Good old reliable Maggie doesn’t have anything else to do.” I think I said the words out loud. When had I been reduced to “good old reliable, Maggie”?
    Suddenly the laundry basket felt like it was filled with rocks. I carried it upstairs, put everything away, then went back to the kitchen to wash supper dishes.
    By the time the sink was filled with hot, sudsy water, I was filled with rage. “Good old reliable Maggie doesn’t have anything else to do!” What an awful thing to say! It wasn’t even true. I had plenty to do. It was just that no one would let me do it.
    Then this feeling of unbearable longing came over me and tears stung my eyes. It was true. I didn’t have anything else to do. Nothing important anyway. I’d spent all my life waiting around for Steven or someone else to give me permission to start living my real life.
    A few minutes later, when Steven strolled into the kitchen, I was scrubbing the creamed-potato pan with an S.O.S. pad. He poured himself a cup of coffee and said, “We’re having the meeting here Wednesday night. I need you to do the usual—serve cake and coffee, take minutes.”
    I kept scrubbing away, not saying a word. I wanted to say I’d rather take poison that do that. Finally I said, “Steven Presson, it might surprise you to know that I’ve got my own plans Wednesday night.”
    He stared at me over the top of his half glasses. “What are you doing that’s so important?”
    “I’m seeing some friends.”
    “Well, Maggie, this is a fine time to tell me. This meeting’s important. You can see your friends any time.”
    This was getting worse and worse. I turned the water on full force and clanged the pans together as much as possible, hoping if I ignored him, he’d go away. But he just stood there, rolling his eyes, giving me his Lord-give-me-patience-with-fools-and-Maggie look.
    I turned off the water and slung the pan into the dish drainer. “Look, Steven, you had no right to volunteer me. No right at all! You can make the coffee and serve the cake. Maybe poor overworked Theo will take the minutes. ‘Good old reliable Maggie’ won’t be here!”
    Steven just looked at me. Finally he said, “For heaven’s sake, Maggie. Sometimes I wonder about you. You get so worked up over nothing.” Then he sighed real big, like I’dlet him down once again, and stomped back to the den.
    The minute the den door shut, I felt as if a hundred-pound weight landed on me. Why had I made such a fuss? I didn’t even want to go to Modine’s party. Maybe I did get worked up over nothing. Maybe I owed it to Steven. I started toward the den to apologize, to tell him I’d changed my mind about helping. Then I remembered good old, reliable Maggie. I stood stock-still. I was always changing my plans to suit everyone and what did I get for my trouble? “Good old reliable” was what I got.
    Well, it was time to sink or swim, fish or cut bait, drop the coin or get off the bus. Only a fool or pluperfect martyr would work for the title “good old reliable.”
    An Around-the-World Home Lingerie Party seemed like an odd place to start. But I had to start somewhere. At least Modine’s party was my choice, and I wouldn’t be serving coffee and cake to the likes of Steven and Theo Bloodworth.
     
    By Wednesday I was looking forward to the party. I was only sorry Mary Price couldn’t go. With her singing at the That’lldu Bar & Grill and all, she’s just busy all the time. She made me promise to call her later and tell her all about the party, which I planned to do anyway.
    All that day, I caught myself wondering