39. Chapter Thirty-Nine
I get Madison’s text around noon while I pick at a cold Hot Pocket, trying to make sense of a section of code.
I was really out of line this morning. I’m sorry. Thanks for being my friend anyway.
Apology accepted. Forget about it. We’re good.
Not that I could forget. Madison, warm and willing, her lips trailing down my neck, her invitation to explore the growing tension between us, to rediscover the taste of her mouth.
There could be no next time unless she chose it knowing her masked man was me.
I want to do a neighbor party to introduce the kittens and get them adopted here so I never have to miss them. Is that okay?
Of course.
Thinking 6:30 when the heat stops trying to murder us. You’ll come help me vet adopters?
Of course.
Despite how it looked to Madison this morning, I’m absolute crap at telling her no.
I lose most of the afternoon remembering this morning and thinking about tonight.
I’m telling her. Doesn’t matter which family member shows up to pick a fight, or how rowdy the party gets, or whatever the cats try to pull. I’m telling her. There will be no good time for this, and the longer I take to do it, the worse the timing gets.
If Madison wants to see what’s between us, I’m down. It doesn’t matter that I don’t have time to fall for someone. I already did. There is no slowing that progression. No containing it. No reversing it.
On my side, I’m toast.
Madison gets to decide now—with all the facts.
When I walk into my place after work, it’s weirdly empty without Tabitha and the kittens. I pick a first-date outfit. Short-sleeved black button-down with Western snaps over a white ribbed undershirt, tattoos barely peeking from below the sleeves, vintage 501s, and a pair of black-and-white retro Nike Dunk Lows.
When I get to Madison’s place, I walk in without knocking, knowing the party is outside. She’d said something about how everyone would come out on their patios, and anyone from my side of the building who wanted to hang would bring chairs and pick a patio.
“Hey, young man,” Mrs. Lipsky says. She’s sitting on an armchair next to a barricade of sofa cushions across one end of the living room. “I’m in charge of the kittens tonight.”
“You’re definitely the woman for the job.” I walk over to peer down at them. I don’t see Tabitha, but the kittens are rolling around in a ball, squeaking and meowing. Even with their cat cave in there with them, they have plenty of room to roam and plow into each other.
“Got ringside for kitty WWE,” Mrs. Lipsky says. “Their mama wanted nothing to do with it, so she ran up to Madison’s room.”
“Thanks for all the advice you’ve given us,” I say.
“Sure, and now I’ll give you some more. They’re about ready to move to litter boxes and soft food, so be ready.”
“How will we know?” I’ve gotten less nervous about them, about doing the wrong thing or screwing them up somehow, but it comes creeping back with this new milestone.
Mrs. Lipsky waves her hand as if brushing away my worry. “I’ll come over this week for this first soft food feeding. We’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you,” I say again, and it’s heartfelt.
She smiles. “Go enjoy the party. I expect these kittens will have future homes by the end of the night.”
I head out back knowing her words should be reassuring, but I feel a pang at the idea of the kittens leaving for good.
The sound of music and conversation increases when I slide open the kitchen door and step out onto the patio. Madison had told me to think of it as a tailgate, and I understand as I thread my way toward the main group. It’s a relaxed party vibe, and even with the anxiety of the confession looming over me, I drop a gear. Still in high rev, but it’s better.
Alt-country plays in the background, glasses and bottles clink, and laughs float into the darkening sky. It’s early October now, and night falls sooner.
I spot all the girls, including Madison, who is sharing the patio armchair with Kaitlyn. Madison sees me, and her laughing smile turns almost shy as she gives me a small wave. I raise an eyebrow and nod at Kaitlyn, who is talking to a neighbor I recognize from the wedding.
Madison mimes that she texted Kaitlyn, then makes a sad face with begging hands, and I deduce that she apologized to her sister. I smile, happy to see them together. They both look relaxed, but I know this is huge, and I want to hear more about it.
Josh materializes beside me. “Good to see you, man. I thought I worked too much, but your boss is worse.”
“I’m my boss.”
“Like I said.” He grins and hands me a cold beer. “We’ve got Torchy’s on the table by the gate. Kind of a tradition now from our two units. But you can free range at any patio up and down the sidewalk for the price of some small talk.”
The fences are low, maybe reaching my thigh, and it’s easy to look straight down the sidewalk and see what other people have set out by their fences. Chips and guac, cookies, cupcakes. I squint. “Are those . . . ?”
Josh follows my gaze. “Bacon-wrapped Oreos? Yeah. Hugo’s specialty.”
I nod. “Tailgating.”
“Joey calls it plain old gating because you wander in and out of any gate with a patio light on. Enjoy, man. I’m going to find my girl and convince her she prefers my lap to that sofa seat.”
I move closer to the main party, which is loosely organized in groups of two or three around the patio set. When I was here for the movie, the furniture had been set up in a U-shape with the open section facing the gate, a coffee table in the center where everyone propped their feet. That coffee table is doing taco stand duty by the fence, leaving an open space.
