Chapter 8
MADDY
THEN
The music thuds inside, a constant, steady beat.
I pull my cardigan tighter around me and lean against the frozen wooden railing of the deck, letting the frosty air bite at my cheeks.
It’s quiet out here, the only sounds are the crunch of snow under my boots when I shift my weight and the occasional muffled cheer or laugh seeping through the sliding glass door behind me.
The second I walked into Scott Walker’s annual New Year’s Eve party and saw the sweaty crush of bodies and the half-empty bottles scattered everywhere, I knew it wasn’t my scene.
I tried to make the best of it, but there’s only so many loud, in-your-face beer breath conversations I can have in one evening. But Jasmine said that he’d be here.
She also promised to stay by my side all night, but it’s just shy of midnight and she’s inside fighting with her boyfriend, Jared, while I’m freezing my ass off out here.
A group of girls shuffles past the window, laughing and clinging to each other for balance. I watch them for a second before glancing up at the sky. It’s a muted gray, the kind that makes the stars look faint and far away.
The door slides open behind me, and I prepare myself for what is likely unwanted company.
“Hey.”
My breath catches at the low and familiar voice that’s been making my heart race for months. I turn slowly, trying to act casual.
Ben stands there, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his breath curling in soft white puffs in the cold air. His hair is slightly mussed, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and there’s a faint red flush to his cheeks.
“Why are you not wearing a coat? It’s freezing out here. Are you crazy?” He’s part amused, part concerned.
My lips quirk. “‘We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.’”
He regards me, curiously.
“It’s a Mad Hatter quote from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” I explain. “It’s my favourite book.”
Ben unzips his hoodie and shrugs it off. “Here, Madness, put this on.” He drapes it over my shoulders, the heavy cotton deliciously warm from his body heat.
“Madness? Really?” He’s been coming up with different nicknames for me for months and they never fail to bring a smile to my lips.
“I think it’s my new favourite,” he smirks, tilting his head. “Very fitting considering you’re out here by yourself, probably freezing your ass off.”
“My ass is fine,” I insist, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.
“I’ll say,” he mutters under his breath before coming to stand beside me. He steps closer, his sneakers crunching in the snow. “So you’re just… hanging out here alone?”
I nod, staring at the snow instead of his stupid handsome face. “Pretty much.” He thinks I’m weird. Am I weird? No. I just know who I am and what I like and social gatherings that revolve around hearing loss and alcohol poisoning are not high on the list.
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and I think he’s going to leave. But then he leans against the railing next to me, his shoulder brushing mine.
“Works for me.” He exhales a breath that hangs in the air between us.
“Why?
“Why what?”
“Why are you hanging out here? The party is in there.” I nod towards the house that’s in desperate need of parental supervision.
“The party is wherever I am.” His grin lights up the entire back yard. “Besides, this is the first time I’ve seen you outside of class. How come you never go to parties?”
“I’m busy. I do a lot of volunteering. At the hospital, the animal shelter...” I trail off.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here tonight.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. Getting to flirt with you off school property might yield better results.”
I spin my head in his direction so fast I almost hurt myself. “You’ve been flirting with me?”
Ben’s gaze shifts to the sky as he shakes his head like he’s asking the heavens for help. “Ouch. I’ve been giving you my A-game for months.”
“I didn’t notice,” I say, biting down on my lip. Giddiness threatens to short circuit my brain.
“Then you haven’t been paying attention.”
“I thought we were friends.” I know that I want more, but I don’t know how he feels.
“We are friends.” The space between us has gotten smaller. “Friends can flirt.”
Inside, the countdown starts.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
“What else can friends do?” My breathing is shallow.
My heart races. Does he hear it? Does he feel how nervous I am?
His hand brushes mine on the railing, a tiny spark shoots straight up my arm.
I glance down, not wanting him to see how much he affects me.
When I look back up, he’s watching me intently.
Seven. Six.
“Lots of things.” He tilts his head, his lips curving into the smallest, softest smile, and I forget how to breathe.
I don’t know what to do with my hands. Every nerve in my body is on high alert.
Five. Four.
His voice is barely above a whisper. “Can I kiss you?”
Three. Two.
I nod. My throat feels tight, but I manage to say, “Yes.”
One.
The cheers erupt inside, loud and chaotic, but I barely hear them. All I hear is the sound of my heart pounding in my ears, all I see is the way he leans in, his eyes never leaving mine.
And then he kisses me.
It’s soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, but my world tilts on its axis all the same.
His lips are warm against mine, and his hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin.
I don’t know how long it lasts—seconds, minutes, forever—but when he finally pulls back, I’m lightheaded and weak in the knees and so, so grateful that Ben gave me my first kiss and not that asshole, Jeff Reid.
“Happy New Year, Madness,” he murmurs, his forehead resting lightly against mine.
Happy New Year to me.
Now
“I see you didn’t contact any of the decorators I recommended, Madelyn.”
I don’t need to see myself to know I’m making a ridiculous face. The kind of face a kid makes at their annoying older brother when their mom isn’t looking. The kind of face that shows how you really feel about someone.
