Chapter 12
MADDY
THEN
“Open it.” Ben pushes the box closer to me.
“Now?”
“Yes, now. Like, right now.” He looks so excited you’d think it was his birthday, not mine. When I don’t tear the cover off the box immediately, he starts to pout. “Oh my God…why aren’t you opening it?”
“Don’t you want to give it to me at dinner?” My parents wanted to take us out to dinner, but I told them I’d rather get takeout from my favourite Chinese restaurant instead. It should be arriving any minute now.
“Absolutely not. Open it now.”
“You’re bossy.”
“You like it.” He winks and I blush.
I do like it.
“Fine.” I take the box from him, surprised that it weighs almost nothing. Setting it on my bed, I gently lift the cover and peek inside.
Sleepy, green eyes I know well blink up at me. I freeze, my heart stuttering in my chest.
“Ben, is that—”
“Cheshire,” he finishes for me, leaning over the box and scooping the tiny orange ball of fur in his hands. He gives the bridge of his nose a stroke before gently placing the little guy in my arms.
I stare down at him as he purrs and nuzzles into my chest. My throat tightens. He’s doubled in size since I last saw him. Perfect—fluffy, warm, and completely orange except for a little white patch on his nose.
“He’s a ginger, just like his mom,” Ben grins.
“How?” My voice cracks with emotion.
He shrugs, his grin widening. “You kept talking about him so I reached out to the shelter to see if I could call dibs on him once he came up for adoption.”
“You’re not supposed to be able to do that.” The shelter has an application process for all rescues. Cheshire’s purrs vibrate through my fingers.
“How could they say ‘no’ to this face?”
“What about my parents? They’re going to flip when I tell them.”
“I already cleared it with them.”
My mind races. What? While my mom shares my love of cats, Dad has never been sold on getting one. He once warned my mom that a kitten would be a gateway pet—that I wouldn’t be satisfied until I’d filled the house with rescues.
“Dad said he didn’t want me to get one.”
“He didn’t want you dating a hockey player either,” he says, completely unfazed at my shock. “How’s that working out for him?”
I laugh, even as my chest aches with love for him. Ben has this way of wearing people down with that easy smile and confidence. My parents didn’t stand a chance.
“You seem to have broken them,” I admit, cuddling Cheshire closer.
“He loves me.”
It’s true. Though my parents both still seem anxious about what Ben’s NHL prospects could mean for my future.
So do I, if I’m being honest. What if the team he’s drafted to is really far away?
I’m starting at Dalhousie University in the Fall.
After I finish my Bachelor’s degree, I intend to get my MBA.
I don’t know what those plans will mean for our relationship or how to talk to Ben about my concerns.
The kitten squirms in my arms and I set him down on my bed where he immediately starts to paw at the comforter, making biscuits.
As we watch the kitten arch his back and yawn, my mind continues to come up with worst-case scenarios.
What if Ben gets called up right after the NHL draft?
It’s only six months away and the uncertainty is already driving me insane.
“I can see the wheels spinning, Madness,” Ben sighs, slipping his hand into mine and interlocking our fingers. “Everything will work out. I promise.”
He always makes everything feel so simple, so solid. But even with his confidence that things will be fine, he can’t always silence the fears that live in the back of my mind.
The kitten has moved into Ben’s lap, curling himself into a tiny little ball, his face hidden.
“Hi, Cheshire,” I whisper. The tiny orange head pops up, acknowledging that it is in fact his name before dropping back down.
The shock of the gift has worn off and my eyes fill with tears and I wipe them away. I hate crying in front of people. It makes me feel too vulnerable. Too exposed.
“Hey,” Ben says soothingly as he cups my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a single thing,” I say, leaning into his touch. “He’s perfect.”
He smiles as he strokes my cheek. “Then you match.”
NOW
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
If there is a more infuriating question than the one my fiancé just asked me, I’m unaware of its existence.
“Gee. I don’t know, Derek. Am I?” I just finished reading him the text his mother sent.
In it, she informed me she’s booked an appointment for me with her hairstylist two days before the wedding to ‘tone down’ my hair.
When I asked her what ‘tone down’ meant, she explained that the treatment will make my hair less red.
I told her that I didn’t want to change my hair colour for my wedding.
She responded that she didn’t want me to look like a ‘flaming roll of toilet paper’ in the pictures.
“It was a joke,” he insists as he takes another sip of coffee before setting down the mug and picking up his phone.
I scoff. Kathleen has never shown any hint of having a sense of humour; it’s highly unlikely she’s developed one at this stage in her life.
