by R.S. Grey
My fork slips from my grip and falls to the grass. Mouse is on it within seconds, licking off what little potato salad is left. By the time I reach down for it and sit back up, my mom has turned the phone around to reveal the photo.
“Ahh!” I flinch.
She’s merged my face with Madeleine’s, and the result is nothing short of horrifying, a tiny gremlin thing that looks nothing like a human child.
Everyone cracks up, even the girls, but Madeleine sits silent across from me, obviously taken aback.
“I’m sorry, but no baby looks like that!” Kathy says, pressing her hand to her mouth to conceal her laughter. “Why did they give it Adam’s full head of hair?! And his stubble?”
“The proportions are all off,” Samuel adds. “What baby has a jawline like that?”
My mom tilts the phone so she can see the image again. I can tell she’s barely containing her laughter as she replies, “I think she’s cute, and the app was free, so what do you expect?”
When I peer back at Madeleine, her gaze is focused on her food, and beneath the spray of freckles on her cheeks, she’s sporting a healthy blush. She’s obviously embarrassed, and though I should, I don’t feel bad. This is what she wanted. She fed my mom lies and now the woman has gone off the deep end, merging our faces and planning our future family.
“Let’s hope she takes after Madeleine a bit more than that,” Kathy says with a laugh.
“She’s not pregnant,” I point out, since the table seems to have forgotten this minor detail.
My mom waves away my bad attitude. “Oh c’mon Adam, it’s just a little fun.”
“Maybe she doesn’t even want kids,” I point out.
“She does. She told me,” Kathy says confidently.
I’m baffled. We’ve been here for less than an hour and she’s talked to Kathy about kids and gone on about a wedding to my mom. Is she insane?
“Hypothetically,” Madeleine chimes in, her voice growing weaker by the minute. “In the future…”
“Oh, don’t let him spoil our fun,” my mom says, reaching over to grab Madeleine’s hand. “That app didn’t get it right. You two will make beautiful babies.”
I can’t stand sitting here for another second. I push away from the table and head over to where Samuel stashed the beer in a cooler by the grill. I still have half a bottle, but I down it in one long swig and reach down for a fresh one.
When I return to the table, I hear faint murmurings about Olivia.
“I never did like that woman,” Samuel says unabashedly.
If there’s one topic I want to discuss even less than having children with Madeleine, it’s my past relationship with Olivia.
“She was always a little cold in my opinion,” Kathy says.
“Enough,” I boom.
The table goes silent.
“She’s not here to defend herself. Talk about something else.”
Madeleine pushes to stand. “I think I better go.”
Yes, I think you should.
“No!” Payton shouts, reaching for her hand. “We haven’t even had dessert yet.”
“And you still have half your food,” Allie points out.
“I forgot Madeleine and I have other plans,” I say, scrambling for some kind of excuse to get out of this situation. “We were only going to stop by for a second.”
No one buys my excuse, but they’re too polite to insist we stay. Kathy rushes inside to pack us some leftovers while Madeleine retrieves her shoes from Allie. The girls pout as they hug her goodbye, and so does my mother. Samuel is oblivious, eating his chicken and sipping his beer in silence. He’s the only one I’m not angry with.
Once Mouse is back on his leash, we head for the front door. Madeleine trails behind me, and I don’t have to look to know she’s upset. I don’t care. She made her bed and now she has to lie in it.
“Here. Here!” Kathy says.
I turn back in time to see my sister-in-law foist three large Tupperware containers into Madeleine’s hands.
“The top one has two slices of apple cobbler in it. It’s Adam’s favorite.”
Madeleine’s bottom lip quakes when Kathy wraps her in a hug. “Thank you. That was sweet.”
“It was really good to meet you. Next time you come, you’ll have to stay longer, okay?”
Madeleine nods and turns away quickly, probably so Kathy won’t see her expression start to crumble. I glance away, angry at the semblance of pity I’m starting to feel for her.
Kathy opens the door for us and we head for Madeleine’s car in silence. I load Mouse in back, and Madeleine takes the driver’s seat then passes me the Tupperware containers in silence. She starts the car and pulls away from the curb. We don’t talk, don’t even acknowledge one another’s existence. I’m minutes away from freedom, minutes away from putting this shitty afternoon behind me, but then, of course, it gets worse.
We’re out on a country road, halfway back to my house when smoke starts to rise from beneath the hood of Madeleine’s car.
“No, no, no!” she says, slowing down and pulling to the side of the road.
“It’s overheating.”
“No shit!” she snaps, quickly turning off the ignition and stepping out of the car. I follow after her, popping the hood before she gets the chance. Steam rises in plumes and I push her back instinctively, knowing how easily she could get burned.
“It’s my car,” she points out, annoyed.
“Yeah, and yet you refuse to take care of it,” I say under my breath.
I inspect her coolant reservoir, and as expected, there isn’t any near the fill line.
“When’s the last time you checked your fluid levels?”
She crosses her arms. “I assure you my fluid levels are just fine.”
“You’re out of antifreeze. Are there any gas stations nearby where we can get some?”
