by Shen, L. J.
“You’re really selling this grand gesture to me.” Madison scrunched her forehead. “But can you turn the asshole in you down a notch while explaining this so I can see past the fog of wanting to punch you in the face? Thank you.”
I suppressed a smile. Real Maddie really was much better than the light, fat-free, gluten-free version who’d entered my life some months ago. Yeah, she was a do-gooder, but she was no pushover, I’d learned.
“You said you care about plants. That how people take care of them is a testament of their character. Well, I think Ethan doesn’t care. Not enough. Not about you, at least. Not as much as me.”
There was silence. When I looked up from her face, I noticed that the entire store was watching us, not just that thirtysomething couple. We’d had a very vocal argument, consisting of my (not so) cheating past and a declaration of intent, and now people knew there was another man in the game. I was one plastic surgery and nude scandal away from being a guest on The Real Housewives of Whereverthefuck.
“Azaleas,” she whispered, looking deep in thought. Her legs carried her to the far end of the store. I followed her, spellbound. The couple choosing wedding flowers followed me. I turned around to stop them, holding a hand up.
“That’s it for you, Mr. and Mrs. Peepson.”
“But I want to know how it ends,” the woman whined.
“Spoiler alert: I get the girl. Move along now.”
I caught up with Madison standing in front of a bunch of blooming pink, red, and purple azaleas. Her eyes shone.
“They like cool, humid spaces and are considered to be almost impossible to make bloom. They’ll be a headache to keep alive in New York in August. The task is nearly undoable. Only one in eleven azalea plants survives. I remember my dad hated keeping azaleas in their shop. He listed all the reasons why his customers needed to choose another flower when men bought them for their wives.” Pause. “But my mom . . .” She trailed off. “They were her favorite. So every Friday, no matter what, rain or shine, he brought her azaleas.”
“I’ll keep my azaleas alive,” I clipped.
She tore her gaze from the flowers, frowning at me. “How do I know you won’t task your housekeeper with keeping them? Or hire a gardener?”
“Because I’m not an immoral bastard,” I said simply. She gave me a disbelieving look. I supposed she had a point.
“I won’t be an immoral bastard about this,” I amended, and I let her pick two plants of her choosing. We walked to the cashier. Mad asked for a Sharpie, told me to turn around, and marked both plants in a way that would make her recognize them in case I got a replacement. I would ask her where the trust was, but considering everything we’d gone through together, I guessed the answer to that question was the bottom of a fucking trash can. There was no trust between us whatsoever.
I paid for the flowers, then told the cashier to put whatever the nosy couple ordered for their wedding on my tab. Madison stared at me like I’d lost my mind. I shrugged. “I’ll see your Martyr Maddie and raise you Charity Chase with a side of Blissful Black.”
She laughed. I wasn’t ready for that laugh. It came out throaty and genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners. My dick wasn’t the first responder this time around. It was another organ. One that had sat dormant for years. One that had no business waking up.
“Afraid I’m going to beat your little boyfriend at his own flower game?” I raised an eyebrow, all nonchalant and shit.
“He is not my boyfr—” she started, then clapped her mouth shut. I flashed her a smile full of triumph.
It was on.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MADDIE
November 15, 2004
Dear Maddie,
I wanted to thank you for being the best daughter in the world. Yesterday, I felt sick all day and didn’t go to work. You went to help your father in the shop even though you had an important test the next day, and when you came back, you brought a bouquet of azaleas with you. My favorite (you remembered. You always do).
You told me you ate the petals secretly. They tasted like sweet nectar, you said. We pressed them into books in my bed, watching Steel Magnolias and drinking sweetened tea. The flower made me feel loved. I hope one day they’ll make you feel the same too.
Love,
To the moon and back,
Mom. x
I gave the azaleas to Ethan when we met for coffee. (Tea, he amended in a text message. Coffee is highly unhealthy. I’ll send you an article.) Instead of relaying my bet with Chase, which I thought was rude and presumptuous, I simply explained that the flowers meant a lot to me and gave them to him as a gift. Azaleas were Mom’s favorite flowers, I explained, and they required special attention and a lot of care, but in return, their bloom was breathtakingly beautiful.
