Chapter 18
MADDY
“Your dinner’s getting cold,” Derek says with a mouth full of falafel, not looking up from his laptop.
I told him I would be a bit late getting home today, but I guess he didn’t take that into account when he placed the Skip The Dishes order. Letting my bag fall from my shoulder, I slip off my shoes and join him at the table.
“I got you shawarma.”
“Thank you.” The bright pink take out bag with Rashed’s stamped on it tells me it’s not from the place Ben brought me lunch from two weeks ago. I tear open the white paper wrapping and peek inside, immediately spotting the pickle. My jaw hardens.
It’s not a big deal. I’ve been picking these things off my food for years. Still, Derek knows that I hate them. Anytime we eat out, I request that they’re left off. Would it kill him to order it without them for once? Ben seemed to have no trouble remembering my distaste for them.
I start removing the pink spears from my sandwich and lay them on a napkin. Derek rolls his eyes; he thinks it’s childish. I ignore it, as usual.
“How was your day?” I ask him, because I always do.
He finally sets down his phone, running a hand through his sandy blond hair. “Fine. Phillips is dragging his feet on the Bardin account. It should have been resolved by now.”
I nod and take a bite of my tepid supper. It’s definitely not as good as the shawarma Ben brought me. God, why can’t I go ten seconds without thinking about Ben? There are so many other things I should be thinking about.
Like how I received the Save The Date cards for the wedding but have no desire to send them to our guest list.
Like how Derek and I haven’t spent time together in more than a week and I haven’t missed him once. Like how I feel more like myself when I’m with Ben than I have in ages.
“That sounds frustrating.” I finally answer, just to say something.
He nods, chewing his meal. His jaw makes a kind of clicking noise when he chews. I’ve always noticed it, but today it’s like nails on a chalkboard.
“Do you know what you’re wearing to dinner with the partners tomorrow night? You were kind of underdressed the last time, compared to the other wives.”
I shake my head at him, ignoring the dig at my wardrobe. “The firm’s dinner is next week.”
“No, it’s tomorrow. My admin confirmed it this afternoon.” His clipped tone grates on my last nerve.
I stand from the table and retrieve my bag from the front door. Grabbing my phone, I start searching as I walk back to the table. “No. The calendar invite you sent me said it’s next week.” I turn the email in question to him as proof.
“Huh,” he says, after a quick glance at my phone. “I must have sent you the wrong date. Regardless, it’s tomorrow.” He goes back to eating his dinner.
“I’m sorry, Derek. I can’t make dinner tomorrow.
I have a meeting with one of our biggest donors.
” These donors have given almost a million dollars to the foundation this year alone.
Chanda asked me personally to meet with them.
Ivan confided in me that Alyssa was positively fuming that she wasn’t given the task.
“Reschedule it.” He straightens in his chair, paying full attention to me for the first time tonight. Possibly for the first time in weeks.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. The Hansens are only in town for a few days.” I don’t tell him that even if I could try to reschedule, I wouldn’t. This is a very important connection for the foundation and I’m really looking forward to discussing upcoming projects with them.
“For fuck’s sake, Madelyn.”
I bristle at his tone. Derek rarely swears, only when he’s really angry. His mother once told me that foul language is an indication of being low class. I remember thinking it was a fucked up point of view, but I kept that thought to myself.
“This is my career we’re talking about,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s important.”
I square my shoulders, refusing to back down. “Are you implying that my career isn’t important?”
“Come on, Madelyn. Career?” he scoffs, pushing back from the table and stalking to the fridge. He grabs a light beer from it and twists the top off. “You’re a glorified party planner.”
I go stiffer than one of the Famous Five statues on Parliament Hill.
I have a Master’s degree in Business Administration.
I’ve worked tirelessly for my position at Love and Light Foundation and have a ten-year plan that will get me to my ultimate goal as Chief Operations Officer.
Derek knows this. He’s known it since our first date, when I told him about my ambitions between sips of overpriced coffee. He’s always claimed to support me.
