Chapter Thirteen Maddie
Chapter Thirteen
Maddie
Last night after Bram and I picked up the twins, we ordered Thai for dinner and told all three girls that I’d be staying here at the house under the guise that it would be easier to have a live-in nanny—or as Bram prefers: a childcare provider.
I expected lots of questions, especially from Fern, but the twins squealed and flung themselves at me while Fern gave a nonchalant cool and took advantage of the moment to steal the last spring roll.
This is the first morning since arriving back in Kansas that I’ve had a bathroom all to myself without having to wait in line for it.
It is the peak of luxury. Fern and the twins share the other upstairs bathroom, which connects their rooms, at the top of the stairs and I’m at the end of the hallway in the guest room.
After the kids went to bed, I tried to be a brave little toaster and sit on the couch with Bram while he watched some documentary about the history of national parks.
But I fell asleep before the opening credits were even done.
Bram woke me up and practically pulled me upstairs to the guest room.
I let my fingers linger on his arm, hoping I might lure him into breaking his own rules, but either he was a gentleman or I was too tired to convince him otherwise.
I fell asleep in his T-shirt and under his roof, and for the first time in a very, very long while, I felt safe and looked after.
Today, I’m back in my ivory pants and striped sweater, now washed, and I smell like Bram from his body wash to his laundry detergent, and it’s hard not to press my face into my own shirt and inhale deeply.
So yes, I am rested, but as I stand in front of the mirror, I can’t stop noticing all the ways that the upkeep of my appearance has lapsed.
When Gentry and I became serious, his mother invited me to go to her salon with her before a big family wedding.
I didn’t realize that this was all just a ruse to ambush me with a makeover.
But at the time, I felt spoiled and pampered.
I walked into the salon with my dark brown, nearly black hair and came out with tasteful honey-blond layers that framed my face in a way that Penelope Pike later described as aspirational yet approachable.
Then there was the eyebrow threading, the glowy spray tans, the biweekly nail appointments, the facials, and of course the personal trainer, who was actually wonderful despite being hired to help me achieve my “fitness goals”—or weight loss.
Now, my dark roots are coming in, my eyebrows are haphazardly plucked, my skin is pale, and my nails are bare. It occurs to me that Bram has definitely not seen me at my best.
And yet . . . and yet, he’s made me feel sexier in a few weeks than Gentry did during the four years we were together.
When I go downstairs, Bram is waiting with a to-go cup of coffee. “I got you something on my way back from dropping off the twins. I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee, so I went with a latte.”
“Thanks. I like a latte. The more froufrou the better.”
“Froufrou . . . Next time, I’ll have them add lavender,” he says. “You look rested.” His lips twitch like he has more to say, but instead he just motions for the door.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “I haven’t slept that well in a while.”
He nods once, satisfied, a ghost of a smile on his lips as we walk out to his car.
“We can pick up your car after your lecture,” he says as he reverses out of the driveway with his arm braced on my headrest as he twists to look over his shoulder.
“Um, I might need to call and see how much it is first, but they should let me get my stuff back, right?”
He stops the car and looks at me. “Madelyn, we are picking up your car today. That was not a question. I will pay the towing fee.”
“You will not,” I spit back at him.
He tilts his chin down, eyes a soft celadon green mixed with amber. “Consider it—I don’t know—a vehicle allowance, but this is not up for debate. You need your car to do your job, and I need to know that you’re not at the mercy of the well-meaning but underfunded Mount Astra transit system.”
I don’t like this. I don’t like owing anyone anything, especially after being taken care of by Gentry and his family came at the cost of losing myself entirely. But Bram is right. I do need a car to do my job. “Okay,” I finally say, my hands held up in surrender.
Today is my early section and since I drove in with Bram, I don’t have time to stop and see Junie, which I need to do soon because I owe her an apology after I was so short with her yesterday.
When I get to class, students are still filing in. I connect my laptop and make sure my clicker is in working order. Just as the clock strikes seven thirty, I close the door only to feel it being tugged open from the other side. I let go and Bram is standing there.
“I thought I should come and observe,” he says quietly.
