by Gage Grayson
I inhale deeply, trying not to have another bout of panic as Madeline stares at me with furious green eyes.
I need to explain that I’m not married to Audra. It was never actually official, and she made it very clear she wanted it to be over, anyway.
But my mouth feels too arid to even speak, and my heart’s pounding in my ears, and I can’t even think of the right words to start explaining.
I’m sure my silence is worse, though.
“It’s complicated.” Well, that’s a terrible fucking start. “What did she say?”
Fuck. Keep fucking digging, buddy.
“She said...” Goddammit, Maddie’s talking through her fucking teeth. “She said that she made a huge mistake.”
A sudden tension headache starts burrowing its way into my forehead, immediately getting worse. I start rubbing my temples, which I’m sure looks really bad.
But all I need is a chance to explain.
I hold my hand up.
“Madeline, I want to answer your question of who Audra is...”
“She said,” Madeline continues, stalking in my direction, my oversized phone looking like it might shatter in her livid hand, “she said she didn’t want your MARRIAGE to be OVER!”
One good thing I can say about this sudden storm of shit, and about the only good thing I can say about this or anything that’ll probably ever happen again in my life, is that when Madeline pitches the phone at my head with the intensity of Pedro Martinez throwing a fastball, the device lands safely on the sofa instead of hitting the wall.
The only way it could’ve gone better is if she beamed me in the fucking head.
The worst part is, I’m thinking like a guilty person. Like a guy who actually is married and tried to hide it, and now my big secret is out.
In this case, it just appears that way. And because of the circumstances, there’s no way to convince Maddie of the truth. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t tell the fucking truth.
“This was supposed to be my honeymoon...our honeymoon.”
Madeline looks around like it’s her first time in this room. She’s probably thinking about how she should have been suspicious about this.
This horrible story is all coming together for her. It’s an untrue story, but the more it comes together the less likely I can convince her of it.
“In the honeymoon suite,” she whimpers softly. “It’s so fucking perverse.”
“I’m not married,” I announce loud enough for anyone to hear.
Maddie doesn’t bat an eye. I just told her the crux of this whole thing, the most important piece of the puzzle that she just happens to be missing, but to her it’s just another fucking lie that’s not even worth acknowledging.
Madeline’s lips are forming into a scowl. I’ve never seen her look anything like this. I’ve seen her make all sorts of aggressive, angry faces, but those were jokes, just adorable, sexy messing around while posing for a photo or something.
This expression is something she can’t help—it comes from genuine hurt and anguish, and it’s breaking my fucking heart.
“I can’t fucking believe it,” she states evenly, her face flushed with rage. “I can’t fucking believe this is happening. This has to be a nightmare.”
I take another deep breath, preparing to convey the truth as believably as I’m capable of.
“There was a wedding...”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up! I never want to hear your voice again!”
When she’s in the mood to be, Maddie is absolutely one of the most articulate and intelligent people I’ve ever met. She doesn’t have an ounce of pretense, but after getting to know her over these past few days, I’ve no doubt that she puts every one of the myriad self-declared financial geniuses I’ve had to deal with to shame in the brains department.
But right now, she’s being carried away on a tide of emotions, and her words are becoming terse and basic beyond the point of rationality.
Maddie’s almost completely red as she stands in the middle of the room, the false reality of the situation coming down on her with more weight than she can bear.
Like I said, it breaks my heart.
“Maddie,” I say, trying to plead but subtly trying to get one last chance to break through this horrible web of bullshit, “all I need is two minutes...”
“And what?” Fuck, she’s talking through her teeth again. “You can explain? There’s nothing to explain. You’re mar—”
I didn’t think Maddie was going to cry, but she’s coming close now. I don’t think I could bear the sight.
At least Maddie stops herself from crying. The color is draining from her somewhat, but I don’t know if that’s a good thing.
“The way I see it,” Maddie continues with unnerving calmness, “your actions, your deceitful, disgusting fucking actions have cast a long, dark shadow over what was supposed to be one of the brightest times of my life. I was really looking forward to the future, near and far.”
I want to tell her that I was too. Instead, I say nothing—because this is a uniquely horrible fucking situation in which telling the truth won’t make a bit of difference.
A patch of sunshine comes beaming through the window, bathing the borders of Maddie’s hair in an ethereal glow—the kind of glow I hoped to see before I turned my head.
But that was a few minutes ago, and now all I can feel is the heartbreak, the anguish of seeing Maddie in serious pain but being able to do fucking nothing about it.
I want to tell her that the only thing I want in the world is for her to be happy again.
But she’d never believe it, and she’s already walking out the door.
Ethan
“Just having a nightmare.”
That’s the shit I’m saying out loud to myself this time.
Waking up naked on the beach, under the bright, warm midmorning sun, saying that wondrous name, I didn’t realize that shit was about to peak—that I was at the start of a honeymoon.
At the end of the week, I wake up naked, alone in the air-conditioned room, with the midmorning sun still there but hiding somewhere outside the window. I’m talking about nightmares—bad dreams and bad reality.