“We both know that it wasn’t. Even if it were, can you at least admit it wasn’t funny?” I stare at him while he stares at his screen. I don’t think I’m asking for too much, I just want him to take my side for once.
When he finally raises his gaze to mine, my face must match my mood because he softens his tone.
“She was only trying to help.”
“Well, which one is it, Derek? Was she joking or trying to help?” I walk away from him, grab my yoga bag and throw it over my shoulder. “And help what, exactly? Save our wedding guests from my natural hair colour?”
I know my hair is a lot. Forget main character energy, it has always been the star of its own one-woman show.
I didn’t always love the colour. In fact, I spent most of my childhood wishing to be blonde or brunette.
But over the years it has grown on me. Literally.
Plus, it’s the same vibrant shade my dad’s was and I treasure that connection to his memory.
“What do you want me to do, Madelyn?”
I fight the sting in my eyes by blinking rapidly. I won’t give Kathleen the satisfaction of making me cry, even if she’s not here to witness it.
“For starters, I want you to admit that your mother is out of line for asking that I change my hair colour for the wedding.”
He sighs, shoulders sagging. “Okay. You’re right. She never should have suggested that. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. Would you please message or call her and let her know that she overstepped?”
He straightens, brow furrowing as he crosses his arms across his chest. “What would that accomplish?”
Are you fucking kidding me? “It would let her know that you don’t want her speaking to me that way.”
“But you’ve already told her you’re not doing it.
I think we should just let it blow over.
There’s no point in upsetting her more.” He closes the distance between us and places his hands on my shoulders.
The urge to slap them away is strong, but I just stand here stiffly.
“You’ll feel better after your class. And if you don’t, we’ll talk more about this over dinner, okay? ”
I already know we won’t. Because when I come home from yoga, Derek will have moved on from the matter entirely and I won’t have the energy to fight this battle on my own.
Begrudgingly, I do feel better after yoga. I decided to try a different studio today. I just wasn’t vibing with Chakra and it was too much money to spend on a service I wasn’t loving. The new place, Serenity, is a bit farther from home, but I feel like it’s a much better fit for me.
By the time we’re in Pigeon pose, my body feels looser, lighter, like I’ve shaken off a layer of tension from the morning. When we finally settle into Savasana at the end, lying on our backs with our eyes closed, I feel almost calm.
The instructor’s voice is soft as she guides us out of the pose, thanking us for showing up for ourselves today. It’s such a simple phrase, but it hits me right in the chest. I did show up for myself.
As I roll up my mat and slip on my shoes, I feel notably better. I’ve almost convinced myself that my morning wasn’t as bad as it seemed, or maybe that it just doesn’t matter anymore.
Almost.
The instructor, who introduced herself as Mia at the start of class, stops me on my way out.
“A new face!” She beams at me, warmly. “I hope you enjoyed the class.”
“I did. Very much,” I tell her honestly. “This place actually reminds me a lot of my old studio back in Halifax.”
“Well then, I hope to see you again…”
I’m about to tell her my name when I hear, “Maddy?”
I turn to see Ben’s younger sister Beth. Her smile is as big as ever, though the braces she had the last time I saw her are gone. Her appearance is so unexpected that I momentarily forget to speak.
“Hey, Beth,” Mia greets her before turning back to me. “I hope to see you again, Maddy.”
“You definitely will,” I say, thanking her before she disappears back into the studio. I turn back to Beth. “Beth! How are you?”
“I’m great! It’s so nice to see you. How are you enjoying Ottawa?”
There have been highs and lows, I think. “It’s taking some getting used to. You’re…look at you. You’re all grown up!”
She laughs, the sound light and musical. “I know. I’ll be 28 in the spring. But I have the lower back of a fifty-year-old. Mia’s helping me strengthen my core. Is this your first class?”
“It is. I really enjoyed it. I’m definitely going to come back.”
“We should take a class together! Maybe grab dinner and catch up after?” She reigns in her excitement almost instantly. “You know, if you wanted to,” she adds sheepishly.
In the six weeks I’ve been in Ottawa, I haven’t made any real friends. I get along great with my coworkers, aside from Alyssa, but I haven’t found anyone to do things with outside of the office. Beth and I always got along so well despite her being a couple of years younger than me.
I briefly consider if it’s wise to form a friendship with Ben’s little sister before deciding that I just don’t care.
“I would love that so much.”
We exchange phone numbers and make a plan to get together next weekend.
“I’d better get to class before Mia locks me out,” she says. She does a little dance of indecision before throwing her arms around me. It’s the nicest hug I’ve received in months and I fight the urge to break down in tears, again. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says as she releases me.
For the first time all week, I’m glad I am, too.