“Uhm, no, but I have some water bottles in the trunk.”
“That’ll work, but I can’t unscrew your radiator cap until the car has cooled down, and that will take forever. Here, give me your phone.”
“Why?” she asks, stepping away from me.
“Let’s just call a tow.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “No! That’s expensive. You said it yourself, it just needs some water.”
“That’s probably just one of the many things wrong with this bucket. You need a mechanic,” I say, walking back around the car to get my phone.
“Adam! We are NOT calling a tow truck!”
I turn back to see her glaring at me with murder in her gaze. “We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere!”
“Downtown is that way,” she says, pointing to the left. “Start walking if you want to get home so badly.”
“I don’t want to get home! I want to get away from you!”
“Well that makes two of us!” she snaps, throwing her hands in the air and turning to walk off down the road.
Mouse starts barking from the back seat, excited by the turn of events.
I watch Madeleine walk another few feet before sinking down on the edge of the road and resting her head on her knees. She looks so tiny, vulnerable.
“Will you get up?” I ask, my tone sounding barely a notch above bored. “A car is coming and they’re going to hit you.”
“I’m on the shoulder,” she defends.
I’m left watching the car careening toward us in the distance—a massive red truck complete with a muddy cattle guard. I’m half-certain Madeleine is about to be road kill, and she doesn’t care. I groan and run for her, hooking my hands beneath her arms and hauling her out of the way just before the truck tears past us. Her hair whips up and the air surrounding us is momentarily tainted with her fragrant shampoo.
It’s lavender, and on another day, I would have liked the smell.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” I ask gruffly.
The truck technically didn’t come close to hitting her, but I’m looking for any excuse to fight at this
point.
She wiggles out of my hold and tugs down the front of her blouse. “After the afternoon I just had, MAYBE I AM!”
“Oh, after the afternoon you had? AFTER YOUR AFTERNOON?!”
“Stop shouting at me!”
“What was that bullshit you fed my mom about elaborate dates! About marriage!”
She whips around and her brown eyes sear into me. “What are you talking about? What dates? Marriage? Is this a joke?”
I stalk toward her until I’m pointing my finger into her chest. “Don’t play coy now. I never asked you to go for an academy award with your acting.”
She pushes me and I stumble back. “Oh fuck off, your mom called your little charade the moment we stepped out of the car. She clearly wanted to have a little fun with you. I guess she went overboard.”
“So, what, she asked if we were really dating and you just spilled the truth?”
Our voices carry out over the bleak landscape around us, but we don’t care. There’s no one around for miles, just Mouse, who has slithered into the front seat of Madeleine’s car and is resting his head on the dashboard.
“She’s a kindergarten teacher, Adam! They’re basically human lie detectors. She got it out of me, and I figured it was better to tell her the truth than to keeping lying to her face.”
I’m dragging my hands through my hair for the hundredth time today. Soon I won’t have any left.
“So you’re saying you’re no better at lying than a 6 year old?”
She throws up her hands and stalks off. “I’m saying that maybe if you’d given me more than 5 minutes of warning, I might have been able to concoct a believable backstory.”
“Speaking of that—did you tell my mom we were getting married?” I blurt after her.
“No!”
“Any made-up dates? Something about a camel ride in the park?”
“NO! What are you talking about? Do you think I’m a complete psychopath?” She doesn’t even bother turning around to address me, just waves me off and walks away. “If you’re angry, you need to take it up with your mom. She’s the one who created that demon baby thing on her phone.”
I shudder at the memory.
“To be fair, our kids would be cuter than that,” I point out. Not that it matters.
I think I hear her laugh, but she could also be crying at this point. Either way, I give her space. For ten minutes, she stands off to the side of the road, cooling down and staring out at the rolling pastures. I head back to her car and sit beside Mouse, patting his head and wondering how in the world I got myself into this mess. My life was settled back in Chicago—I was settled there. Now I’m stuck on the side of the road in the middle of Texas with a hotheaded brunette who needs a mechanic yesterday.
I stare down at my phone and contemplate going over her head, but it wouldn’t end favorably for me. Instead, I recline the chair and close my eyes. It doesn’t take long for guilt to start to seep in and replace my anger. From the sound of it, Madeleine didn’t really do anything wrong. My mom guessed we weren’t dating because she’s not an idiot, and I should have picked up on her little games sooner. Instead, I’d assumed Madeleine was crazy enough to concoct wild tales about hot air balloons and camels. I smile. Now that I’ve had a few minutes to think on it, none of it makes sense.
How many camels are there in Hamilton, Texas?
I’m going to have a word with my mom. She thinks she’s so funny. Even now, she’s probably gloating at how easy it was to dose me with my own medicine.
I realize I’ve shouted at Madeleine yet again for something that isn’t really her fault. She probably thinks I need anger management. Hell, maybe I do. But for now, I just need to get this car running.
I reach across and pull the trunk release lever. Her eyes follow me curiously as I haul the 24-pack of water bottles up to the front of the car. I take off my button-down so that I’m left in my undershirt.
