Chapter 10 Madelina
“Did you need me to drive you back to the city or something?” I offer, my voice etched with concern.
Eva tucks the soft strands of her hair behind her ears. She leans down, retrieving her bag from the floor quietly.
After I returned home last night, we indulged in a tub of ice cream and succumbed to our guilty pleasure of binge-watching Twilight.
Eva has always been Team Edward, while I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about as exciting as a rock. I mean, the guy barely says anything and follows Bella around like an idiot. Don’t get me started on Bella, because she is a whole other problematic character.
For me, it was all about Alice—sharp, witty, and refreshingly unpredictable. Eva insists that this is because I share those qualities. I can’t see it myself, but it always sparks an amusing conversation between us.
“I’m pregnant, but still very much capable of driving,” Eva snaps back, her tone sharp as glass. “This is exactly what I mean. Everyone’s going to start treating me differently.”
I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to tell her how lucky she is because so many women struggle with infertility.
Yet, I know Eva too well. She’s sensitive, and voicing my thoughts could set off a ripple that leads to another discussion about her feelings.
One must not anger the hormonal creature in front of me, I say inside my head.
“Okay, but promise you’ll call me if you need anything?” I say, hoping to reassure her. “Anything at all. Now that I have Beatrice, I can visit anytime.”
“Who?” she questions in annoyance.
“Beatrice, my green Mini Cooper.”
“You bought a car?”
“Yes, I’m sure I told you. Elliot helped me.”
“Well, sorry,” Eva drags, unapologetic. “I have more important things on my mind.”
I take a deep breath, willing myself to practice patience at this very moment. I open my mouth to respond, but pause, since I know whatever I say will be taken the wrong way.
“Maddy, promise me you won’t tell Aston?” she pleads, her eyes wide with a mix of urgency and fear. “Like, don’t breathe a single word. I know he’s your brother, but I need to do this.”
“I won’t tell him,” I say with uncertainty, knowing this will be the hardest secret to keep. “He’s going to find out, Eva.”
“Just give me time to process it. Then I’ll tell him,” Eva insists, a tremor of desperation in her voice. “But not now.”
“Okay.”
We share an embrace and I hold on to her tight.
It’s hard to imagine being in her position.
When Myles and I briefly discussed kids, we did so with excitement, even though we had planned to wait until the time was right.
Though Georgina, Myles’s mother, had other plans.
She made it her mission to inform me that my eggs won’t stay young forever.
Eva heads back to the city to avoid running into Elliot and Billie, worried they would notice her changed demeanor.
Given Billie’s keen intuition, I can’t blame Eva for seeking a quiet exit.
Yet Aston is just as intuitive. Surprisingly, he didn’t blow up my phone last night, nor question why I was upset and needed girl time.
Honestly, he’s so self-centered at times.
Out of respect for Eva, the secret will need to simmer a while longer despite my urge to tell everyone I’m going to be an aunt.
The morning rush at the café keeps all three of us occupied.
After Elliot’s brazen remark about my nipples yesterday, embarrassment flushes my cheeks every time I see him, forcing me to seek solace in the kitchen.
I even wore a black blouse, determined to avoid any accidental sightings that could add to my mortification.
I carry a tray of key lime pie donuts to the main glass cabinet and begin refilling them.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Elliot’s cocky grin, which is infuriatingly charming.
With my shoulders back and head held high, I refuse to play his games and instead focus on the tables, once the display is refilled.
A group of bird watchers just emptied table eight, leaving several plates and mugs. I was forced to engage in conversation earlier, and boy, were they a boring bunch.
Quickly, I stack the plates, and with my arms piled high, I head back into the kitchen only to collide with Elliot.
“You know, avoidance is a challenging game. There’s only so much you can do before you’re faced head-on with the truth,” Elliot teases with a provocative playfulness that irks me.
I exhale forcefully, the sound escaping me like a deflating balloon, as I unload the dishes into the sink. Rinsing them off takes precedence over whatever witty retort I might muster.
But I’m a sucker for punishment.
And still haven’t learned how to keep my mouth shut.