Thankfully, I’m in the kitchen checking on the pork tenderloin I’m making for dinner so Derek’s mother doesn’t witness my childish act of defiance.
This is a game we play. She says one thing, but there’s a secret message woven into her words and I don’t need a decoder ring to figure it out.
When she arrived twenty minutes ago and said, “Have you not been able to find an esthetician in Ottawa?” she meant that I look tired and could use a facial.
When she frowned at Cheshire and asked, “How old did you say it was again?” she meant, “I hope your cat dies soon.” And just now, when she said, “I see you didn’t contact any of the decorators I recommended.
” she meant, “Your taste is atrocious, and I hate what you’ve done with the place. ”
“No, Kathleen,” my voice drips with forced sweetness. “Things have been so busy with work, I haven’t had time to look into them.” And I’m perfectly capable of decorating my own home, thanks.
“I figured as much,” she tuts. “Don’t worry. I’ll arrange everything.”
The actual nerve.
I stab the meat thermometer into the roast, pretending it’s something else. Someone else. It’s not that I dislike Derek’s mother…No, scratch that. I do dislike her.
Kathleen Boudreau has been a thorn in my side since early in Derek and I’s relationship.
She’d seemed lovely, at first. Very interested in getting to know me and welcoming me into their family.
Derek’s father had been a Member of the Nova Scotia Legislative Assembly for years before he retired and while none of his sons have indicated their interest in following in his footsteps, Kathleen has been adamant that they all have political futures ahead of them.
But the honeymoon phase only lasted a few months.
I’m not entirely sure what she wanted me to be, but apparently, I fell short.
Gradually, her compliments became backhanded ones.
She’d shower me with criticisms disguised as praise.
Three years later, she regards me like a sculptor regards a piece they’ve been laboring over for too long only to be entirely unsatisfied with the results.
I chop the carrots with more vigor than necessary, the knife thunking against the cutting board with each slice. Across the kitchen island, Kathleen is perched on a barstool, water bottle in hand. I assured her our water was fine, but she insisted on drinking her own.
“So work is busy?”
“Very,” I sigh. Every time I put out one fire, I find three more that need extinguishing. But, I made all new spreadsheets, and updated all our vendor lists. The best part of my entire week was my meeting with Ben. It was also the most shocking part of my week. Maybe even my year.
“I’m still in love with you.” He’d said it so plainly. So matter-of-fact. And seemingly without hope or agenda. He just wanted to be honest with me and I haven’t given myself time to process how I feel about that yet.
The one thing I am certain of is it was good to see him. I felt less homesick when he was there. More like my old self again. I can’t believe how after all this time and everything that’s happened, he’s still able to make me laugh so much.
“It must be hard to find time for things,” Kathleen interrupts my reminiscing, “like…cooking a proper meal.”
The knife slips a little and I take a deep breath to calm down. Don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you bleed, Maddy. I force a smile. “I manage.”
She hums, taking a sip of wine. “It’s just that Derek grew up with home-cooked meals every night. I always made sure he had something nutritious, you know. Boys need that.”
Well, Derek isn’t a boy anymore, and I’m certainly not his mother.
I set the knife down carefully and wipe my hands on a towel, but say nothing. Most nights, Derek works late at the office. I have no idea what he eats, but since he’s not wasting away, I’m sure he’s fine.
Kathleen must be getting tired of fishing so she changes her bait. “You know, dear, when I was your age, I had three kids and still managed to keep the house spotless and have dinner on the table by six. I don’t know how women today do it, working so much and trying to keep everything together.”
I turn then, gripping the counter as I face her, but I manage a little laugh.
“Well, times have changed. Derek and I share responsibilities. It works for us.” Sort of.
I’ve been taking care of the cleaning and laundry, mostly, and we’ve both been largely feeding ourselves.
This is the first real meal I’ve cooked in weeks.
“Of course it does,” she says smoothly. “It’s just…
I hope you have your priorities in the right order.
Derek has a political future ahead of him.
Political leaders are, at their core, public servants.
And when you dedicate your life to serving the public, you need someone who will dedicate themselves to serving you.
I understand that. Derek understands that. Do you?”
My vision goes hazy around the edges as my rage threatens to blind me. I take a deep centering breath. “Kathleen, with all due respect–”
“Smells good in here!” Derek’s voice sounds from the front entrance.
By the time he enters the kitchen a moment later, his mother has transformed herself from brutal interrogator to doting mommy dearest. She clasps her hands in front of her face, looking at him like she can’t believe he’s really here.
He wraps her up in a warm hug, telling her how good it is to see her.
When she finally steps out of his embrace she fans her face with her hands like she’s fighting tears.
“It’s been too long since I’ve seen my baby boy!”
Five weeks. We were at their house five weeks ago and the woman is acting like he’s just come home from war.
Derek crosses the kitchen and gives me a peck on the cheek. “How are my two favourite girls?”
Peachy. Just peachy.