What a difference a few days can make.
At this point, it’s all about the obligations.
The obligation I have to pack up my shit and vacate this suite. The obligation I have to fly back home to return to work so I can pay off my stupid goddamn house in Riverdale.
After that, I have no fucking clue. I’m sure there’ll be something.
But it’s not for me anymore. I don’t care about any of it.
I don’t even care about myself.
One of those things that makes life worthwhile for me is the feeling of hunger gnawing away at me in the morning, along with the vestiges of sleep, knowing that I’m about to enjoy breakfast and coffee to make short work of all of it.
None of that this morning, though. I sit up on the oversized bedsheet draped over the sofa, my bare feet touching down on the scratchy carpet.
All I feel is this dumbass, churning, anxious nausea. I couldn’t picture eating anything anytime soon.
And fuck fucking coffee.
I throw on a black T-shirt and dark-blue jeans. It’s the type of approach to fashion I admire—comfortable and unassuming and who gives a shit what anyone else thinks—but it’s not something I’ve had the balls to try myself until now.
Fucking sandals—I packed them and unpacked them into the suite closet, but all week I’ve been getting a touch of nausea whenever I considered putting them on.
I’ve got bigger concerns right now. Or do I? I just put on the sandals for once.
I float like a half-there ghost down the hallway and down the elevator. The lobby seems quiet and peaceful today, saturated by the type of vibe Hawaii’s supposed to have all the time.
So do I feel at peace walking through there?
No, I don’t feel much of anything. It doesn’t bother me. I just don’
t give a shit how I feel or what’s going to happen to me next.
The sky is totally cloudless when I step outside, just that classic shade of blue you only see on postcards in brochures. If I weren’t seeing it with my own eyes, I’d think it was photoshopped or something.
It looks nice. It looks like this past week. That steely gray overcast color of the sky when I took that photo—that’s more in line with what I’m accustomed to.
She’s a rarity in this world, bringing color and clarity that no one else can. It doesn’t matter if I ever see her again, but I can’t let that spirit fade.
I need to see her just one more time, to tell her that.
To make sure that she’s going to be okay.
To tell her not to let my ridiculous ass ruin what she has to offer the world.
To make sure that Maddie will always be Maddie, because right now that’s all I care about.
The sky’s so fucking blue as I shuffle across the beach in these goddamn sandals that it’s borderline fucking oppressive. I don’t think I’ve had anything to eat in close to twenty-four hours, but the bar just happens to be open.
I’m not thinking about too much right now, and I’m feeling even less, but the several empty barstools look plenty inviting at the moment, and the smiling barkeep, who already knows me well, will remain a pleasant memory.
That may be the one thing for me to latch onto from this whole honeymoon.
“Captain’s Dilemma?” the bartender questions as I climb onto the middle stool. “Or Lava Lava?”
“One of each.”
He doesn’t bat an eye and turns his back to get to work straightaway. Within a few seconds, the sound of the blender overpowers the vicinity, and my thoughts drift to the already furthering memories of the past few days.
I can’t keep myself from seeing Maddie’s face in the back wall of the bar, thinking about her laugh and the now-destroyed sundress, picturing her sly smile, her flirty smirk, her unapologetically elated grin and, of course, that one smile full of sweetness with the hint of surprising depths of feeling and thought.
That smile that I first noticed sitting in this very barstool...it seems like yesterday, since it practically was.
Her face now is nothing like that; it’s a faint redness of crushing emotional distress, and her mouth is molded into a resigned frown that looks like it’ll never leave...
And yes, she’s right here. Again. She’s taken a seat on the stool right next to mine.
I’d like to say that I’ve never been happier to see her, but I can’t feel anything close to happiness seeing her face right now. She was able to hold back her tears in the honeymoon suite, but she’s definitely been crying since then, and it makes me feel like my heart is being ripped in fucking half.
“Maddie,” I get out, but I stop there since I’m about to fucking break down myself.
Maddie sees this, and she registers it. She’s looking right at me, and the best I can say about her face is that there’s no anger—but that’s upset by the heaping portions of dejection and resignation inscribed all over her expression.
I did this to her. Fuck.
“Maddie,” I continue, determined to try again. I try my best to breathe slowly, gathering the words together.
“I’m listening.” Maddie’s signaling her change of approach from earlier, but she’s also telling me to just get the fuck on with it already.
“We never signed a marriage license. It’s not official, it’s not even unofficial at this point. She made it very clear that I’m not good enough for her, that my family’s not good enough for her. She moved out all her stuff and broke some of mine.”
“Why?”
“Because I come from a different social stratum, most likely. Some of her family, or friends, or some combination of those probably wore her down with complaints about me, and she happened to see the light—that all my success can’t wipe away my poor-ass origins—either during or after the ceremony.”
Maddie’s eyes are full of interest in what I’m saying, but I can see the weight of disappointment make itself clear at the word ceremony.
“We did have a wedding, Maddie.” I try to make things clearer. “She left immediately afterward, very definitively. Or so I thought.”
