“Papaya King?” Michael asked incredulously as he stared up at the sign.
“Papaya King,” Maggie said confidently. “You can’t tell me that you’ve lived in the city for how long? And you’ve never been here? How is that even possible?” They’d walked the several blocks from the high school to the gastronomic landmark on East 86th.
“Because I try to eat healthy?” he ventured.
“You, Michael Rannigan, are a snob. Come on.” Maggie pulled open the door and they went inside. They both gazed up at the menu. “I don’t even know where to begin,” Michael grumped.
Maggie smiled patiently. “Allow me,” she said. Stepping up to the counter, she ordered. “We’ll have two Number Fives with the New York onions and the papaya drink.”
Minutes later with their lunch on trays, they made their way through the crowded dining room to the narrow counter along the front window. Maggie watched as Michael took his first bite.
“Oh, my God!” he moaned through a mouthful of hot dog, bun, and onions. “How have I never had this before?”
“Right?!” said Maggie smiling. “Now you’re hooked.”
They silently enjoyed their feast for a few minutes. Then Michael got a thoughtful look. “Have you ever thought about finding her?”
Maggie frowned, puzzled. “Finding who?”
“Your mother.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth clamped in a firm line. “No. No I haven’t. Why? And what in the world made you think about such a thing?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t know. Just watching all the people walking by.” He gestured toward the sidewalk, then looked back at her. “For most of my life, every time I saw a big crowd, I always kind of wondered...” Maggie waited for him to complete his thought. “Well, I wondered whether one of those men passing by might be my father.” He looked down, vaguely embarrassed.
Maggie’s heart melted as she pictured a small boy always wondering if some strange man was his father. “Did you ever look into finding him?” she asked softly.
He nodded. “Yep. And I did.” Maggie’s mouth dropped. He nodded again. “I had my private investigator find him a few years ago.”
“And?” Maggie couldn’t wait to hear the rest.
“And,” Michael sighed, “he was in a nursing home in Rochester. I went to see him.” He paused for a moment. “He had Alzheimer’s so it was pointless to try to ask him questions.”
Maggie frowned, considering everything he’d said. “Were you glad you found him?”
He smiled sadly. “Yeah.”
“I have no desire to find my mother.” She shook her head emphatically. “Being abandoned by your mother as a two-year-old is a hell of a rejection. I won’t give her the opportunity to do it twice.”
“I understand,” Michael said. “But if you ever change your mind, I can put you in touch with my guy.”
Maggie nodded and sipped her papaya drink. They watched a charity bell-ringer in a Santa suit across the street. “So what are you doing for Christmas?” she asked him.
He grinned. “I have reservations in St. Bart’s.”
She shook her head. “I should have known.”
“Should have known what?” he asked defensively.
“That you’d have some amazingly fabulous plan for the holidays,” Maggie answered, rolling her eyes.
“Aren’t you going to Rhode Island or something?” he asked, nibbling a curly fry.
“Nope, I host the Annual Orphans and Misfits Christmas at my place,” she said wryly.
“Orphans and misfits?”
“It’s for those with nowhere to go. Like me, for example, with no family. And Ben. His family disowned him when he came out.” Michael frowned. “Although Ben’s Jewish, so they wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas at his house anyway,” Maggie laughed. “And Ben’s bringing his new boyfriend so we can finally meet him. Kevin usually comes, too. His family lives in Vancouver and he doesn’t always have the time to go all the way out there. I think he’s bringing a girlfriend. There’s a little old lady in my building who always comes. Oh, and I think Casey and John are crashing this year, so they don’t have to decide whose family they’ll visit.”
She grinned at Michael. “Everyone brings something for the meal and we have a wicked gift exchange. There are always extra people who tag along. Everyone’s welcome; it’s sad for anyone to be alone on Christmas.” She eyed him shyly. “You qualify, you know. As an orphan. So you’re invited.”
Michael nodded. “It sounds nice, Mags.”
“I mean, obviously you have plans,” she said, “but just know that you’re welcome.”
“Thanks,” he said, genuinely touched. “And thanks for lunch, too.”
She smiled broadly. “You’re welcome. I’m really glad you liked it.”
The next work week was shortened due to the holiday. On Tuesday afternoon, a large gift tower was delivered to Maggie’s desk. She was thrilled to see that it was from the Chelsea Market. In the three baskets was a generous assortment of all kinds of goodies like poppy seed cake, ginger cookies, salmon, salami, Camembert, and more. The attached Christmas card had been printed: Merry Christmas, From Michael.
Maggie sheepishly retrieved a small gift bag from the cabinet behind her desk. I didn’t realize he was going to go all out, she fretted mildly. Walking down the hallway she noticed that everyone on the 50th floor had received identical gift baskets. Somehow, the realization made her feel better. It’s not like he spent a lot of time picking it out. He probably had Karen do it.
Michael’s office door was open about halfway and she peeked inside. Dan was talking over his shoulder as he moved toward the door. “Thanks for the basket, Michael. It’s really nice.”
“You’re welcome, Dan-o. Merry Christmas to you and yours.” Michael smiled at Maggie in his doorway. “Howdy, Mags.”
Maggie and Dan exchanged holiday wishes and Maggie proceeded into the office, settling on a black leather chair across from Michael’s desk. “Yes, thanks for the gift basket. I never saw so many fancy foods. It’s going to be the hit of the Orphans and Misfits.”
Michael laughed. “Orphans and misfits should have the best. Sounds like Karen picked out a good one this year.”
“I wondered if you chose it. You shopped local, you know. I appreciate you telling Josh that we only use local business, too. I keep forgetting to tell you that.”
“You’re welcome,” he grinned, winking at her.
She felt her heart skip a beat. “Well, anyway,” she said, smoothing her skirt, “I have a little gift for you.” She placed the metallic green bag accented with a red bow on his desk.
Michael sat up eagerly. “Really? What have we here?” He reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve bourbon and placed it on the desk, eyes wide. He looked to Maggie. “Do you know what this is?”
She smiled. “It’s a very rare bottle of bourbon. Number 5 to be exact.”
He picked up the bottle to examine it closely. “Holy shit, number 5.” He looked a Maggie, astonishment on his face. “Where in the world did you find this?”
“I have my ways,” she answered coyly. “You like it, then?”
“Hell, yeah, I like it. I love it! I’ve never had such a nice bottle before.” He grinned. “Thanks, Mags. is is a really nice gift. I’d hate to think how much it cost.”
“And you won’t, because that would be rude.”
Michael smiled, shaking his head. “No, I wouldn’t do that. Let’s have some.” Maggie shook her head.
“No, it’s for you!” She waved her hand emphatically.
“Aw, come on, Mags,” he cajoled, reaching for two classes from a cabinet be-
hind his desk. He carefully opened the bottle and poured some into each glass, passing one to her. Li ing his glass he said, “To friends at Christmas.”
Maggie smiled warmly. “To friends. At Christmas.”
They each sipped appreciatively. “That’s amazing,” he said. “I’ve only heard legends about this, never thought to own a bottle.” He gave her one of his signature Michael Rannigan smiles, eyes and all.
“It is good. Even lives up to the hype,” she commented, pleased that she’d made him happy.
Finally Maggie stood. “Well, Merry Christmas, Michael. Enjoy St. Bart’s. ink about us orphans and misfits down in the Village.”
“I will definitely think about you. Merry Christmas, Mags.”