Betting on the Brainiac: a Sweet Romantic Comedy

27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

I hadn’t planned to get engaged when I walked into work today. But as I stare up at Oliver leaning over the top balcony, I’m beginning to think that might be exactly what happens.

Oliver disappears and I head back to the kittens, knowing he’ll come find me. I pick up Little Stripe, giving him the tiniest nose-to-nose boop. “Twenty million dollars is nice, but you’re the real reason I’m doing this. Maybe doing this? Probably. You, your mama, Big Stripey, Tuxie, and Smudge.” He flails a tiny paw, his claws out, but I don’t take it personally. Turns out they can’t retract their claws for a while after they’re born. He—my gut says it’s a he even though there has been no palpation—yawns and curls his tiny tongue, and I sigh.

“What’s this about doing it for the cats?” Oliver says from the office doorway.

“If we’re going to be technical about this, I have more than one condition. Ready?” When he nods, I say, “Sit down and take a kitten like a man, and then I’ll know you mean it.”

As soon as Oliver has Smudge wobbling in the space framed by his crisscross legs, he looks up. “I’m ready.”

“First, we should both live at 1598 Lynn Street.” That’s the Grove address.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t mean I should be roommate number five,” he says. “Wait, don’t tell me. You want us to move in with Mrs. Lipsky and Ahab? He might eat the kittens. Do parrots eat kittens?”

“Gosh, I hadn’t considered that. Guess I’ll have to cross moving in with Mrs. Lipsky off my list. Which leaves us the witch.”

“Which what?”

“No, the witch. Specifically, the scholar of witchcraft who is not herself a witch but who I consulted about an appropriate ritual to help Ruby move on.”

Oliver looks down at the all-gray Smudge. “Won’t she need a black cat?”

“She’s allergic. But keep up. Stella’s not a witch and doesn’t need a cat, but she lives in the Grove, and she is moving and renting her condo out. She hasn’t listed it yet, but I saw the packing boxes when I went to ask her about the ritual.”

“I’m listening, but it’s spooky every time you say ‘ritual.’ Because of stuff like ritual murder.”

“Wow, Oliver, way to make it dark. I was thinking more like morning ritual. A nice face washing, tooth brushing, taking a walk and perking up your soul kind of thing, but for getting over a boyfriend. But sure, ritual murder.”

“You said witch. This is on you.”

“Anyway, Stella said sometimes witchcraft is the function of our brains and subconsciouses trying to do the psychological work of emotional healing and re-centering their locus of control.”

“That makes sense,” Oliver says, as if he’s considered it thoroughly and agrees. And he probably has.

His mind is both quick and open, and he’s always making connections between things most people don’t stop to consider. His brain works like mine that way. It’s probably one of the things I like most about him. Ava’s brain does this too, but it’s almost exclusively connected to deeply nerdy things. Like we’ll see an old payphone and that will make her think of Doctor Who, which will then make her think of mitochondria in her lab, and then she’s chuckling at a joke the rest of us don’t get. I might get it if I watched Doctor Who. But from what I can tell, there isn’t enough kissing and waltzing in ballgowns, so I don’t.

“Anyway, Stella said a good breakup ritual is to have Ruby do the Marie Kondo method on Niles.”

“The organizing thing? Is Ruby supposed to fold him into thirds and put him in a drawer?”

“No, more like choose objects to represent important points in their relationship—good and bad—and thank each one for what it taught her, then donate or trash it. We’ll see how Ruby does this weekend, and if we need to, we’ll have her KonMari him.”

“I want to talk about all of this more—and also find out how long Ruby is allowed to take to get over Niles—but we should probably get back to the marriage thing first.”

“Oh, right. Getting married.” I lift up Little Stripey enough to boop his nose to Smudge’s nose. Smudge responds by falling on his back like a European footballer. Like, so dramatic.

“Anyway, my point is that I’m confident Stella will rent to you as soon as I show her your background sheet, and it’ll save her the trouble of vetting other renters. She hasn’t told anyone else she’s moving because she knows we’d all make a big fuss, so I can bribe her with promising to keep it quiet if she lets you rent her place.”

“Or else you’re going to let everyone throw her a goodbye party? Brutal blackmail.”

“Bribe,” I correct him. “It’s blackmail when it’s people I don’t like.”

“Noted. You bribe Stella, and I lease her place for a year. We both have to move anyway, and I like that this is an easier move for you, so I’m in.”

“That’s the thing,” I tell him, breaking into a huge grin. “We’d both live at 1598 *Lynn, but I wouldn’t have to move!”

It takes him about half a second to process this and give me the credit I deserve. “That’s genius.” Something between regret and relief flickers over his face before it settles into an appreciative smile.