“They’re a lot of work, but they’re worth it.”
“Reminds me of someone.” He took a sip of his green tea, his smile stretching across his face like a wound. He looked different. Tired. I couldn’t help but suspect I had a lot to do with it.
Since Ethan didn’t know about the bet, which was a clear disadvantage, I balanced it out by printing out specific instructions of how to take care of the azaleas. Ethan shoved the plant and instructions under our table, before ordering a gluten-free pastry and launching into a speech about how he’d been invited to talk at a conference about children who suffered from anxiety. I immediately thought about Katie. How she’d be interested in listening to this lecture.
Then I thought about the moronic mistake I’d made the other day, when I’d forgotten she was privy to my waiting for Chase on his birthday and had basically blown up our cover to the sky.
As for Ethan, it was nice to hang out with him, but it lacked that feeling I had with Chase. Where every interaction felt divine, before the aftermath, in which I’d obsess about every single thing we’d said to each other.
The weekend rolled in, forcing me to unglue myself from the DWD project. I made plans with Layla, Sven, and Francisco. The latter two hosted their annual roof party on their neighbors’ rooftop, serving low-calorie, low-carb mojitos and putting George Michael on blast. Sven was religious about throwing the bash once a year, explaining that he needed to channel his inner Kris Jenner without maxing his credit card. He sold the tickets at a hundred bucks a pop. A ticket would secure you a plastic sun bed, watered-down cocktails, Costco sandwich wraps, and Sven’s glorious company for a few hours. All the money went to a charity of Sven’s choice. This year, it was the Animal Protection Society.
The rooftop was jam-packed with Francisco’s and Sven’s colleagues and friends. “Born This Way” by Lady Gaga made the ground shake. Layla and I secured a couple of sun beds on the far end of the roof, away from a school of high-pitched interns from Francisco’s office. I couldn’t help but notice the penthouse level of Sven and Chase’s building was parallel to the roof where the party took place. Which meant that Chase’s living room was right in front of my face. As with all high-rises, the windows had tinted film, which meant he could look outside, but no one could see into his apartment. Not that I planned on looking into his place. Or that I tried to when no one was looking.
I closed my eyes, letting my skin soak in the sunrays. My sun bed was wonky, and I was probably going to come back home with red streaks all over me, but there was nowhere else I’d have rather been in that moment than here with my friends.
“Speaking of men, how’s Grant?” I asked my best friend. Shortly after Chase and I had broken up, Layla had announced that she was interested in sleeping with Grant and asked if it would be okay by me. Of course it was. Grant seemed like a trustworthy man. But that was before Chase had told me he’d exchanged the lipstick-stained shirt with him. Although if I were being honest with myself, between Grant and Layla, the person who needed to guard their heart wasn’t my best friend. She was notoriously against any sort of long-term romantic relationships.
“Super lickable, as per usual. He went to a bachelors’ party in Miami
.”
“And you aren’t worried he’ll be sampling more than Cuban food and fruity cocktails there?” I asked.
Layla shook her head. “I sure hope he does. I told him we are only a fling. I even cemented the fact by going out with a total Tinder fuckboy so he realizes we’re not exclusive. Alas, Grant is the marrying type.”
“And you’re not the marrying type because . . . ?” Francisco came over to us, dumping burgers onto a tray and then putting it on a set table. He sat on the edge of my sun bed.
“I don’t want to have children.” Layla shrugged. “And although the two don’t have to go together, let’s admit it—one insinuates the other. I just don’t believe in marriage.”
“Ethan is like that,” I mused. “The marrying type, I mean.”
“Yeah”—Layla cocked her head sideways—“but Grant is, you know, interesting.”
“Ethan is interesting,” I protested. “That’s unfair. You haven’t even met him.”
