He bit into the inside of his cheek, looking off past my shoulder for a long second before his eyes found mine again. "I fucked up," he admitted, shrugging. "I made the wrong choice."
"Yes, you did," I agreed, having no plans on sparing his feelings. He hadn't spared mine.
"Maddy, come on," he said, shaking his head. "Give me a chance here."
"A chance to what? Somehow try to make me think that dumping me and telling me to get my things out before you came home from work was not possibly the worst possible thing you could have done after I gave you five years of my life?"
"I was..."
"Insensitive and cold-hearted and money-hungry and a complete and utter asshole," I filled in for him.
His lips tipped up at that, "Yes, all those things. I just... I wasn't thinking straight."
"Blinded by the millions you might lose if you picked me," I agreed.
"Maddy, I didn't even think..."
"That sentence was complete right there," I cut him off. "You didn't even think. Period. You didn't think about how much it would hurt me that you valued your money more than the life we had built together. You didn't think of the fact that I had nowhere to go but back to live with my mother. You didn't think that loving me and me loving you would be enough. You didn't think. And now what? You've finally given it some thought."
"I talked to my..."
He talked to his parents.
Ugh.
I had thought maybe he had grown a set and told them to take their money and shove it. Not that it would change anything, but it would have restored my faith in him being the decent person I had always thought he was.
"And what, Rich? Tried to convince them that I was good enough for them? I don't need their approval. And I don't want to be with a man who values their approval of the person you've chosen to be with so much that it changes your feelings for them."
"It never changed my feelings about you," Rich said, voice sad. And I did believe him. He had loved me. There was no way he had been faking that for five years.
Again, the bitter truth was- he never loved me enough.
Now that I knew that, there was no forgetting it. There was no pretending it didn't exist. And the fact of the matter was, I deserved to be loved enough.
"But it changed your mind about me, Rich. Can't you see how that is just as bad?" I asked, no anger in my tone, just resignation.
"It changed right back, pumpkin. That's why I'm here."
I exhaled hard, looking off into the bakery, seeing Brant give me what I could only describe as a 'knowing' brow lift and a smirk.
When I looked back at Rich, I shrugged.
"I don't want to be a decision, Rich. I want to be someone you love and are with because you can't not love and and you can't not be with me. Who you love isn't something you can flip-flop on. And I am thankful I found this out before I married you. Before we started a family. Before it could have begun to mean more than it already did. If you're here to try to get me to take you back or forget what happened, I'm sorry, but that's not what is going to go on today."
"What? You moved on already?" he asked, tone heavy with skepticism.
"Yes."
And I had.
Not just to another man who had the potential to really mean something to me. But to a version of myself that I had forgotten existed. To live somewhere that everyone cared for me. To be near my mother who I missed dearly. To do a job because I loved it, not because I was looking for adulation.
He couldn't factor into any of that.
"Come on, Mads," he said, shaking his head.
And it was right about then that the door to the bakery opened and out walked Brant, holding his jacket and moving to slip it over my shoulders. "Figured you were cold," he offered, but his eyes also said: and maybe needed an escape.
He was right on both.
Once the warm jacket was on me, he moved to my side, slipping an arm possessively around my lower back, an action that certainly did not slip past Rich.
"Seriously?" he asked, looking a mix of hurt and almost... disgusted? "This is a thing..." he half-asked, half-declared, waving a hand at us.
"It's a thing," Brant said with a nod. "You fucked up and lost a good thing. I saw that good thing and scooped it up. And I'm not fucking it up. And you're not getting between. So I think that is about all that needs to be said here."
Rich's head jerked back like Brant had struck him, but his jaw got tight and his chin lifted. "Knew you were a lot of things, Maddy," he said and I knew whatever was going to follow was out of hurt- hurt heart, hurt pride, but I honestly didn't think he had it in him to be so nasty. "But I didn't think you were a slut."
With that, he walked away, leaving me literally with my mouth hanging open.
"Five years with you and 'slut' is the best he could come up with?" Brant asked, shaking his head. Then his gaze moved to me, his head ducking to the side slightly for a second before his fingers snagged my chin and tilted it up so he could catch my eyes. "You're not a slut, Maddy," he said, voice firm, brooking no room for argument. "I mean, I'm all for you getting slutty with me, but that doesn't mean you're a slut. He's just being a dick because you bruised his ego."
I knew that.
And I knew I wasn't a slut. Far from.
It was just startling hearing that accusation come from the lips of someone you thought you knew.
I gave Brant a slow and saucy smile, eyes going a little wicked. "Well, now that that drama is out of the way. I have an idea of how we can get good and slutty together later."
"Oh yeah?" he asked, smirking.
"Yeah, it involves pineapples."
And later, after we finished work, it did.
Wedding Cake
Brant - 3 weeks
She moved in.
After the asshole ex of hers disappeared, never to be heard from again, she simply stopped sleeping at her mother's place. Maybe at first, still trepidatious about opening up to someone again, she used Alice's boyfriend as an excuse. But it wasn't long until Alice started spending her nights at his place, helping him box up his mother's belongings and spruce up the joint. It didn't take a genius to know that he was planning on moving her in. That was why he had doilies and shabby-chic end tables instead of the shit that was likely more his style.