“Have you not figured out by now that I’m the loophole queen?”

“I did bring a ton of legal paperwork enabled by your loophole skills. Do you think renting a unit in the same building will be enough to satisfy your parents?”

“They might want to do spot checks, but considering they’ve never come to my place once, they probably won’t? They might send my sister over, but I doubt that too. I honestly think they’re going to realize they got outplayed on this one and give up.”

“You would know,” he says. “As long as it doesn’t cause funding issues for the company, I’m fine with it.”

“Worst-case scenario is they could find out we’re not sharing an actual apartment, freak out, and sue me. That will never happen because it would be too public. I’d make sure it is, and they know it. Which then means that the worst-case scenario is they decide to hold the remaining fifteen million until I turn thirty.”

“In which case you’re still ahead by 3.5 million dollars.”

“Yes. That leaves the final detail: you have to be Foster Cat Daddy. I can’t because of Ava’s allergy, and I can’t stand the thought of giving them over to anyone else. I need to make sure they’re big and strong before they go anywhere, and I need to choose who gets them. With my own eyes.”

He brushes a finger over Smudge’s exposed belly, and Smudge gives it a delayed swat but misses. “I did hate hearing the rescue found a foster for them.”

I reach over and take Smudge, then scoop Big Stripey and Tuxie from the carrier and settle them all in my lap. “All right, Oliver Locke. Will you take me as your lawfully wedded in-name-only bride and these kittens to be your roommates in your new Grove condo? And do you solemnly promise to give me a key so I can come visit them whenever I want?”

“I think so, Mad Mads,” he says, and I grin at the nickname. “But I want us to both be super sure about this. How about we each take the rest of the day to think this over. You can get all my paperwork checked and talk to any lawyers you need to confer with or whatever. Then we’ll meet here in the morning and decide for sure.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” I remind him. “I work tonight, so I won’t be awake until late, and I’d rather not come here twice, so maybe you can swing by the Grove around 11:00? I should be up by then. Which reminds me . . .”

How do I bring up dating other people while we’re married?

Hmm. That’s not a question I ever pictured myself asking. But if I’m asking, I’ll do it my way—straight to the point. “What’s our dating situation going to be?”

Oliver, in the process of stealing Big Stripey from me, freezes with the kitten in his hand, halfway between us. Big Stripey gives a small, annoyed meow. “We aren’t going to date, Madison.” His tone is very careful, as careful as the way he draws Big Stripey to his chest. “We’re going to be married.”

“I bet a lot of husbands say that to their wives,” I joke. “But I meant dating other people.”

“Oh.” His forehead wrinkles.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I don’t mind at all if you date while we’re married.”

His lips twist. “That’s a relief.”

“I personally like the idea of taking some time off of dating. I hope I’m so busy with my revenge plans that I don’t have time for it anyway. But there’s one exception. You know how the girls were giving me a hard time on Sunday about kissing some guy?”

“The mask guy?”

“That was last Friday. If that guy comes around again, I’d want to see where it goes. Are you okay with that?”

“Sure.” He looks down at Big Stripey as he gives its tiny paws soft strokes. “It was that good, huh?”

“I’ve done a lot of kissing, but that . . .” I shake my head, not even sure how to find the words. “That was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I need to know if it was the setting, the mystery with the masks, the music, the quiet corner—or if it was real.”

“You want it to be real?” he asks. “What if it is? This marriage could be a big problem for this guy.”

“I do want it to be real. But it’s probably moot because it would depend on this guy coming back to find me.”

“You have no way to find him?”

“I could look through the security footage on the off-chance that he was unmasked when he walked in. But even then, I still wouldn’t know how to get hold of him unless he’s a regular. But he’s not.”

“You’re sure?”

“Dead sure. I would know if I had that kind of chemistry with anyone I know.”

Another slow nod. “Makes sense. Do you think he’ll come looking for you again?”

My shoulders slump. “No. I believed he would until closing on Saturday night.”

“You sound bummed.”

“Our sparks were a once-in-a-lifetime lightning strike, but I have to assume that’s only for me. I can’t see anyone wanting to play second best to that, and I don’t think I’ll need another marriage of convenience in my lifetime, so you might be it for me, Oliver,” I tease him. “My one-and-only husband.”

His smile in return is subdued, and now that I understand his position in his company, I bet it’s because of the weight of other people depending on him.

He hands back Big Stripey and stands. “For both our sakes, I hope I’m not your one and only husband. But let’s think on it, and I’ll come over tomorrow so we can decide for real.”

“Can’t wait,” I say as he walks out of the office. “See you tomorrow for brunch and an engagement.”