by Grey, R. S.
I throw my hands up and turn to walk ahead of him to the main entrance, but Aiden rushes ahead of me.
“Oh allow me, darling,” he teases, yanking the door open to let me in before him. “I’d never let my girlfriend open her own door.”
“Funny.”
“Here, let me carry your things,” he says, trying to take hold of my purse. I whack him in the arm with it.
“Stop it, will you? I’m already embarrassed enough.”
His smile widens. “Stop? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just trying to make sure my girlfriend is well taken care of.”
I’m headed toward the elevators, but I think better of it and head toward the stairs, that way I can take them two at a time and blow off some steam.
“Our anniversary is coming up,” Aiden says from behind me in the stairwell.
“What anniversary? Would you cut it out already?”
“Oh, I’m only getting started.”
This is a perfect example of why I occasionally wish Aiden and I lived separately. I’d go into my own condo, lock the door behind me, and forget all about him, but that’s not an option here. Aiden follows me inside and nudges the door closed behind him. I toss my purse on our kitchen island and turn to him with my hands on my hips.
“It just came out, okay?” I explain, hoping the quicker he finds out what happened, the quicker he’ll drop it. “They were asking me about you, going on and on about wanting to be introduced, so I did you a favor.”
Yes! Good! Turn it around on him!
“They would have tormented you all night if I hadn’t stepped in and lied about being your girlfriend. Elise was all ‘I like younger men’, so really, I did a noble thing saving you from that group.”
“Maybe,” he says, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms.
“Maybe!?”
“Yeah, maybe you helped me out, or maybe it was something else entirely.”
I toss my hands into the air in defeat and head toward the fridge. Aiden and I had some sake with dinner, but it barely skimmed the surface of how much alcohol I need to get through this discussion with him. I retrieve the white wine we opened the other night and pour the remainder of its contents into a glass. It’s not much, but it’s something.
“Did it bother you that Elise might have wanted to date me?” he asks.
I swing the refrigerator door open and closed again and again so cool air blasts my face.
“Why are you asking me that? What does it matter?!” I sound on the verge of hysteria.
“I’m just curious.”
He’s like a dog with a bone tonight. I know I’ll have to answer him before he’ll drop it.
“Yes, fine. I don’t want you dating Elise. There.”
“Why?”
I grunt like it’s obvious to anyone with a brain. “Because I work for her! That would be so awkward!”
“So that’s it? That’s the only reason?”
I slam the refrigerator door closed and turn to face him. He’s circling entirely too close to the truth. One wrong step and he will know everything, will know Maddie Lane L-O-V-E-S Aiden Smith. So, I circumvent his question.
“You don’t think I liked telling them we were dating, do you? I was backed into a corner! Put on the spot! I thought I was doing you a favor, but fine, here, hand me my phone and I’ll call Elise. I’ll let her know you’re on your way over right now.”
I go for my purse, but he beats me to it, holding it captive above his head so I can’t get to my phone.
“C’mon, she’ll love it. I’ll tell her you’re great in the sack.”
One of his dark brows arches. “How would you know?”
“I have ears.”
His smile widens, but I refuse to go weak in the knees.
“You’ve listened to me having sex?”
“Listened? The whole building listens! It’s not as if I strained my ears or anything. The girls all moan your name at the top of their lungs.”
I do a stellar reenactment, my voice all high-pitched and lusty.
“Oh, Aiden. Just like that. Yes. Yes. Yes!”
He’s grinning now, loving the show.
“You should be embarrassed,” I prompt, wondering where his confidence stems from. He seems to have an endless font of it.
“I am,” he says, smile unwavering.
I poke him in the stomach. “No you aren’t. You love that those girls call out your name like that, don’t you? You should feel bad for me having to listen.”
“You could have come over and told us to quiet down.”
“And risk getting a full monty? No thank you.”
“It’s not like you haven’t seen it all already.”
I’m doing a very good impression of a cardinal right now, all red and wide-eyed.
“Just the once! When you were changing!”
He shrugs. “So then we’re even.”
My jaw drops. “What do you mean we’re even?”
“We’ve both seen each other naked,” he replies, sounding like it’s the most casual announcement he’s ever made in his life. Oh, look, it’s Saturday, also I’ve seen your boobs.
I step toward him and fist the front of his shirt like I mean business. “When did you see me naked?!”
He tries to pry my fingers off him, but it’s no use, my embarrassment giving me superhuman strength.
“Will you knock it off? You’re going to stretch out the neckline.”
“Answer me!”
“It was a few months ago. All your towels were in the dryer after your shower and you had to run from your room to go grab one.”
Oh dear God. I remember that day. Aiden had gone to the grocery store. He wasn’t home. I’d finished taking a shower and reached to grab for a towel before realizing there wasn’t one hanging where it should have been. I had no choice. I had to do the drippy-wet tiptoe sprint through our condo to grab a fresh towel from the laundry room.
“But you weren’t home!” I say, my voice shrill.
“I was,” he says, not nearly as contrite as he should be. Where’s the remorse? The apologetic grimace?!
“I’d forgotten my wallet and had to come back to grab it,” he explains. “I found it on my nightstand and turned back just in time to see you run through the living room naked.”