“Sun’s down, let’s turn it up,” calls Joey, and the music changes to a club hit and gets louder. This is met with approving cheers up and down the sidewalk, and a low laugh beside me startles me.
Ruby has joined me, and she’s smiling at Joey. “My brother and his secret deejay ambitions.”
“Is that what he wants to do?”
“No. He loves his job. But never try to change his music,” she advises me.
“Noted. When did the party start?” I’m trying to gauge how long I need to wait before I can draw Madison off for a conversation. Maybe I can ask her to come upstairs to check on Tabitha with me.
“Everyone started trickling out in the last few minutes.”
A while, then. I can’t pull her out of a party that barely started.
“You need to tell her,” Ruby says, and I look down at her in surprise. “About the kiss. And the mask.”
I crack the beer open and take a sip. “I know.”
She pats my arm and walks over to Charlie, who gives me a nod hello.
I need to catch up with him. He’s the only thing I miss about my old place, but it was cool just crossing the hall to catch a game or play some Madden.
I’m halfway through my beer, low-key watching Madi for a good chance to have that talk, when she stands.
Now, then.
I take a step in her direction before I realize she’s coming in mine.
“Hey,” she says, stopping in front of me. “I’m glad you came. You look good.”
“Thanks. You too. You always do.” She’s wearing a pale yellow sundress that falls above her knees. She looks like she should be twirling through meadows of bluebonnets for a lifestyle brand.
She smiles and shifts to stand beside me. “It’s funny that we do these during the hottest months but hardly ever when it’s actually nice outside.”
“The calendar says it’s fall, but I guess nobody told the thermometer.” It’s in the midseventies, even with the last bit of sunset gone.
“It’ll start cooling off about a week before Halloween,” she says. “A couple more weeks of this, for better or worse.”
Stop talking about the weather. Do not let anything else about the weather come out of your mouth. “I don’t mind summer, but I do like fall more.” Great. Way to listen to your self-respect that is only trying to save you right now, you tool.
“Agree. I’m so basic, but I love a chilly day and a reason to pull out my boots and sweaters.”
At least she’s still on weather too. Maybe I’m not the only nervous one.
Her expression changes suddenly, going from her social small talk face to a searching one, and her eyes land on Ruby. Ruby has her back to us, chatting with Hugo and Jasmine. And then I hear it. The high synth notes of “Taki Taki.”
Did Ruby have something to do with this? Had I told her this song was playing that night? Had Madison?
It doesn’t matter. It is a neon sign flashing TELL HER.
“Madison, do you think we could—”
Joey swoops in before I can finish. “As the woman tied for fourth in my heart, come out there with me and let’s show them how the salsa is done.”
Madison smiles and shakes her head. “Ava’s just as good. Grab her.”
“She’s refilling the veggie platter, and my feet need to move. Let’s go.”
“Sorry,” she says over her shoulder as Joey pulls her to the space left by the coffee table.
He spins her onto the floor. They do an eight count into a hammerlock, causing the crowd to laugh and whistle. It’s so clear they’ve done this many times as they spin and connect, Joey’s expert lead a series of subtle signals through their lightly touching fingers, quick grip reversals, and more salsa steps.
“He helped teach us,” Ruby says, reappearing beside me. “Well, the other girls. I learned when I was little, but they’ve come over for so many Ramos parties, and my dad never lets anyone leave without a lesson.”
“They’re good,” I agree.
“Go cut in.”
My eyes fly to hers, and she’s smiling at me. She knows if I cut in that there’s a very good chance Madison is going to figure this out. And that’s the point. Ruby is offering me an opening.
She holds out her hand for my drink, and I head to the makeshift dance floor.
“May I cut in?” I ask Joey.
Joey moves Madison’s hand to mine, and winks at me when she isn’t looking. Then Ava materializes out of nowhere and steps into the dance with Joey.
Madison and I are still standing there. She’s watching me with an encouraging smile, waiting for me to take the lead.
I should say something. Warn her. Do something.
Instead, I draw her in a classic close hold and move us into the basic step.
Madison grins. “Strong on the fundamentals. Another pep rally?”
Tell her. TELL HER.
“Madison, I . . .” No. I’m not shouting this over the music. We do a few more basic steps, and she slides her hand against mine, letting me know she’s going to spin. I lead her and she comes back to center.
“You’re doing great,” she says. “It takes practice to get there.” She nods at Joey and Ava doing a complicated pretzel combo.
It’s the last straw.
I spin her again, move into a neck touch turn, roll my head under her arms, and pick up exactly where we were, rocketing into the next step exactly on beat.
Her eyes widen for a second. She’s still following, and her gaze moves all over my face, over my shoulders like she’s putting things together, watching my hips, back up to my shoulders, my mouth, studying each.
My eyes never leave hers, and I can sense it—the moment she hits the brink where it’s all going to fall together or apart.
I’ve been fooling myself if I ever thought I would find exactly the right words to explain this. I turn her in another fast spin-and-a-half, ending it with her back against my front, just like I did that night at the club. I’m giving everything away.
As her back meets my chest, I feel her gasp.
She knows.