Alice and I had talked about the eventuality of it- her moving which left me the opportunity to take the whole place over. I could blow out the walls, streamline the floor plan back to one big house with two extra bedrooms for, eventually, starting a family.
Yes, it was soon.
But I had never been the type of man to not know his own mind.
It was why I didn't seriously date women who I knew there was no future with. It was why I didn't hesitate when I knew I needed to leave the City, when I had a plan for the coffee shop, when I set eyes on Maddy.
When it felt right, my gut and my past had always proven it was right.
So, for me, it didn't matter that it was soon.
I wanted Maddy, case closed.
Maddy- 11 months
"Come on, I did everything exactly like you did!" my mother objected, sighing out her breath dramatically at her umpteenth attempt at a basic chocolate macaron.
The only reason she was so upset was because I had decided on a macaron wedding cake. It was going to be positively massive since half the town was invited and my mother wanted to be able to help me in preparing them.
The sad thing was, she had done everything exactly as I had. We had been working side-by-side.
And hers still came out a weird consistency and way too flat.
"I think it's time to accept that macarons are not your thing, Mom," I said, giving her a consolation smile.
"Well, I still have four months to figure it out," she said, lifting her chin again, still refusing to accept there was anything French that she could not make.
But she was right; there were still four more months.
And I was praying like hel
l that my belly would stay at least somewhat flat. Sure, there were plenty of women who rocked a pregnancy belly on their wedding day, but I really wanted to take one life event at a time.
As it was, things had been a whirlwind. At least by my standards. I mean, I had been with my ex for five years before he proposed. Brant had gone ahead and proposed on Christmas Eve after only dating for a little over ten months.
"It's not too soon," he informed me, reading my thoughts as I looked down at the perfect princess cut ring.
"It hasn't even been a year," I had insisted, shaking my head.
"Sweetheart, I knew this was where we were heading that first time you moaned like a porn star over your break-up frappe."
That was Brant for you; always knowing what he wanted; always going after it without hesitation. It was a trait I was wondering might rub off on me someday. As for me, well, I was still a bit of a planner, an organizer, an analyzer.
Which, well, worked out for the baby growing in my belly. He or she would get the best of both worlds- their daddy's laid-back, steadfast confidence and their mother's careful uncertainty. They would get their mother's and grandmother's love of sweets and their father's passion for coffee when the were old enough.
The nursery was already underway even though we hadn't told anyone yet. It was too soon. And my mother's wedding was in a month and there was no way I was going to steal her thunder, not after all she had sacrificed for me over the years, not after finding her happily ever after late in life with Rob.
"I'm just saying, honey, a Fraisier for each table would be just as unique and much less work," my mother said suddenly, snapping me out of my head and making a smile pull at my lips.
"Macarons or bust, Ma," I said, laughing when she let out a frustrated sigh and looked down at the recipe page again.
It was right about then that a drink dropped down in front of me on the table, Brant sliding into the open chair to my side.
"You know I can't have..." I started, big-eying him so I didn't have to say it.
"Raspberry mocha shake with skim milk but full fat whipped cream," he explained, popping the little piece of paper topper off the straw. "Not a damn bit of actual coffee in it," he said, looking disgusted at the very prospect. "Oh, and here," he said, pulling my phone out of his pocket.
"Maybe I should refrigerate this for longer," my mother concluded, grabbing the batter and going through the back.
Refrigerating it wouldn't help, but I was going to let her cling to her hope.
"You know, you can't pull the 'pregnancy' card every time your phone has an issue and you don't want to go to Verizon."
"True," I agreed, taking a long sip of the shake he made and closing my eyes on a sigh. "But I can for the next eight or so months," I concluded, giving him a saucy smile.
He chuckled at that, reaching for the piece of paper I had in front of me with the design for the macaron wedding cake.
"Macarons, huh?" he asked, looking excited.
It didn't matter how many different recipes I came up with, he never seemed to get sick of them.
"Alright, well, I am going to go let that sit overnight," my mother said, coming out of the back and pulling off her apron. "Rob and I have plans."
Of course they did.
It was New Years Eve.
In just a couple of hours, it would be the exact time Rich had proposed to me. I couldn't help but think that whole day about how different my life would have been had he never taken back the proposal.
I would have still been in the City, living in an expensive apartment and wearing designer labels I didn't care about but everyone else did, working at a job full of stress, and going home to a man who I didn't know loved me second best.
I looked around my mother's and mine and Brant's little shop, feeling it down to my soul: peace.
Then I looked over at Brant, feeling it down to my bones: love.
And finally, to the plate at the center of the table where Brant and I reached toward simultaneously and grabbed one each: macarons.
It was all I would ever need.
Don't Forget!
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About the Author
Jessica Gadziala is a full-time writer, parrot enthusiast, and coffee drinker from New Jersey. She enjoys short rides to the book store, sad songs, and cold weather.
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Peace, Love, & Macarons Page 9
