by Grey, R. S.
“Your hand is really warm,” she says, half delirious with nerves. Our eyes are locked when Paul begins.
“If you need me to take a break, let me know.”
“Ah!” she yelps as soon as the needle meets skin.
“Is it too painful?” he asks, but her eyes are still on me.
I tilt my head in question. “Going to chicken out so soon? What about your list?”
She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. Paul continues.
Her eyes pinch closed and her palm tries to curl in on itself, but I flatten it back out and think of some way to distract her. It shouldn’t be that hard, but she’s distracting me. We’re touching, holding hands, almost. Her skin feels good against mine. I hadn’t thought my hands were all that calloused from the gym and the odd jobs I did around my house during the remodel, but compared to hers, they’re rough.
She winces and I remember my duty: distract her.
“Try to tell me what word I’m spelling out.”
She blinks her eyes open. “What?”
I start to draw letters against her palm with the pad of my finger to show her what I mean: M-A-D-I…
“Madison,” she guesses. The edge of her mouth hitches and I know I’ve got her.
I smile and start again, focusing my attention on her hand. Now that she’s watching me, I can’t think of a single word. I’m just drawing aimlessly on her palm. It’s cathartic. I trace her lifelines and wonder what pieces of her future they hold, if any. I wonder if the tugging in my chest is from the pizza Andy and I split at lunch or if I’m completely ignoring an obvious truth standing (or rather, lying) right in front of me.
She scrunches her nose. “I didn’t catch any of that. Were those letters?”
I clear my throat. “Let me try again.”
B-E-N.
She laughs. “Creative.”
W-A-S.
“Oh my gosh. Tell me you aren’t—”
H-E-R-E.
Paul glances up, watching Madison laugh with an appreciative gleam in his eye. “How long have you two been together?”
Our mouths open at the same time as if we’re both about to rush out a reply and tidy up this situation before it becomes any more awkward, but then seconds ticks by. More. Neither of us says a word. Maybe we want to avoid the sitcom trope of speaking over one another and telling conflicting stories. A week! A month! Or maybe neither of us is in a hurry to correct him. We both close our mouths and I watch as Madison’s eyes soften and her lips curl into a tempting smirk. She’s daring me to play along.
“A year next month,” she lies confidently.
My brow arches. A year? That’s quite a serious relationship.
Paul wipes her tattoo, cleaning the skin, and then continues. “Going to do anything special for your anniversary?”
This time, there’s no pause as Madison launches into her answer.
“Ben is taking me to Europe. I’ve never been. We’re skipping the cliché parts though—no Eiffel Tower and Vatican for us.” I smirk. Oh really? “We’re going to Italy, to this little fishing village right on the coast.” I’m impressed. “You can only get there by train, and there’s a bed and breakfast owned by an English couple. It’s a real hidden gem.”
“How’d you guys hear about it?” Paul asks.
I tip my head. Yes, Madison, how did we hear about it?
“My friend Eli stayed there a few summers back. He said if I only take one trip in my whole entire life, that’s where I should go. Vernazza.”
“Sounds like it’ll be romantic,” Paul says, casting me a glance that makes it clear he thinks I’m a lucky guy.
Her tattoo doesn’t take much longer after that, not that it matters. With Madison carrying the conversation for the three of us and her hand still in mine, I draw random doodles on her skin, enjoying myself more than I should. She talks about the most boring stuff, like the library cataloging system, and yet I’m riveted, completely and utterly transfixed.
I’m so disturbed by how I feel that I’m quiet on the drive home. Annoyed, even.
Madison notices.
“Do you not like the tattoo? I thought it looked really cool before he covered it.”
I glance over to her briefly before I put my attention back on the road. “No, I like it.”
She nods and taps her hands on her knees. “I wasn’t too much of a wimp, was I? In the beginning, I really thought I was going to cry, but I held it together.”
“You did fine.”
“Paul was nice, right? And it was cool of him to just charge the normal rate.”