My stomach curls into a fist and my pulse spikes. I know I asked him to help me, but I hadn’t considered that he would actually watch me teach a class.
“You’ll hardly notice me,” he says.
I scoff. “Yes, because the six-foot-four Jolly Green Giant professor is so hard to miss.”
He grins with his mouth closed and steps in past me, his torso brushing against my chest.
This is a starting point, I remind myself. I’m not scared of public speaking, but something about commanding a lecture hall full of students who are only three to six years off from me in age has had me feeling unsure that I have any business even doing this job.
“Okay, according to the syllabus, we’re starting off with a quiz.”
There’s no reaction outside of a quiet fuck, which is already an improvement from yesterday’s class, who took the same quiz.
Bram sits off to the side on the second row in the seat closest to the wall. Thankfully he’s not in my direct line of sight.
While the class takes the quiz, I go over my notes for today’s lecture, and as they finish, they bring their papers up one by one.
Jordan, the guy who had plenty of opinions about group projects the other week, takes the steps two at a time before jogging to the desk next to my podium. What I hadn’t noticed before is that the kid has at least a foot on me. He’s not as tall as Bram, but he’s not far off.
I have to strain my neck to look up at him, and I suddenly feel very . . . small. Almost insignificant.
“Uh, yeah,” he says loud enough for the whole class to hear. “I heard the other sections of Intro to Government had multiple-choice quizzes, but yours are short-answer questions. That’s really not fair.”
“Seriously?” someone asks.
“Jordan, the quiz format is at the discretion of the professor.”
“You know that multiple choice is easier. I don’t think it’s very cool that we’re all at such a disadvantage just because we’re in your class.
Doesn’t seem very equitable if you ask me.
Weren’t we just talking about privilege in our last class and how it’s about how everyone should have the same starting point?
I don’t think the short-answer format gives your class the same privileges as multiple choice does the other classes. ”
The way he frames his statement makes my skin prickle. He’s using justice-oriented language for his own gain, and it’s something I’ve seen and done enough times to recognize. In fact, if I weren’t his teacher, I’d be impressed—even though he could use some polishing.
I can feel a roar building in my chest. A need to put him in his place, but then I remember how I was a total monster to my class yesterday.
If students are talking about quiz formats, there’s no way they aren’t talking about my outburst yesterday.
It’s hard enough to be one of the youngest lecturers on campus.
And I’d like to think that Bram might be impressed by my willingness to be the bigger person.
I peer up at him and try not to shrink back at our sheer height difference. “You know what, Jordan? You’re right.”
“Hell yes, I am,” he says.
“I’m going to add a twenty-point curve to the quiz, and I’ll take this into account for future quizzes.”
He gives me a cool nod that makes me immediately regret my decision. It’s the same feeling I’d get after making out with a guy only for him to turn around and act indifferent toward me or when male opposing counsel would whisper that I was getting emotional during a mock trial.
But I keep my mouth shut like a good girl.
The rest of the class goes by without any issue, until the door swings open at the exact minute class is ending.
Dr. Wallace walks right in and begins unpacking his satchel as I dismiss the class.
“I’ve got a guest lecturer coming today for my constitutional law class,” he says without even glancing up at me.
“So if you could take any post-lecture discussions with your students to the hallway, that would be ideal.”
“You’re serious,” I say.
“Quite.” He leaves before I can say anything else and greets a man with bushy gray eyebrows and a thick head of hair that is definitely a toupee. A good toupee, but a toupee nonetheless. “Congressman Paulson.”
Both men walk past me as though I’m invisible. Fucking boys’ club.
I march out of the classroom with plans to take shelter in the adjunct office while I fume, but then a hand is wrapping around my wrist and pulling me into a smaller, empty classroom.
“You can’t let Wallace treat you like that,” Bram says before the door even closes all the way. His face is a little flushed, like maybe he had to stop himself from saying something to Wallace himself. “Especially in front of your class.”
“You think I don’t know that? Okay, sure,” I say. “Let me put the most tenured professor in my department in his place in front of a class full of first-years.” Miranda told me to handle the situation, but I can’t imagine that’s what she meant.
“And that lanky kid going on about fairness and quizzes. You should have shut that down.”