Silence hangs over us, and I can’t stand in his kitchen for another second.
“It’s actually good timing, I need to head back to my place,” I say, surprised by how confident I sound.
“Now? Already?”
“Yeah. I have a showing with Mr. Boggs soon and I need to shower and change.”
He seems disappointed, or maybe it’s my imagination throwing me a bone. “Right. Okay. I can drive you and Mouse home.”
The car ride is laced with tension and unspoken words. We leave the radio up loud to drown out the silence, but it’s not enough to quiet my fears, and when we arrive at my apartment, I try not to read into the fact that he only offers me a chaste kiss on the cheek.
Yeah, Daisy, I’ve got a label for you: it’s complicated.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MADELEINE
After a fitful night of sleep and hours upon hours of fixating on what will or won’t happen with Adam, I decide to play a game. In the morning, I wake up and pretend like Adam was never a part of my life. I walk Mouse around the neighborhood and then come home and prepare myself a healthy breakfast. I shower and get ready for work, grabbing my most flattering dress out of the closet. My hair curls like it’s never curled before, and I apply my makeup with the gentle hand of someone who knows what they’re doing. I feel good. Thoughts about Adam and Olivia hover in the periphery of my thoughts, but I refuse to let them get any closer than that.
When I stroll into Hamilton Brew to treat myself to a well-deserved latte, I appreciate the smile from the man behind me in line. It feels good to know that in a world where Adam never existed, I can still garner attention from the opposite sex. He even asks me what I would like to order. Vanilla latte, I say, and he nods to the barista. Two of those then. And even though I insist on paying, he insists otherwise.
I walk to the office with a little pep in my step, and it doesn’t even bother me when Lori corners me around lunchtime with news of Adam.
“You and Adam Foxe are dating, right?”
That’s the first thing she asks me, and I’m hesitant to answer. I can’t leave though—my Lean Cuisine pizza is nuking in the microwave and there are only 45 seconds left on the clock, which means I’m 45 seconds from pizza heaven.
“It’s nothing serious.” I shrug.
She hums. “Oh, okay. It’s just that I saw him last night at dinner with a stunning blonde.”
Ice fills my veins.
“Why would I care?” I laugh, staring at the ticking timer on the microwave, hurrying it along with all my might. Cook, pepperonis, COOK.
“Well I would care if my boyfriend was seated with another woman at the lovers’ table at Bellissimo. I was there with a few girlfriends for book club. We read A Dog’s Purpose this month—very touching. As a dog lover myself, I could not put it down.”
I hum, bored.
“And we were halfway through our discussion questions when in walked Adam and his date. I swear the whole restaurant was abuzz with gossip right away. Who is she? Where did she get that dress? It was beautiful, definitely high-end designer, not like what you wear around here.”
I stab my thumb at the button for the microwave door and it swings open so fast that Lori has to jump back.
“Thanks for the information, but I need to get back to work.”
She puts her hand on my arm to stop me on my way out of the kitchen. “They seemed really cozy. She had her hand on his arm through most of dinner. I just thought that if I were you, I’d want to know.”
I laugh sarcastically. “No, Lori, you wanted to rub my nose in the fact that Adam was on a date with a pretty blonde.”
She feigns indignation. “Why, I—that’s absolutely not the case!”
I shrug and walk out of the kitchen, proud of myself for finally standing up to her. She can pretend I’m wrong, just like I can pretend Adam taking Olivia out to dinner doesn’t enrage me, but we both know the truth.
…
Later that night, Adam calls me while I’m making dinner. I’m hovering near the stove, heating up spaghetti sauce when his name lights up my iPhone’s screen. I stare down at it on the counter. Technically, I can’t answer because I have spaghetti sauce on my fingers, but I’m not a coward. I wash my hands and reach for the phone before it goes to voicemail. I sound out of breath when I say hello.
“Madeleine, hey.”
“Hi.”
“How are you? Did you have a good day?”
We’ve never done this. In the last few weeks, we weren’t phone-call-at-the-end-of-the-day type people; we didn’t have to be because more often than not, we were together. Now, I guess things have changed.
“I’m good,” I reply, trying to sound chipper. “Work was good.” Good, good—apparently I don’t know any other adjective to describe my life. “And yours?”
“Oh, yeah. Same. Good.”
We both laugh because this is painful. This is blind-date levels of pain.
I want to ask him about his dinner last night, but I don’t want him to think I’m snooping on him. Worse, I decide it’s his responsibility to bring up the subject, not mine…but he never does. Over our short phone conversation, we don’t discuss Olivia. We don’t discuss us.
I want to go back to playing the game I invented earlier.
“Oh, my pasta is finished. I better go.”
In truth, it’s been done for five minutes, sitting in a colander in the sink, sad and droopy.
“Okay, yeah. You’ll be at the training class tomorrow though, right?”
The training class, of course. I’d forgotten about it, and now that he brings it up, I’d love nothing more than to skip it, but Mouse doesn’t deserve that. I don’t want to be the reason that Mouse becomes a dog school dropout, turns to a life of doggy crime, and ultimately ends up in the pound for smuggling milk bones across the border.
“Yeah, of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”
I end the call and then I eat my sad dinner in my sad apartment. Turns out, I have thought of another adjective to describe my life: S-A-D.
…
I’m showing Mr. Boggs a house the next day when Daisy finally returns my phone call. I excuse myself and walk outside to answer.
“Daisy! Finally.”
“Sorry, I was with a patient. What’s going on? Why did you tell my receptionist 9-1-1?”
“Because I need you to come with me to Mouse’s training class later.”
“That’s your emergency? You understand what those numbers symbolize, right?”
“Yes. This is an emergency,” I insist. “Can you come?”
“Sorry Madeleine, I have a doctor’s appointment.”
I panic. “Are you serious? Reschedule—or better yet, just diagnose yourself.”
She laughs. “Yeah, that’s not really how it works. I appreciate the creativity though.”
I walk another few steps away from the house and hold my hand over the receiver so my voice doesn’t carry. “Daisy, I can’t do this alone. I can’t face him.”