I hum half-heartedly as I put on my blinker and take a left. We’re only a few minutes from her house now, just a couple more turns and she’ll have to get out. I ease my foot off the gas just a bit to slow my speed.
“Okay, I give—did I do something?” Madison asks suddenly, turning toward me.
“No.”
“It’s just that you seem a little standoffish. If you’re annoyed that I told him we were together…” She forces a laugh. “That was just a joke.”
“I’m not annoyed. I’m thinking.”
“About what?” she pushes.
I’m not used to women like her. Madison wears her emotions right on her sleeve and expects me to do the same. Most women would back off and give me space for fear that I’d push them away, but Madison’s not scared of that. Hell, sometimes I don’t think she’s scared of anything.
Maybe it’s time I try for a little courage too.
“So you’ve thought of all these items for your bucket list, right?”
“Not really. I mean, I had a few things, like my tattoo—”
“And having sex for the first time,” I press, if only because I don’t have that much longer with her in my car and this courageous streak might be fleeting.
She looks away, out the windshield. “Yes. That too.”
“Well, is finding a boyfriend on your list? Or does that not matter to you?”
I know if I looked at her, her cheeks would be red. I purposely keep my gaze on the road.
She laughs lightly, but it sounds a little strained. “Oh sure, I mean, in an ideal world, I’d find a boyfriend this year. Hell, I’d find the love of my life and we’d get married and live happily ever after, but I have to be realistic. That probably won’t happen.”
The girlish notion makes me laugh, but then she jerks in her seat and faces the window. Maybe I shouldn’t have laughed.
“So you’ve thought a lot about it, huh?” I press.
“Yup,” she says, her voice sounding colder now. “I even think I know someone who might be a good fit for me—wait. Pull over here so my dad doesn’t see us.” She’s pointing to the curb up ahead. “I can just walk the rest of the way.”
I jerk the wheel to the right and hit the brake a little too hard. Maybe I’m annoyed that she doesn’t want her dad to see her with me, or maybe I’m angry at the idea of her with another guy. Who’s to fuckin’ say?
I put the car in park and finally turn to look at her.
She’s staring down at her lap, fidgeting with the hem of her white top. I can see the barest hint of skin between it and the top of her baggy jeans. I think of how easily those pants would peel down her hips. I jerk my gaze elsewhere.
“Who?” My jaw is locked so tight the word barely makes it out of my mouth.
“What?”
“Who do you have in mind?”
“Oh…well, I was thinking maybe Andy. Or—” she amends hurriedly, “someone like Andy.”
I laugh. Her answer came straight out of left field, so much so that she has to be joking.
My brows shoot up and I lean in, just to ensure I’m hearing her right. “Andy? As in my friend, Andy?”
She’s nibbling on her bottom lip. “He’s not really my type per se, but he’s so nice. Well, I don’t personally know if he’s nice, but everyone says he is, and most importantly, he’s not too intimidating, unlike—” She clears her throat and sto
ps short. We both know who she was referring to anyway. It’s hilarious considering I’ve just spent the last hour drawing fucking hearts on her palm.
“So you want a nice guy,” I press, sounding like an asshole even to my own ears.
“Nice,” she concurs.
“In bed? You want a nice guy in bed?”
“Ben.”
“What, Madison? A second ago you were pushing me to open up to you, and now I’m just requesting you do the same. If you think you want a nice guy, I’ll set you up with Andy.”
“Fine,” she snaps. “Thank you. That would be great. I’m going to get out now.”
She turns to me, and her eyes could put emeralds to shame.
She wants a nice guy. Not me.
“Awesome,” I mock, angry.
“Good night,” she bites out, angrier.
Then she gets out and slams the door.
* * *
The next morning at the firm, I find Andy in his office. He’s sitting behind his desk, sipping his coffee, oblivious to my wrath. I barely slept last night. Visions of him and Madison replayed in my head until I eventually tossed my blankets aside and headed for the gym. I did an intense workout. I forced myself to engage the flirtatious blonde near the water fountain and accepted her business card when she offered it. Sure, I might have tossed it out in the locker room, but still, I should feel invigorated. Instead, I feel twice as annoyed as I did last night. I’m a pot that’s been on simmer for far too long.
