“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Those were not exactly the words I expected to hear when my roommate finally came home. Was he my roommate anymore? I stood in the living room, twisting my lips around nervously, waiting to hear if his next step was going to be throwing me out.
“Um… no?” I guessed. I had no idea what the right answer was.
“You are out of your mind.” This was a statement. A true one, at that, so I merely inclined my head.
“I should throw you out, and never speak to you again. Or that rat Ava, who clearly took your side in this one, proving she has zero loyalty to me or our family.” I tried not to quake visibly, but I was absolutely shaking in my Doc Martens.
“I know. You should.” My voice quavered, even as I clenched my hands to keep them from betraying me. Stupid voice.
“No one has ever made me feel as crummy as you did. Do you know that?” His arms were folded, and I still ogled the bunching of his muscles in that position, even though it was super inappropriate. I couldn’t help it. He was even hot when he was mad. And if my heart was about to get ripped out and stomped on, at least I could have a final piece of eye-candy.
“I do. I do know that.”
“Fictionalizing our sex thing wasn’t enough for you. You went and told—was it fifteen thousand?”
“Twenty-five,” I said. Even the quaver couldn’t hide the little hint of pride.
“Twenty-five thousand goddamned people about the story behind the story. With illustrations.” He took a step into the house. I didn’t know if I should back up or stand my ground, but the magnets in our hearts meant that I stepped towards him instead of either option.
“I think I gave myself carpal tunnel, if that helps?” Another step.
“It doesn’t help.” He stared at me, disbelief etched all over his face as I took another step his way. It felt like we’d done this dance a lot in our short time together.
“So…” I twisted my lips.
“No. You’ve spent enough time talking. It’s my turn now.” He closed the rest of the gap between us and I closed my eyes at the familiar scent of sandalwood and—was the new scent apple cinnamon? I’d tell Ava to tell her aunt it was a resounding success. Maybe she could even hook me up with a bottle to remember Marc by.
The promised talking-to wasn’t happening, so I opened my eyes. He was standing over me, staring at me. I swallowed hard.
And then he kissed me.
To say I was relieved seriously understates the situation. I was so relieved I let myself relax completely, only he wasn’t exactly holding on tight to me, so I started to actually fall down before he caught me and then we were both laughing except I was crying a little too, and—well, it was a classic Madison moment.
“Good lord, you can ruin almost anything, can’t you?” He led me over to the couch.
“Don’t sound so surprised about it.” I sat down and grinned hugely at him. “Should I pour us some wine, or…?”
“It seems fitting.” I used the time to gather myself, so by the time I brought our glasses over to the coffee table, I wasn’t even shaking at all anymore. The wine, by the way, came out of a box. I couldn’t face bottles and labels and tasting notes without Marc, and yet I also couldn’t stop remembering his taste when I sipped a glass or three of merlot, so boxes it was.
“I don’t even know where to start. You are the most infuriating woman I’ve met since my freshman comp professor, but I never wanted to have a sex thing with her.”
I was quiet. Was I supposed to talk? I sipped instead.
“And I’m still kind of mad, you know, because you really crossed a line. Several, even. And that’s really hurtful. You knew full well how I’d feel about being cartoonized. Is that a word?”
“I don’t think so. And actually, I had no idea how you’d feel about it. So I just glossed over that little detail.” Typical me, sketching around that section. “But I didn’t mean to hurt you. And if I’d had any idea how upset you’d be, I wouldn’t have done that.”
I really wouldn’t have, either. Speculating about my humiliation was a whole different thing compared to the betrayal on Marc’s face that morning in our kitchen. Oh thank Odin, it was still “our” kitchen. Anyway, I’d have done the sitcomic all differently if I’d known it would lead to this. I’d have used Crimson as my main character, and then fan-fictioned what I’d like to see happen in Scarlet’s sex life instead. Tastefully, of course.
“That was the thing. You are a lot of things, but you aren’t mean. And when I weighed how pissed I was against the idea of never seeing you again, well… I spent a lot of time working my anger off on the farm chores so that I wouldn’t have any left when I came home to you.” He snaked his arm around me, and I leaned in for another kiss. Now that I was allowed to kiss him again, I didn’t know how I would ever get enough.
Although I still had a lot of questions. For one thing, forgiving me and renewing the sex thing still didn’t tell me exactly where I stood with him in general. I took another large swallow of wine, and considered how to phrase “but do you love me” without sounding desperate or pathetic.
“Madison—” my name sounded sweet in his mouth again— “I had no idea how lonely I was until you showed up. And just your presence in the house alone was enough at first, but after we spent our first evening on this couch together, it was like I realized everything I’d been missing during my non-stop studying life.”
“Like I colorized your sepia existence?” I supplied helpfully.
“Exactly! How did you know?”
“Perhaps I remember more of that evening than you do.” He blushed, which was exactly as adorable as it sounds.
“I kept telling myself it was just having anyone new around that would make me feel that way. And that I’d been doing the right thing all my life with no reward; the idea that French women would be the unexpected and exciting thing to do was on a loop in my brain. Settling down with the first girl I’d slept with in a year was the exact opposite of my plan. And I really like plans.” He took a deep breath, and gulped a little wine.
“But what’s the point of Paris without you? I don’t want to share the trip of a lifetime with strangers. I still want to bang my way across the country. I just want you to be the bangee.” He breathed out, and smiled. “Madison, I want to buy you a ticket to France.”
I stared at him.
“No,” I said.
“No?” he asked, clearly shocked.
“No. Definitely not.” I got up and refilled my glass.
“But—why? Are you worried about work? Because I thought—I mean, I’ve already booked all the hotels and everything, so it really won’t cost too much extra for you to come, and I can cover your rent while we’re there, too.” He stood up and grabbed me by the upper arms, his eyes searching mine.
“Say something!” He demanded. I smiled at him.