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And Molly. The fact that I let her have Molly has been eating away at me for the last few weeks. Maybe this house and its tacky furniture would feel a little more like a home if Molly were here to greet me at the end of the day.
Then again, maybe not. My life in Texas won’t start to feel right until I push myself out of this weird holding pattern I’ve fallen into. I set up parameters for my life—no dating, no getting too attached—because it seemed like the right thing to do after getting out of a long-term relationship, but maybe there’s a little more to it. Maybe Olivia didn’t just take scissors and shred our relationship, but did a hack job on my confidence as well. Hell, after eight years, I should have known what she was capable of, but I was blindsided and I don’t want it to happen again.
However, I also don’t want to sit on this stupid red couch for another day, pretending I don’t have feelings for Madeleine. She doesn’t want to be led on, and I don’t want her to slip through my fingers. So, it’s simple: it’s time to man the fuck up.
I text her.Adam: Tomorrow. 8:00 PM. Be ready because I’m taking you out on a date.I expect some sort of protest; instead, I get a joke.Madeleine: UGH. A little heads up would be nice. All my sexy panties are in the dirty clothes hamper.
Adam: Do laundry. Or don’t…no one said you had to wear underwear.
Madeleine: ADAM FOXE, I think my phone just blushed.
Adam: Is that a yes?
Madeleine: ……………………………Fine. Okay. ONE DATE.CHAPTER TWENTYMADELEINE“Where have you been? I’ve been calling your office phone all morning!”
“Oh, sorry,” I reply. “I was just showing my new client a few condos downtown.”
Daisy squeals. “Are you serious? A new client other than Adam?”
I lean back in my chair and run my fingers across my desk calendar. It’s not as full as I’d like it to be, but it’s getting there, and tonight, after Company meeting, I have Date???? penciled in with a little heart. The four question marks seemed necessary this morning; a period at the end was too presumptuous. Sure, Adam called it a date last night, but I’m not naive enough to take his words at face value. Maybe he wants a date, maybe he wants to find another dark closet—either way, I’m game. I’m just going to keep my heart and my expectations in check. Simple.
“Madeleine?”
I cover the calendar with my keyboard as if Daisy is looking over my shoulder instead of lingering on the other end of the phone line.
“Yes! It was another new client. I met him at the mixer, the one you showed up to for five minutes before leaving. Still, I owe you.”
“Oh yeah, that sucked, but you don’t owe me. I stole some wine on my way out.”
“Classy.”
“It was the sauvignon we both liked.”
Genius.
“Good. Save it until we can drink it together.”
“I can’t promise it’s going to last beyond tonight. Just come over after work. I see my last patient at 4:30 PM.”
Date???? taunts me from beneath my keyboard.
“I can’t. I have plans.”
“Plans? With who? I’m your only friend. That’s how this works.”
“Lori.”
I hear her do a very ladylike spit-take. “Jesus, I just got coffee all over my computer screen. Tell me you’re kidding.”
I smile. “Yeah. I’m actually seeing Adam.”
“Seeing Adam?”
“Yes, for a get-together.”
“Just call it what it is.”
“He called it a date, but I’m calling it a casual dining experience between two consenting adults.”
“God, you’re annoying,” she groans. “Can’t you just let good things happen to you? Why do you have to sabotage this before it even starts?”
“Sabotage it!?” I lean into my cubicle and lower my voice. “Have you already forgotten the scene at the YMCA when I asked Adam out for dinner and he turned me down? That was barely two weeks ago! And now suddenly he’s all ‘let’s date’ and ‘let’s get it on in dark closets’.”
She hums. “I see your point, that is a quick turnaround time. Maybe he’s suffering from a psychotic condition? Bipolar disorder? Depression?”
My eyes widen in alarm. Daisy is a doctor; she would know this sort of thing. “Are you serious?”
She laughs. “No! C’mon, I was kidding. He’s well within his rights to change his mind. It’s not like he proposed to you. He asked you on a date. Relax. Actually, if anyone is suffering from a psychotic condition, it’s you.”
“Thank you for the diagnosis, Dr. Thatcher. You might need to work on the bedside manner.”
“Speaking of bedside manners, have you guys boned yet?”
I jerk forward in my cubicle as if her voice can somehow carry through the office.
“Daisy!”
“Oh c’mon, don’t hold out on me now.”
“No, as a matter of fact, we haven’t yet.”
She hums and takes her time before replying, “That’s smart. Better to not have sex until you’re both ready to commit.”
