Of Lorenz Theory & Love

JHMD: Bacchanalia Mysterium

41: JHMD: Bacchanalia Mysterium

11 pm PDT/6 am, 8 weeks later, Post Prom, Madalena, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Azores Islands

Resurfacing from scorching reverie to make the barest of eye contact, he could feel himself release into her a piece of his own soul's essence, as they merged together in the symphonic pulsations of his and her heartbeats.

8 am PDT/3 pm, Day after Post Prom, Vera Manor, Maggie's Bedroom

A disheveled Maggie blinked her eyes slowly, shielding her eyes from the light streaming through her bedroom window. Her memories of last night were cloudy, and her head pounded from one too many drinks among the wild activities that constituted yesterday's veritable bacchanalia. She wasn't flat-out drunk—Margarita Vera was too classy for that –she had merely been tipsy, plus extraordinarily sleep-deprived from the committee planning activities. If Maggie remembered correctly, Macy and Harry were at their tropical condo in the Azores, and if all went according to plan, they would be arriving tonight, engaged to be married, as the future Greenwoods.

Some of Maggie's memories flickered back. She had felt such amazing, ankle-popping chemistry with Jordan, her smart and generally awesome coworker. His suit shirt coordinated perfectly, and she thought it was certainly a pity they worked so closely together, otherwise she would have been on him in a heartbeat—oh, wait a second...

Around 10 last night, she remembered that they had a couple of drinks, and somehow, they had spilled the beans about having feelings for each other. If she recalled, it began with Jordan mentioning offhandedly that he had broken up with his girlfriend awhile ago, then she remembered telling him that he was too good for said ex, anyways. They had kissed, and what had meant to be a single kiss turned into many, many more, along the railings of the fire escape stairwell. This was going to make facing him tonight at Macy and Harry's surprise engagement party extremely awkward, to say the least. Maggie groaned aloud. And she had a fancy dinner to plan.

8 am PDT/3 pm, Day after Post Prom, New York Luxury Apartment, Bedroom

Mel awoke to a mysterious amount of elegant floor-to-ceiling windows. The down comforter was an understated black, in contrast with the crisp white multitudinous-threaded sheets. Her Annie Hall-style ivory suit was folded in a corner chair, and she was completely alone—or was she? Mel had recalled leaving the SafeSpace bar to go dance elsewhere, and there might or might not have been a contract involved with a nefarious force, that she had to visit said entity every Sunday for sixty weeks, in the style of Scheherazade. Or was that just a dream? Please, let me be dreaming. But Mel knew that strange happenings were afoot.

Having been lured out of the enigmatic bedchamber by the aroma of crisp, sizzling turkey bacon, she slowly dressed in the adjoining bathroom, wearing her ivory slacks and camisole from yesterday, and made her way into the modern, airy kitchen, where she detected a cryptic tune.

"Mysterium, Alexander Scriabin's unfinished work," a silky British female voice called from near the stove.

Oh shit. It was Abigael.

9 pm PDT, Same Day, Vera Manor, Backyard Garden

By all accounts, Maggie's engagement party for Harry and Macy had been a resounding success. Harry, Macy, Mel, Maggie, and Jordan all gathered under the shining tealights and ivy beneath Vera Manor's silhouette for a champagne toast "To our future brother-in-law Harry!" along with tortilla chips, fresh homemade guacamole, Guisada al Pollo (chicken and potato stew), vegan black bean empanadas, and coconut coquitos at the end.

Maggie was alone in the kitchen cleaning up after the party; she refused to let Macy or Harry help clean up, finally threatening to hex them if they didn't go and enjoy themselves out on the patio. Mel had shown up right as dinner was being served, without any explanation at all whatsoever as to her earlier whereabouts, muttering something about "highly regrettable decisions." After dinner, it seemed as though Mel had vanished into thin air. Maggie sighed as she faced two tall towers of dirty dishes clamoring for attention in the sink. So much for sisterly love.

"Want some help with that?" Maggie didn't need to turn around to know who spoke. Jordan. Without so much as a second of eye contact, she tossed him a sponge and he began to scrub the stack of dishes to her right. Several long, interminable minutes passed before he ventured a word in. "Do you want to discuss what happened last night?"

Maggie knew this was going to happen sooner or later. "What's there to discuss?" she tried to ask casually, knowing full well that she could feel her face starting to blush.

"The part where we talked about...us." Jordan said softly. "Maggie, for once in your life, it's ok to relax—you're not at work right now. It's ok to open your heart—to, y'know, see where things go."

"With you?" Maggie turned to face him slowly.

"Only if you want to..." Jordan replied, looking through the window to where Harry and Macy stood outside stargazing. "I don't plan to run from my feelings; I like to face my fears directly."

Maggie laughed. "You, Jordan, are afraid?"

"More than you know," Jordan responded. "But, like all things, I realize that if I don't confront this head-on, I will always wonder what might have been—and that is more impossible to live with, in my humble opinion."

"But," Maggie tried to find a cover of an excuse to deny her innermost feelings. "What if things end terribly?"

"What if," Jordan offered a rejoinder, bending closer to meet her eyes, "we're the next Hacy?"

"Touché, Chase, touché," Maggie knew she was fighting a losing battle. "If you're so dead set on your noble quest, ask me on a date. I dare you."

"Ok, Vera," Jordan chuckled. "Maybe I will." And they kissed.