**Chapter 9**
Mac's living room was awash with the soft glow of lamps and the occasional flicker of muted television light as he spread out the board game on the coffee table. Maggie and Stokely, still buzzing from the day's earlier triumph, hovered around, choosing their game pieces with an air of casual interest.
"Today was a win, you know?" Mac said, his voice a blend of pride and warmth as he glanced at the girls. "It's a step towards something permanent."
Maggie gave a noncommittal smile, her mind seemingly elsewhere, while Stokely simply nodded, her eyes bright but guarded. The concept of adoption hung in the air like a question mark, too fraught with possibilities to fully embrace just yet.
"Vivian," Mac called out, turning his head towards the kitchen where she had been pouring drinks, "are you joining us for game night?"
Vivian emerged, a tray of sodas in hand, her red hair catching the light as she moved. "Wouldn't miss it," she said, setting the tray down. Her laugh lines deepened as she beamed at the girls. "You're going down."
The next hours unfolded with the rhythm of dice rolls and playful banter. Vivian dove into the games, her enthusiasm infectious. She cheered Maggie on during a particularly strategic move and high-fived Stokely when the younger girl cleverly avoided a pitfall on the board.
"Stokely, that's some serious skill," Vivian praised, impressed by the young artist's deft maneuvering.
"Learned from the best," Stokely replied, glancing at Mac.
"Your turn, Maggie," Vivian encouraged, nudging the dice toward the teenager with a smile. "Show us what you've got."
As Maggie rolled a six and moved her piece, there was laughter; a sense of camaraderie slowly knitting together the fabric of companionship.
The night's activities were a pleasant distraction, but before they knew it, the girls were falling asleep where they sat, and late night came. It was then that Vivian readied herself to go home.
"Vi," said Mac, his voice heavy with emotion. "I don't know how I can thank you. I… I don't think I could have done this without you. Mr. Thompson was great, but you—you were amazing."
Vi. He called her V. Mac had not called her that since they were married, on the day she told him she was leaving. That was the last time she had heard him say that. She thought it was the last time she would ever hear him say that nickname.
The simple use of that nickname hit her like a kick to the gut.
Vivian attempted to not show any emotion. She punched him on the arm. "I am glad I could help."
Mac hugged her. Not like a lover but like… she didn't know. She gripped him tightly and felt sad when he let go.
Vivian took a deep breath. It was now or never. She paused, then spoke. "Mac, I am going to be around. Do you mind if I check in on you and the girls?"
Mac cocked his head. "Of course. Why wouldn't that be okay?"
She fidgeted, which was not like her. "I am your ex-wife, Mac. And we didn't really end it on good terms. My parents still give me a hard time about it, you know? Almost ten years later. I know you are emotional because of the girls. I know that Lydia's death still hurts you. I know that I am a familiar face—one that… that at one point you cared about. I also know that I helped you. But that doesn't change our past. I don't want to cause you any more pain, and I know you have other women around."
Mac smiled affectionately, waving his hand. "That is water under the bridge. Come and check on the girls anytime. Wait—what? What other woman?"
Vivian rolled her eyes. "You simply don't see how desirable you are, do you, Mac?"
Mac didn't know what to say. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
Vivian laughed. She moved to leave and then stopped. "Mac, can I ask you a favor?"
"Yes, of course."
"I have to go back to the city for a bit to deal with something. But when I come back, would you accompany me to a fundraiser with my parents? I know they would love to see you, and I cannot take anyone else. It would complicate things."
Mac hesitated for a moment, processing Vivian's request. His mind raced with memories of their past together and the lingering emotions that still stirred within him. Her sudden invitation to a fundraiser both intrigued and unsettled him, but he couldn't deny the pull of curiosity about her intentions.
After a beat of quiet contemplation, Mac finally spoke, his voice calm but tinged with uncertainty. He quickly made his decision. "I would be happy to accompany you, Vivian. It's been a long time since I've seen your parents, and it might be good to put some old ghosts to rest."
Vivian's eyes held a mix of relief and something unreadable as she nodded in response. "Thank you, Mac. It means a lot to me."
As she turned to leave once again, Mac couldn't shake the feeling that there was more beneath Vivian's composed exterior—something unresolved.