“Are you still in love with her?”
“I absolutely was not by the time I got to Hawaii. Even though this was supposed to be our honeymoon.”
“That seems like a fast change of heart...”
“That’s because I never was. I realize that now. It would’ve sounded crazy to me just a couple weeks ago, but that marriage would’ve been a disaster. There’s no way I’m going back, even if she’s serious about wanting that. Audra leaving was the second-best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“What’s the first best?”
The bartender plops both drinks down, one in front of each of us. He doesn’t ask who has which drink, and I can’t tell the difference since my original plan was to drink them both.
“Maddie,” I start, somewhat gravely, causing the bartender to walk away quickly, “I don’t matter. I’m realizing that. At least, I’m not thinking about what I want, or what’s gonna happen to me. I’m thinking about you.”
“Why?” Maddie’s voice is cracking. Oh, please don’t cry. She takes a sip of the frozen cocktail and seems to be able to stop from breaking down.
“Because this was the best week of my life. I know I’ve said it, but I can’t stress that enough. That’s because of you. I know this situation is shitty, and... I just want you to be happy. Even if you need to forget about me, even if you never want to see me again. Just for the sake of the world, for the sake of you, Maddie, I need you to be happy. I need you to be Maddie.”
Maddie takes the cocktail napkin out from under her drink and wipes away the single tear rolling down her cheek. But now she’s smiling, and the sight fills me with warm cheerfulness.
“Don’t worry, Eth. You don’t quite have the power to take that away from the world.”
“You have no idea how glad that makes me.” I really fucking mean it.
“Well, Ethan...I’ve had an okay time myself, truth be told.”
“Okay.” I decide to just let this moment play out.
“I’m going home soon, but even after I do, it’s just a quick ride on the Acela down to Penn Station.”
That warm cheerfulness starts to evolve into pure euphoria, and I feel like I might float off my stool into the atmosphere like an unbound helium balloon, but I stay convincingly cool and calm.
“You can come visit me anytime, and I’ll show you the best time of your life.” Fuck, not too cool or calm, I suppose.
Maddie chuckles softly, but it’s the most welcome sound I can imagine right now.
“Why don’t we start with lunch and go from there?”
“I know the perfect place,” I respond quickly, trying to balance this cavalcade of shifting expectations on my part.
“Well, that sounds…perfect.”
Ethan
There are plenty of places in the neighborhood where I work—and, if all goes as planned, soon to be my home neighborhood where I live—to bring a date.
This isn’t one of them. But this also isn’t a date, I don’t think.
I don’t know how to define it, but it feels like a major life event that doesn’t really need to have a name.
It’s just me meeting Maddie—meeting her at my favorite spot to get coffee and maybe a sandwich. Because my life isn’t a date-friendly sushi place on Stone Street or something. My life is getting a cup of coffee right here on Broadway, and that’s what I want to share with Maddie.
As for now, I’m still by myself, as I’ve been probably every time I’ve come here. It’s just me at a table with a paper coffee cup and my big-ass phone plugged in to the outlet behind my chair.
I’m also usually not here on fucking Saturday either, and the crowd is decidedly more touristy than usual, with small bands of Midwesterners and Germa
n tour groups nervously looking at brochures for the Liberty Island ferries.
Most of the tables are still empty, which is the way I like it. It’s been a long fucking week since getting back, especially living a forty-minute ride up the 1 train line, in the same place, the same bedroom where Audra was sending my possessions out the window not too long ago.
It’s been hard to sleep right there. I’m glad I won’t be living through any more of those days anytime soon and that Audra stopped texting and calling again.
Imagine if I ever actually ended up signing that marriage license. Christ.
Between one and two, that was our decided meeting time. It’s just past one now, and I don’t know what train Maddie’s on. If she did take the Acela, it probably shouldn’t get held up too much.
I know better than to try to give her advice on the fastest way to get downtown from Penn. She’ll decide she wants to walk for all I fucking know.
I’m usually not the person waiting, which is one reason that this doesn’t seem like a date, and I’m considering actually checking my phone—another first.
I do check to see if there are any calls or texts, and there aren’t. I knew that already since the volume’s jacked all the way up. Plus, any call or text from Maddie would come with its own ringtone: “Sleepwalk” by Santo and Johnny.
The iconic, excessively Hawaiian-sounding slide guitar melody will sure sound nice ringing out in the middle of this cafe, but the sight of Maddie walking in from the crowded sidewalk would be even better.
I don’t know why it’s starting to feel like a foolish fantasy that either of those things could happen, seeing as how it’s still barely past one, but I’m still compelled to open my phone’s browser and got to amtrak.com to look at the Acela schedule and the regular Northeast Corridor schedule. There are trains getting in pretty much hourly, but it means pretty much nothing.
There are more fucking crowds forming. Big, naive families with pungent, foil-wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water filling up more tables than I would ever see taken on a weekday morning, ferry ticket sellers taking a break with big energy drink cans, couples on vacation together, possibly their honeymoon…