“Andy.” I knock hard on his doorframe. I wouldn’t be surprised to find the wood had splintered. “Mind if I come in?”
“Oh, sure.” He grins like the nice guy he is.
Suddenly, I hate him.
“How’d ya sleep, bud?” I ask, fingering the items on his shelves. He has framed photos of his family on a ski trip, a little drawing from one of his nieces—nice guy shit.
“Great, actually. I just bought a new mattress and it’s really improved—”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Uh…”
“Listen, Madison wants me to set her up with you.”
He’s so shocked, he spits his coffee all over his monitor and keyboard. Shame.
“Jesus, warn a dude next time.”
No, actually, I don’t think I will.
“So anyway, consider it.”
“Wow. I don’t have to consider it.” He’s dabbing a napkin over his damp computer. “I accept, obviously. She’s way out of my league. Let’s go to the gym after work. Think I can get a six pack in one day?”
My gaze jerks to him. My heart lurches in my chest. My hands fist at my sides. “So you’re going to do it?”
“Of course,” he says, leaning forward, basically foaming at the mouth. “Have you seen her?”
I step toward his desk, sizing him up. Do I have it in me to kill my best friend? At this moment, maybe.
I look around for something sharp at the precise moment he bursts out laughing. His hand hits his chest and he’s really letting himself go. I’ve never seen someone laugh so heartily. “Oh man, I can’t keep it up. You should see your face right now—you want to slam my head against my desk.” He pinches his eyes shut like the hilarity is just too much. “Jesus, do you love her or what?”
I reach down and shuffle the papers on his desk, inspect some accolade he won at some point, and then stare past his head out the window with my hands stuffed in my front pockets.
“So I’ll tell her you’re not interested?”
“Uh, yeah—tell her I’d prefer to keep my balls intact, thank you very much.”
12
Madison
“Do you think there’s good service in here?” I ask, holding my phone up toward the ceiling to see if I can manage to wrangle another bar or two from the cell tower.
Eli shrugs. “I’ve never had a problem.”
He pops another Cheeto in his mouth and munches like the world isn’t a bleak and desolate place. Ben didn’t text me after our weird sort-of argument in his car. Nothing the day after, either. Oh, and you guessed it, a big fat nada for yesterday and today. It’s Friday. There’s been a black hole of doom between the last time I talked to Ben and this moment I’m in right now.
Life has continued on at an alarmingly normal pace. I wake up, don a comfortable dress or old jeans, throw myself into work at the library, and then head home to serve my dad and brother in whatever manner they see fit. Oh god, that sounds bad. It’s not their fault. I’ve taken it upon myself to cook dinner because I want it to be marginally healthy, and I never accept help when they offer to clean up because it’s faster if I just do it myself. My dad can manage his medications on his own, but sometimes I like to make sure he has everything right, just as a precaution. I’m not trying to paint myself out as some kind of Cinderella here. I’m not. I have a good life.
A GOOD LIFE, I remind myself, looking around me.
Like right now, I’m in the break room at the library eating a ham and cheese sandwich on a warm baguette. It’s delicious. Eli is sitting across the table regaling me with stories from a trivia night he went to with Kevin and some of their couple friends. I’m genuinely entertained. I’m not at all bitter that I was not invited because I do not qualify as a couple. I’m just Madison, party of one.
Mrs. Allen has tried her hand at baking again and there’s a nice deflated thing sitting on the break room counter, waiting for us to devour it. It could be a cheesecake or it could be a door stopper. Either way, yum.
Katy (my glorious intern, Katy!), has arrived at work nearly on time all week and has even kind of listened when I’ve given her tasks. Sure, yesterday I found her sexting with her boyfriend down in the storage room (I know because she bragged about it), but that’s nothing a quick Clorox wipe to my brain can’t take care of.