I am a balloon floating away from earth. I don’t even feel my limbs as I release his shirt, turn on the spot, and walk slowly toward my room. With zombie-like slowness, I retrieve my suitcase from my closet and start tossing things into it. A blouse. A shoe. A sock. They all end up in the suitcase.
“What are you doing?” he asks, standing at the door of my room.
“Moving to Mexico,” I deadpan. “Can you get my sunscreen out of the hall closet? And my floppy hat too?”
He laughs then bends down to upend my suitcase so the contents fall back out onto the floor. A lacy bra ends up on the top of the pile, mocking me. If only you’d been wearing me that day, it says. I kick it.
“You’re not moving. C’mon, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You have a great body.”
“AIDEN!”
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to blind myself, or at least wipe this memory from my brain.
“Would it make you feel better if I hadn’t said anything?”
“No! Yes! I don’t know. Just…you shouldn’t be able to picture me naked.” I screw up my face, hating this topic of conversation. “You’ve forgotten the details, right?”
I glance over my shoulder to see him squinting in thought. A decent man would tell me yes. Not Aiden. He grins and taps the side of his head. “Unfortunately, this thing’s like a steel trap.”
I walk toward him, press my hands to his chest, and start to push him out of my room. It’s hard work—he’s a big guy.
“I remember everything,” he continues as I succeed in shoving him another few inches toward my door. “The light from the windows, the water dripping down your legs. You wer
e flushed from your shower. Your skin was pink. The tips of your—”
“YOU HAVE TO STOP!”
If my hands were free, I’d stick them in my ears and sing LA LA LA LA as loudly as I could.
Once he’s at my door, I give him one final push then shut it in his face.
I hear his forehead drop against the wood.
He’s not leaving.
Instead, we both stand there, the door between us.
I strain my ears, trying to listen to his footsteps carrying him away.
When he finally speaks, I jump in surprise.
“Maddie?” he asks.
His teasing tone is gone. He sounds dead serious now.
“Yeah?” I venture quietly.
“I can’t forget it…not even if you asked me to.”
Chapter Six
Maddie
The next morning, I crack my bedroom door open and peer out, looking for signs of life. With laser-focused attention to detail, I sweep my gaze over the living room and kitchen. Aiden isn’t here. At least, he’s not in the common area. Without a second thought, I grab my purse, throw my door open, and make a run for it.
It’s not that I’m afraid of confrontation; it’s that I don’t have the energy for it bright and early on a Sunday morning. My plan is to be away from the condo all day. It’s easy enough to do on a summer day in Austin. I start by reading on the grounds of the state capitol. I have a late brunch at Caroline and treat myself to waffles with loads of hot maple syrup. Afterward, I take a walk around Town Lake and feed the ducks some of my leftover brunch. Of course they get a little greedy as I try to walk away, and for a good quarter of a mile, I have a line of impatient quacking waterfowl trailing after me.
“Mom! Look!” a little girl says in wonder. “She’s like Snow White!”
Then a duck quacks loudly and nips at my heel.
“Ouch! Dammit!”
The mom rushes her daughter away from me, creating earmuffs with her hands to cover the child’s ears.
In the early afternoon, I show up at Blythe and Mia’s apartment. They’re still in their pajamas, planning on spending the day binge-watching period films. Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette is up next.
After I make myself at home, they ask me what I’ve been up to today.
“Oh, not much. Just exploring the city.”
Blythe hums.
I don’t want to explore that hum. I don’t care what her hum means. I just want to eat popcorn and concentrate on Jamie Dornan in his role as Marie’s lover.
Any time they try to talk during the movie, I say, “Let’s pretend we’re in a movie theater”—i.e. Shut your trap.
At the end of it, Blythe stands up and yanks the popcorn bowl away from me.
“Okay. Out.”
“What!?”
“We know you’re hiding out here, using us.”
I act deeply affronted. “Can’t I spend a Sunday afternoon with my two best friends without being accused of hiding out?!”
“Sure, yeah, if Aiden hadn’t called earlier asking us if we’d seen you.”
Drat.
“Also, by the way, it’s our five-year anniversary.”
I clap my hands together in excitement. “That’s wonderful! Why don’t I go out and get some stuff to make dinner? Oh! And I’ll bake a cake too!”
“No. Up. Out,” Mia says, coming over to physically remove me from the premises.
“Okay! Ouch, you don’t have to pinch me,” I say as the two of them kick me to the curb.
“Go home. Talk to Aiden.”
That sounds like a horrible plan.
Instead, I return to the streets of Austin, fortunate enough to stumble upon a farmer’s market. I taste all the free samples then loop around again for seconds. Feeling bad, I eventually buy a few things: some fresh sunflowers and artisanal cheeses. Aiden loves cheese, but I didn’t buy it for him, I adamantly assure myself.
Near dinnertime, my stomach pains prod me back to our condo. I know I’ll have to face the music eventually. With heavy feet, I climb the stairs and unlock our door.
Aiden’s at the stove, cooking and asking a person on speakerphone questions about the recipe.
“I just added the chicken broth. Is it supposed to boil?” he asks.