“Are you trying to pull the ol’ stranded-stranger-will-do-anything-for-a-ride trick? Because it will probably work better if I start to strip,” she says bitterly.
I stay quiet, and bunch the thick cotton material inside my right hand and place it over the warm radiator cap. I take a deep breath and turn my head, steeling myself before twisting the pressurized cap as quickly as possible. My skin prickles as the hot steam escapes through the fabric, and I release when I hear the characteristic pop.
“Start the engine.”
Mesmerized, Madeleine obeys.
Her car starts on the first try, as if in gratitude for the modicum of attention being paid to it. I work quickly, emptying a disheartening number of water bottles into the radiator. Finally, the water overflows and I re-cap the line.
Much to Mouse’s delight, we both hop back in the car and Madeleine starts driving. We’re silent for a while, right up until I gather the courage to glance over and apologize.
“I overreacted and I’m sorry.”
She grunts, her gaze never wavering from the road.
“I shouldn’t have been so rude to you back there. I thought you’d lied to my mom about a marriage proposal and it pissed me off.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t. I played nice with your family until your mom extracted the truth out of me. I’m sorry for telling her, but that was a stupid plan to begin with. Who brings a fake date to a family barbecue?”
When she says it like that, it sounds pathetic.
“A guy who’s desperate to get his nagging mom off his back.”
The tension in her expression lessons slightly. “Why didn’t you just invite someone you’re actually interested in instead of dragging me along?”
Simple.
“I don’t want to date right now. I’m not ready to date, so there’s no one I could have really asked except for you.”
“Does she want you to be dating someone?”
“Desperately.”
“Because of Olivia?”
I turn away. “Yes, because of Olivia.”
“Is she an ex-girlfriend?”
It feels weird to talk about Olivia with Madeleine, mostly because I don’t talk about Olivia with anyone, not since leaving Chicago.
“Ex-fiancée.”
“Huh.”
I glance back and she meets my gaze. The anger is gone, replaced with healthy curiosity.
“How long were you engaged?”
Five years, six months, and four days.
“A long time.”
“How long is a long time?”
“Five years.” My words are barely audible, but she hears them anyway.
“Five years?!”
I shrug. “We didn’t want to rush it.”
“Did you get engaged after the first date or something?”
“We dated for three years.”
“So eight years total. Yeah, I’d say that’s the definition of ‘not rushing it’.”
I’d like to change the topic, but nothing comes to mind. I could bring up how poorly I behaved at the barbecue, but I don’t want to go down that road again.
“May I ask who broke it off?” she asks gently.
The question should bring a wave of pain and residual feelings, but for the first time I can remember, the memory of Olivia has no effect on me.
“She did.” I shrug. “By sleeping with my best friend.”
The audible gasp that follows that revelation doesn’t surprise me anymore. It’s not a pleasant detail, but it’s important.
“Well, that’s a polite way of ending things.”
I smile out the window.
There’s a long pause before she asks her next question.
“Do you miss her?”
There’s a longer pause before I reply.
“Honestly? No. I miss our dog. I used to run with her in the city.”
“And she got to keep her?! After sleeping with your best friend?”
I know. I regret not fighting harder, but at the time I just wanted out. I wanted to pack my bags, cut my losses
, and leave. I left Molly with Olivia because it was easier, and now…
“I wish I hadn’t let her.”
“Well, if you want a running companion, you can have Mouse any time you want.”
I glance into the back seat and Mouse is sitting with his tongue lolling out to the side, completely content. Then, I look back and study Madeleine’s profile. She’s focused on the road, her cheeks flushed from standing out in the sun and her hair wild from the wind. I’m aware of the guttural urge to reach out and touch it, to touch her, but then I remind myself that not twenty minutes ago, we were berating each other. Something tells me if I reached out and touched her now, she’d bite.
“Why are you being nice to me after what I just put you through?”
“I guess I feel bad for you,” she shrugs, tossing me a lazy smile. “And now it looks like I owe you a suit and a shirt.
I laugh at her blunt delivery.
“And more selfishly, Mouse has a lot of energy.” She glances in the rearview mirror. “It’d be pretty nice if someone took him on runs every now and then.”
“So is this a truce, then?”
Her brown eyes meet mine and she smiles. “Somehow, I don’t think a truce with you will last long.”
Though I wish I could, I don’t disagree.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MADELEINE
I made a crucial mistake—I forgot to ask Adam about holding up his end of the bargain. To be fair, there wasn’t really a good time for negotiations on Saturday. Between his mom planning our future family, us shouting at each other, and my car deciding to crap out, I somehow wasn’t able to broach the subject of real estate. I have to be careful, especially after how he reacted at the puppy training class. It’s a delicate matter, and one I need to handle with tact if I intend to actually convince him to let me sell him a house.
That’s not to say it wasn’t on my mind the entire day though. As we shouted at each other while plumes of steam billowed out of my car’s hood, all I wanted to ask was, Will you still let me sell you a house?
Pathetic, I know, but I’ve come to terms with where I’m at in life. A person can only pretend to take a fake phone call when they walk by their landlord so many times before their self-worth and decorum fly right out the window.