“Is that why you still haven’t let him put the tip in, Maddie?” Layla looked unconvinced.
Francisco leaned forward and tapped Layla’s shoulder. “Show me Grant.”
“Okay, but don’t get attached. Because again—he’s a total family man, and we’re bound to break up once he realizes I’m serious about not settling down,” Layla warned, twisting her torso to fish her phone from her bag. She took it out, holding my flower-cased phone too. “Here, you have a message from the commitment-phobe.”
I caught my phone in midair, surprised that my body was in sync with my brain. My heart bounced around erratically like a frat boy looking for easy prey at a party. Chase had sent me a picture of the vivid-looking azaleas on his coffee table. I recognized his living room in the background. The minimal, impersonal space that always reminded me of a sad, plush hotel room where rock stars went to die.
Maddie: Color me impressed. The Nobel Prize people are on the way.
Chase: Is this code for “put some pants on”?
Maddie: Why would you NOT be wearing pants midday?
Chase: I’ll have you know some of my favorite things are done pantsless. What are you doing?
Maddie: Sunbathing on the roof right across from your building.
Chase: If this is your way of coming on to me, it is highly unsubtle.
Chase: Also, that means you aren’t wearing pants either.
Chase: Also 2: Remember what happened the last time we were in the same room not wearing any pants?
Maddie: I actually have no recollection of that ever happening.
Chase: Always happy to refresh your memory.
Maddie: We’re not going to sext.
Chase: Great. I’ll come over in a couple hours and give you a personal demonstration. You look like you’re in need of some vitamin D.
Maddie: You’ll be getting some vitamin P if you as much as try.
Chase: Not sure I’m familiar with that supplement?
Maddie: A Punch in the face.
Chase: You know, I thought you’d be a lot less ardent after realizing I hadn’t cheated.
Maddie: Why? Wanting to scare me off by scarring me for life intentionally is only marginally worse than getting caught with your pants down.
Maddie: And yes, I know you’re not wearing any pants. It doesn’t bear repeating.
He sent me a picture of the lower half of his body, sitting on his black leather couch in dark-gray slacks. I’d never seen him in anything but black suits before, and stupidly, it threw me off guard. His legs were spread, and the imprint of his huge erection traced along his inner thigh. I felt my throat bob with a swallow and sucked in a breath. A million ants were dancing on my flesh with excitement. The caption read: Nice bikini. I looked down, examining my breasts in my swimming suit. Was he really looking at me through the window? His windows were tinted, but I still found myself struggling not to check.
“Why does Maddie look like she’s about to faint?” Layla asked. “What is she looking at on her phone?”
“Looks like a super burrito from where I’m standing,” Francisco said, humming.
“Oh, I would love some Mexican food with my mojito,” Layla pondered. “Check the DoorDash time for that place down the road.”
I ignored my friends, typing the words I knew I was going to regret. I was too flustered—too turned on—not to take Chase’s bait. Besides, it was harmless flirting. I was single. Ethan was the first to keep pointing out how casual we were.
Maddie: Is that a gun, or are you just happy to see me?
I paused, wanting to shock him. To keep this electrical current between us sizzling. So I did the unbelievable. The unthinkable. I lifted my phone and took a selfie of myself in my pineapple-patterned bikini. I didn’t have a Sports Illustrated–worthy body. Nothing like Amber’s careful strokes of muscle and surgically enhanced curves. I was tiny, with wide hips and a flat, albeit soft, belly. I sent it to him, wincing as I did. In the background, I heard Layla complaining about my inability to say no to anything. “He probably asked her to sext him, and she can’t refuse because no is not in her vocabulary.”
“Did she just take a picture of herself in a bikini? She doesn’t even post things to Instagram that don’t include flowers and sketches,” Francisco mumbled, losing interest.
Maddie: You mean this bikini?
Chase: Yes, that one. Yes, I am happy to see you, and yes, I would like to pound you so fucking hard I’ll leave a dent in your shape through your mattress, that new bed frame I got you, and the carpet.