“Yes, and now pour in the pasta. Once you’re done, make sure you cover it.” I recognize his mom’s voice. “The pasta only cooks through if you cover the pan.”
“But if I pour it all in, it looks like it’s going to overflow.”
She laughs. “It won’t. Just pour it in gently so it doesn’t slop over the sides.”
“Okay, and then how long do I let it go for?” he asks, adjusting the heat.
“About fifteen minutes. Stir it every so often so the pasta doesn’t stick.”
“Got it. Thanks. I think it’ll turn out halfway decent. Nothing like yours, but it’s the best I could do.”
“She’ll love it.”
I smile, knowing full well what dish Aiden has on the stove. It’s my favorite: a creamy tomato-based sauce mixed with Italian sausage and tortellini. His mom makes it any time she comes down to visit.
“Hi Mrs. Smith,” I say, announcing myself to the both of them.
Aiden whips around, surprised I was able to sneak up on him. I drop my farmer’s market finds onto the island and head over so I can peer into the pan.
“It looks good. Almost like your mom’s.”
“Now don’t get carried away,” she teases on the other end of the line.
“All right, Mom. I think I got it from here,” Aiden says, picking up his phone.
“Call if you need any more help. Love y’all.”
“Bye!” we chime in unison.
Aiden hangs up and glances over at me. I’m worried he’ll try to bring up our chat from last night if I don’t spearhead the conversation, so I reach back and grab for the cheese.
“I got you a present,” I say, holding the block out to him.
He grins. “Awesome. Let’s try it. I’m starving.”
I grab a small cutting board and unwrap the cheese. Cutting into it with a knife, I pass him a corner chunk and then take another piece for myself. He eats his in one go.
“Where were you today?” he asks, reaching around me for the knife so he can cut himself another slice.
“Oh, just out. I was reading and took a walk. Nothing important. You?”
He opens his mouth to reply then his phone goes off. I assume it’s his mom, already wanting to make sure he’s not burning the pasta, but then I catch a glimpse of the caller ID and realize it’s his boss. Aiden answers and takes the phone into his room. I only hear his side of the conversation, but a minute later, he comes out, already reaching for his keys.
“Apparently there’s a protest happening downtown right now. Dave wants me to cover it.”
“Right. Okay, I’ll finish the pasta. Just fifteen minutes, right? Stir it every so often?”
“Yeah, exactly. Save me some, will you?”
Then he’s out the door, off to cover the important news of the day. I’ve read a lot of Aiden’s articles. He’s great at his job. Normally, at his age, he’d still be relegated to cheesy stories that rank the best tacos in town, but he proved himself early on, putting in the hours when his peers weren’t willing to, writing stories on his own time and relentlessly presenting them to his editor until one was finally worth revising and publishing in the magazine.
I stir the pasta, intent on ensuring it’s cooked to perfection. I know Aiden will be hungry when he gets home, and I don’t want him having to chow down on half-cooked pasta.
Thirty minutes later, I’m done eating, so I scoop some leftovers for Aiden and then clean the kitchen. An hour passes and I’m starting to yawn. I look at the door every few seconds, wondering if he’ll walk through it at any moment. I turn on the local news and see that they’re covering the protest. I peer through the crowd looking for Aiden, but there’s no way I’ll be able to find him among the h
ordes of people.
I keep watching as I lie down, telling myself I’ll only close my eyes for a few minutes. Ten, tops. Then I’m out like a light, sleeping right through the night and into the next morning.
It’s the sunlight streaming through the windows that finally wakes me up. I blink my eyes open and rub the sleep from them before sitting up and yawning. I have a horrible crick in my neck from lying on the couch, but that’s the least of my concerns when my eyes sweep over to the kitchen clock.
I scream curse words, one long string of them that lasts until I make it into my closet, change, and fly out the door. I didn’t brush my hair or teeth. I forgot deodorant and I’m wearing mismatched black flats, but I’m already two hours late for work and I can’t chance wasting any more time.
I can’t believe I overslept!
Fifteen minutes later, I rush into the Zilker Creative building and take the stairs up to the third floor two at a time. Once, I miss a step and my shin collides with the edge of a stair. My groan of pain echoes through the stairwell, but I don’t stop to ponder whether my bone actually split in two or if it just feels that way.
Huffing and puffing, I yank the door open and hobble out into the hall, trying to finger-comb my hair.
“Oh my god,” someone says as I pass by, and I’m too scared to look back and see if they were referring to me.
I make it to my desk in front of Elise’s office and she peers out through the glass, eyes widening when she sees me. She rushes out, her hand covering her mouth. Her phone is already pressed to her ear.
“Hello, 9-1-1? Yes, my employee has been attacked.” Then she holds it out for me. “They want to talk to you.”
I thank the operator for her time and apologize for the inconvenience, then I hang up.
“I wasn’t attacked.”
“But your face,” Elise says, pointing at me with her mouth agape.
I look back toward her office and catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are red and puffy from crying all the way to work. My hair is a bird’s nest, tangled and matted to one side. I should have looked in a mirror before sprinting here. I now see that ten more minutes at home wouldn’t have been all that bad.