“Look,” he says, exhaling before taking a long pull of his beer, his shoulders dropping like he’s easing into something inevitable. “I wanted to wait until after your Christmas ball to bring this up, but we may as well do it now. I think you should resign after New Year’s.”
For a moment, I think I’ve misheard.
He couldn’t have shocked me more if he’d slapped me. A slap might have hurt less.
“You’re so stressed out all the time,” he continues, his voice adopting that patronizing, reasonable tone that makes my teeth grind.
“We never see each other. And with the wedding coming up, I think it’s better this way.
I make enough to support both of us. And besides, you’ll have to quit once we have kids anyway. ”
I blink. My stomach plummets.
“Since when?” I ask, my voice too steady for the way my hands have curled into fists beneath the table.
He frowns. “What?”
“Since when would I have to quit my job to have children?”
Derek drags a hand down his face like I’m the one being exhausting. “How are you going to juggle work and being a mom, Madelyn? You’re barely juggling work as it is.”
My blood turns molten. My pulse pounds in my ears, each beat feeding the slow, creeping rage coiling in my gut. “Well,” I say, carefully, deliberately, “I was under the impression that we would be parenting together.”
He rolls his eyes. Really rolls them. Like I’ve just suggested we raise our hypothetical children in a traveling circus. I want to reach across the table, pluck those smug, dismissive eyes right out of his thick skull, and use them for batting practice.
“I know that’s what we discussed,” he says, waving a hand as if brushing away my words. “But things change. The reality is my career will be too demanding and time-consuming. There’s a reason my mother didn’t work.”
I meet his gaze and hold it. “I am nothing like your mother, Derek.”
He shrugs, as if it’s an unfortunate truth. “Well, maybe you should try to be.”
There are so many ways I could react. I could scream until my throat is raw. Hurl my soggy shawarma at his stupid face. Cry, rage, and demand to know if this has been his plan all along.
But I do none of those things.
I smile.
I smile until my cheeks ache, wide and sharp like the cartoon cat my beloved orange fluff ball is named after. Then I laugh—a full-bodied, breathless laugh, the kind that erupts from someone who has just heard the greatest joke of all time.
I keep laughing as I rise from my chair. As I float down the hall. By the time I reach our bedroom, the laughter has softened to a chuckle, but it still lingers.
We’re all mad here.
Cheshire stirs from his nap on the bed, blinking at me with a lazy interest as I grab an overnight bag from the closet. I start stuffing in whatever clothes my hands land on, my movements swift, certain.
“What are you doing?” Derek asks. He’s followed me here to presumably continue our argument.
I don’t answer. Instead I dig through the closet until I find the pet carrier that Cheshire hates even more than my soon-to-be ex-fiancé. To my surprise, when I open the latch, he darts inside. Like he’s been waiting for me to wake up and get us both out of here.
“Madelyn, what are you doing?” His sharp tone is meant to intimidate, but it has the opposite effect. As I look at him, red-faced, arms crossed, wide stance, the only word that comes to mind is “ridiculous.”
Ridiculous that I could think a life with this man is what I want or need.
Ridiculous that I ignored all the signs indicating that this relationship was broken.
Ridiculous that I could even contemplate starting a family with someone I’m not sure I even know.
Ridiculous that, having known the real thing, I could ever convince myself that this was love.
“I’m leaving, Derek.” My voice is calm, steady in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible a mere five minutes ago. “I’ll be back for the rest of my things.”
I step past him but pause when I remember something.
I turn back, and for a second hope flickers across his face. His shoulders relax, his expression softening as if he truly believes I’ve come to my senses.
Then I slide the engagement ring off my finger.
His eyes drop to my hand, watching as I hold it out to him. But when he makes no move to take the ring, I let it slip from my fingers.
The diamond and its tiny band of gold make a hollow, lifeless sound as it lands on the hardwood.
Derek flinches but I don’t.
“Goodbye, Derek.”
I turn and walk away, not a single part of me tempted to look back.
Even with Cheshire’s carrier in my arms and my bag weighing down my shoulder, I feel lighter than a fucking feather.