Maddie: Romantic. Is that Atticus?
Chase: Anonymous.
Maddie: Don’t give up your day job. Poetry is not your forte.
Chase: O ye of little faith. I can be romantic if I want to be.
Maddie: Really? Let’s see. This is going to be fun.
Chase: I would like to pound you so fucking hard I’ll leave a dent in your shape through your mattress, that new bed frame I got you, and the carpet. Please. <3 <3 <3
Chase: How’d I do?
Maddie: Exquisite. Pablo Neruda’s got nothing on you.
Chase: Does that mean I can come over tonight?
Maddie: No. And if you ever sext me again, I will block your number.
Chase: Keep lying to yourself.
Maddie: You think I won’t do it? I wasn’t very hesitant to cut you off from my life the first time around.
Chase: This is not the first time around, Mad. This is real, and we both know it.
Maddie: And that doesn’t worry you?
Chase: Nothing worries me.
But that wasn’t true, and we both knew that.
Losing Ronan Black worried him to death. In fact, I thought it might be the very reason why Chase didn’t want to love someone new.
Chase Black rejected love because he was afraid of losing it.
And me? I chased it because I’d lost the greatest love of all.
We were bad for each other in all the ways that mattered. I wanted everything he was afraid of, and he despised everything I stood for. A sane girl would call off the stupid azalea bet, turn around, and run away.
I leaned forward, trying unsuccessfully to peek into Chase’s window. I applied most of my weight to the edge of the sun bed. I tipped the entire thing over, falling the short way to the ground, taking Francisco with me.
On our way back home on the train, I rehashed my dating situation to Layla. I told her I had two options: a relationship with an expiration date with Chase, who was sure to leave my heart in tatters, versus a safe, steady relationship with sweet, reliable Ethan.
She considered both options with a frown, then said, “On one hand, you don’t want Ethan. You don’t talk about him the way you do about Chase. You don’t have that glint in your eye when he calls or texts. On the other, Chase is a wild card, and if you sleep with him again, you will regret it at some point. He flat-out told you he doesn’t want marriage. A wedding. Kids. Those things are important to you, Maddie. I don’t want you to ever give them up f
or a pretty face in a dark suit. But I also don’t want you to wake up in twenty years and hate yourself for choosing Ethan.”
She licked her lips, launching into the deep end. “The thing is, we call you Martyr Maddie for a reason. You have the tendency to forgive, even those who don’t ask for forgiveness. Take that Nina girl from your work, for example. You never tell Sven about her bullying or stand up to her. You let Chase gift you a goddamn dog, Maddie, and your landlord doesn’t even allow it. And you are allergic.”
“Just barely,” I muttered, knowing she wasn’t wrong.
“My point is, I think losing your mom at a young age made you seek acceptance from literally everyone. That’s why you’re still dragging this thing with Ethan. You need to grow a backbone and just . . . say no to whatever doesn’t suit you. Even if it’s both men.”
I munched on my lower lip, mulling her words over in my head.
“However.” Layla tilted her head sideways, frowning. She wore a green beach dress that matched her electric hair perfectly. “I don’t think it’s necessarily bad to get Chase out of your system. One last hurrah with the devil is just the recipe to purge him out of your head. A summer fling. It could work, but only if you don’t get attached. Think you can do that?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t think so. But a part of me wants to. It will be the emancipation of Martyr Maddie.” I chuckled. “Walking away from a broken, gorgeous man who needs me.”
Something hummed beneath my skin. A carnal need to make a decision. I texted Ethan, asking him to see me Tuesday evening. When Layla and I got to our apartment building, each unlocking our own doors, I glanced behind my shoulder to see the word of the day Layla had forgotten to remove from her door from Friday.
Hiraeth: a homesickness for a home you can’t return to or that never was.
The word stayed with me the entire afternoon. Soaking into my bones like the summer sun. Hitting roots in me, populating within my body. I understood it with frightening clarity.