He decided he wouldn't think about it. Not tonight.
***
A couple of days later, the aroma of roasted chicken filled the dining area as they all sat down for dinner. Vivian decided to join them as she was getting ready to return to the city. She didn't tell Mac why she had to go, and Mac didn't ask. Vivian decided that before she left, it was time to take the opportunity to delve deeper into the lives of the two girls who were becoming a significant part of Mac's world.
"Maggie, Stokely," she began, her voice earnest over the clinking of cutlery, "I've seen the incredible things you both do—Maggie, your quick thinking is something else, and Stokely, your art is breathtaking. I'm curious: what are your dreams? What's the big aspiration?"
Maggie paused, a forkful of food halfway to her mouth, taken aback by the directness. "I don't know," she admitted, her blue eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and contemplation. "I guess I've never let myself think that far ahead."
"Then think now," Vivian urged gently, her gaze holding Maggie's. "Nothing's off the table."
"Maybe writing," Maggie said after a moment, the idea seeming to take shape as she spoke. "Stories, or... something."
"Stories have power," Mac chimed in, his literature-loving heart evident in his tone. "They change the world."
Stokely played with her napkin, considering the question. "I want to paint," she said finally, her voice soft but certain. "Big murals that tell stories without words. To make places beautiful, you know?"
"Beauty is essential," Vivian agreed, nodding. "And so is chasing what makes you feel alive."
Their conversation continued, meandering through hopes and hypotheticals, with Vivian listening intently, offering words of encouragement here and a shared dream there. It was a simple evening, yet pivotal in its own right—a family dinner where futures were contemplated and hearts began to open.
***
The frisbee sailed smoothly through the air, a vibrant arc against the clear blue sky. Mac caught it with a deft hand and chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he sent it whirling back to Maggie. The park around them hummed with the vitality of spring—families scattered across the grass, children's laughter weaving through the rustling leaves.
"Nice throw!" Vivian called out, clapping her hands in encouragement from where she had spread out the picnic blanket. Her long red hair caught the sunlight, giving her an almost ethereal glow.
Maggie beamed, her earlier hesitance melting away in the warmth of the game. Stokely, not far off, was setting up a makeshift canvas against a tree, her fingers already smudged with paint from capturing the scene before her.
"Come on, Vi, you're up!" Mac beckoned, gesturing towards the spot next to Maggie.
With an agile leap to her feet, Vivian joined the game, laughing as the frisbee narrowly missed her grasp. "I'm a bit rusty," she admitted, though her spirit never faltered.
"Next round, you'll nail it," Maggie encouraged, tossing the disc back to her with a grin that spoke volumes of the day's success.
As the afternoon sun began its descent, they gathered around the picnic, feasting on sandwiches and homemade lemonade. Conversation flowed freely, punctuated by shared stories and gentle teasing. When laughter bubbled over, it seemed to cleanse away lingering doubts, leaving in their wake the tentative buds of trust.
"Before we pack up, I have something for you both," Vivian announced, her tone holding a note of excitement.
From her bag, she produced two carefully wrapped packages. Handing one to each girl, she watched with bated breath as they peeled away the paper.
Maggie uncovered a journal, its cover emblazoned with a quote from her favorite poet—a nod to the poems she'd tentatively shared with Mac during quiet evenings. Stokely revealed a professional set of watercolor paints, the kind she had longingly eyed in art store windows but never dared to dream of owning.
"Vivian, this is... thank you," Maggie whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she ran her fingers over the embossed letters.
Stokely held her breath, the paints cradled in her arms like precious gems. "How did you know?" she asked, awe-struck.
"Mac told me about your poetry, Maggie. And Stokely, I saw the passion in your eyes when you looked at your paintings," Vivian replied, her heart swelling with hope. "I want you both to know that I care about you."
"Looks like someone's been paying attention," Mac teased gently, a proud smile tugging at his lips.
"Really, these are amazing gifts," Stokely admitted, allowing herself a moment of vulnerability as she met Vivian's gaze.
"Consider them a promise," Vivian said softly. "I know that Mac is your guardian, but I am making you a promise that I'm here for the long haul, to support you and cheer you on."
"Best outing ever," Maggie declared, and even though the words were light, they carried the weight of newfound acceptance.