Things are looking very good. My tattoo is healing surprisingly well, and even if that’s the craziest thing I do before my 26th birthday rolls around, I’ve decided I’m still calling this year a win.
I’m a wild child.
A rebel without a cause.
Ben Shmen, if you ask me.
A phone somewhere in the Western Hemisphere vibrates and I lurch forward to check my screen as if my life depends on it.
Eli notices. “Are you still hoping he’ll text you?”
I decide to throw him off my scent by seeming overly confused. “To whom are you referring?”
Eli knows everything. He knows I snuck off with Ben at the party, knows I slipped out of my panties in response to a dare he delivered. He knows that while I was getting a tattoo permanently inked onto my skin, Ben was cradling my palm and permanently inscribing doodles onto my soul. He knows I pushed Ben to set me up with Andy as a way to make it seem like I wasn’t a total loser. I have options. See?! Maybe your friend wants me. God, it’s so pathetic I want to let my face fall onto my sandwich. I’m really not good at this stuff.
“Look at me,” Eli insists.
I look at his shirt.
“Look at me.”
I glance at a point on the wall just over his shoulder, eyes narrowed.
“Madison, look at me.”
I finally force myself to meet his gaze and it’s just as I feared: intense. He looks like my dad when he’s about to impart some wisdom to me. Oh god, he even puts down his Cheeto. This must be serious.
“Please don’t fall for Ben. I don’t want to be harsh, but I feel like you need to hear the truth. He’s not the guy for you, Maddie.” A knife thrusts itself right into my stomach—a rusty one with a dull blade. “You need someone less…I don’t know. Someone a little bit more attainable, you know?” He bends his head to try to catch my eye because the second he spoke my gaze jerked down to the table. He reaches out for my hand. “It’s better if you two just stay friends. C’mon…Ben Rosenberg? That’s not the guy you want for your first time. Believe me. Need I remind you about Patrick?”
I shake my head. “No, you’re right. Jesus, did you have to say it that way though?�
�
“It’s better, I swear, like ripping off a Band-Aid. I could have totally tiptoed around it and built up your hopes about him, but then what? You don’t need someone telling you to go for it with a guy like him. That has disaster and heartbreak written all over it.”
“I know.”
They’re the only words I can muster because there are tears burning the corners of my eyes and my throat is closing up tight.
I hate that Eli is right about this.
I hate that I’m such a cliché. How many of us are out there roaming the earth waiting for Ben Rosenberg to text us? We should form a support group. Make t-shirts. Cry on each other’s shoulders while we stare lovingly at life-size cutouts of him.
I should feel embarrassed to be a card-carrying member of this group, but I’m not. Maybe it’s okay to be a cliché, to reach for something that might be unattainable. I know how it feels to have lived twenty-five years with a safety net. I know how it feels to stand on the sidelines and watch other, seemingly more deserving girls get the guy.
The whole point of my birthday wish was that I want this year to be different. The funny thing is, if someone asked me now, in this moment, if I would proceed forward knowing there’s a good chance Ben will ruin me, ruin my life, leave me heartbroken and sad, I’d still press down on the gas and take the leap, if only to see what happens.
Who cares if I go SPLAT against the ground? I have the rest of my life to recover. I’ll be old and weary, rocking back and forth on my front porch, dreaming of the time I almost, nearly got Ben Rosenberg. And yes, even in old age, I’ll still be wearing the support group t-shirt, threadbare and all.
* * *
It’s Saturday and Ben is scheduled to volunteer this morning. I hardly slept, I was so anxious to see him again. I hop out of bed with so much enthusiasm I’m liable to break out in song. I put on a long-sleeved white sweater dress and my brown leather boots. I tell myself I’m not really doing my hair, just curling it a little. This makeup is really what I normally do for any ol’ workday, just…jazzed up a little. It’s Saturday, after all! Everyone wants to feel pretty on Saturdays!
