After I finish baking and deliver the goods, I tidy up my apartment and rearrange the furniture, convincing myself the space looks bigger and brighter with the sofa facing the window. Unfortunately, my new feng shui technique reveals a pile of dirt and dog hair lurking beneath the old sofa spot. It’s a metaphor for my life, no doubt, but I refuse to read into it. I sweep it up, toss out the trash, and then exercise Mouse.
Only when I’m back home in my clean apartment, sweaty from a healthy grown-up workout, do I allow myself to entertain the idea of calling Adam. If we were dating, I wouldn’t dare. After yesterday, we both need a cooling off period—but we aren’t dating, and I need him desperately. As such, I don’t get to play the role of the cool, aloof woman. I get to play myself: desperate, awkward Madeleine. It’s a slightly less glamorous role, but one I feel confident that I can nail.
Too bad he doesn’t answer.
Not the first call I make at 2:00 PM or the second call I reluctantly dial at 7:20 PM.
I leave a voicemail both times, aware of how tight and strange my sing-songy voice sounds.
“Hey Adam, it’s Madeleine. I was just calling to touch base with you concerning your end of the bargain. Also, do you do oil changes? Ha-ha-ha give me a call when you can. Bye.”
Then—because, as my mom has told me since I was five years old, I enjoy fixating on things—I spend every minute for the next five hours breaking down my first message and deciding it was too vague. I could have been talking about anything, and my stupid joke was distracting. So, in the second message, I clarify.
“Hey, it’s Madeleine calling again. Just in case you weren’t sure what I was talking about, I would still love to take you around Hamilton and show you some real estate. It’s a buyer’s market right now and there are quite a few properties that would be worth your time. We can take your car this time! Give me a call. Okay. Bye!”
There can be no confusion over why I’ve called or what my intentions are, and yet he doesn’t bother getting back to me, not Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. I even have Daisy call me from her office phone and her cell phone to confirm it’s not a problem on my end.
“Are you waiting on a call from a client or something?” she asks because she’s nosy and doesn’t seem to have enough patients at her clinic to take up her time. Sad.
“It’s nothing. Thanks for your help.”
She keeps rambling on before I can hang up, even as I tell her I’m about to be late for a company meeting.
“Hey, tomorrow night—do you want to hang out? It’ll be you, me, Lucas—”
“Oh, sorry, I’m busy.”
There’s no point in letting her finish. Do I want to be the third wheel on another one of my brother and Daisy’s dates? Yeah, that’s going to be a hard pass.
“Doing what?” she asks, not quite believing me.
Too bad for her, I’m not lying—for once.
“I signed up for another Hamilton Singles thing. It’s at the bowling alley.”
“Romantic.”
“Yeah, well, I always thought I’d meet my husband while dressed in clown shoes, so it looks like I’ll finally get my chance.”
Whatever Daisy’s response is, I can’t hear it because Lori leans into my cubicle on the way from the kitchen, a fresh cup of coffee in hand.
“Hey Madeleine, just wanted to remind you that the meeting starts in ten minutes.”
Her constant droning could give the boss from Office Space a run for his money.
“Is that Lori?!” Daisy asks through the phone. “What is she wearing today? Describe her outfit in excruciating detail!”
My hand muffles her voice enough that Lori can’t overhear. Meanwhile, I smile with every ounce of false congeniality I can muster. Honey is positively dripping from the sides of my mouth.
“Yes, I can’t wait for it. I’m about to head over.”
She doesn’t relent. “Hmm, okay, it’s just that you’ve already been late for multiple meetings this quarter, and I heard that you’re on parole.” She says the word like it’s a slur, even glancing over her shoulder to confirm no one else has heard her. “Or was it probation? Either way, it’s just probably best if you aren’t late again.”
I want to take a pair of scissors to her loud highlights, but I misplaced the scissors I usually keep in my top drawer a few months ago. Instead, I’m forced to stand, hang up on Daisy, and follow Lori over to the conference room with pen and paper in hand. We’re the first two to arrive.
She takes her usual spot beside Helen’s chair, and I pick a spot on the opposite end of the table. Her perfume is strong. Chanel number five, she told me once, bragging. Oh really? On you it smells like a number two.
“I think I’ll be closing on two properties today,” she announces to the mostly empty conference room. Gloating is her way of making small talk.
“Wow. Congrats,” I say, trying to wring out just a few more ounces of artificial sweetness. I’m aware that my reserves are running low, and I need to ration if I’m going to have to endure alone time with Lori for the next few minutes.
“Yeah. One of the properties is downtown, in the historical district. It should bring in quite the commish.”
I hum as though I’m interested, but really I’m texting Daisy S.O.S. under the table.
“What about you? Do you have any new clients? Helen mentioned something about you working with Adam Foxe last week, but I didn’t believe it. When I approached him, he said he wasn’t in the market for a house.”
I should tell her the truth. I should explain that I probably won’t be selling him anything—a house, a condo, a shoe. I should confirm that he isn’t in the market, but then I’d have to endure her pitying gaze, and I just can’t do it. Not after my weekend from hell. Not after Mr. Hall cornered me this morning and demanded I pay last month’s rent before he logs on to LegalZoom and figures out how to serve an eviction notice.
“Yes, well.” I shrug, not meeting her eyes. “It happened really naturally.”
Nice and vague. Good, Madeleine.
“Has he signed anything yet? A contract to work with you?”
She’s fishing, trying to pick apart my lies and force me to admit the truth.
“I sent it over to him today.”
She nods as if impressed. “Right, well…we’ll see if he actually signs them.”
And then because I have nothing productive to add to the conversation, I look down at my phone and busy myself by adding a pair of scissors to my Amazon cart. Snip snip.
…
I’ve been to a few Hamilton Singles events in my day. The organization has hosted them at buffets, bars, and parks, but this is the first one I’ve seen at a bowling alley. It’s a massive space, and the coordinators have cordoned off half of the lanes specifically for the event. There are balloons and a bright purple banner hanging on the wall that says, Get the Ball Rolling for Love!