“The truth about my perfectly nice nipples?” I blurt out, irritation bubbling within me. “Am I supposed to be offended or flattered?”
“Flattered,” he replies, with a confident grin.
I press my lips together, forcing a grimace as I lock eyes with him, trying to unravel the twisted logic of this banter. His blue eyes shimmer with mischief, seemingly aware of how easy a target I am.
“I highly doubt there can be such a thing as bad nipples,” I retort.
A glimmer of challenge flickers across Elliot’s gaze. “You’d be surprised.”
With my hands freed, I place them on my hips, biting my lip to suppress laughter and curiosity. “And you would know, right? I mean, you’ve probably slept with thousands of women. Your nipple yardstick must be quite extensive.”
Elliot’s smile turns sly. “Thousands is a bit of a stretch.”
“Hundreds, then?”
“I’m not one to keep count,” he replies nonchalantly. “That would be ungentlemanly of me.”
“How many women have you slept with in the last month?” I pry, my curiosity turning into a full-blown interrogation. “Week? Or even in the last twenty-four hours?”
He leans over to turn on the faucet, cleverly sidestepping my questions. The scent of his aftershave lingers, but I do my best to control this need to lean in and sniff him like a deranged stalker.
“Don’t you have work to do?” he redirects, his gaze shifting to the bustling café. “Tables don’t clean themselves. And according to you, I’m your boss.”
An involuntary snort escapes me. “You’re such a guy. Deflecting the moment things get tough,” I say, unafraid of stating the truth. “And I don’t remember referring to you as my boss.”
Elliot finishes loading the top tray of the dishwasher, then closes it with a definitive snap and presses the start button.
Wiping his hands on his apron, he mutters something about maintaining a professional workplace relationship, and just like that, he is gone, leaving me standing bewildered in the kitchen.
His sudden mood swings feel like emotional whiplash; it’s as if he carries some hidden burden that shifts his demeanor unpredictably.
“Asshole,” I mutter the moment he leaves.
There’s no time to stew in my bothered state as a tourist bus has arrived. It turns out to be more birdwatchers. Who wants to stare into binoculars and wait for some rare bird to appear?
They are hungry, ordering pastries and paninis.
We’re close to running out of food, with only a few peanut butter–filled donuts and one plain croissant left.
A couple approaches the counter, their eyes scanning our dwindling treats, and I flash them a welcoming smile, ready to serve them before everything disappears.
Another successful sell-out day.
As my feet scream from standing, I lean against the counter, bowing my head for a moment to relieve the ache. Slowly, I lift my head, only to find an unmistakable figure standing before me.
The familiar sight of gray hair tied into a tight bun, and pearls glinting at her neck, jolts unwanted memories from my past.
Myles’s mother.
“Georgina, it’s, um… nice to see you,” I stammer, barely able to get her name out as my heart races with a wild mixture of emotions.
Georgina narrows her eyes, her gaze piercing and unwavering, as if sharpening a dagger aimed directly at my heart.
“Madelina, the nerve you have to show your face in town again.” She lowers her voice, but the callous tone is crystal fucking clear.
“Wha… excuse me?” I barely manage to stutter the simple words. “I, uh—”
“It never occurred to you how much shame you’ve inflicted on my poor boy? Being here only drags it out further,” she hisses, her voice a venomous whisper that cuts through the café’s chatter. “When Iris Bertram told me you were back, I couldn’t believe your audacity.”
Iris Bertram strikes again.
“You don’t… you don’t understand,” I stumble.
“Oh, I understand perfectly well what happened. You were using my son until someone better came along. I’ve heard from reliable sources you weren’t exactly faithful to my son,” she bites.
Elliot stands at the coffee machine, busy with orders from other customers who have unwittingly become spectators to this unfolding drama. An oppressive silence surrounds us as everyone in close proximity freezes, their eyes fixed on the confrontation.
Of all the places I could have encountered this woman, fate chose this moment.
I swallow hard, fighting back the rising tide of tears, each heartbeat echoing in my ears as I strive to hold onto my composure.
All the words I desperately wanted to say to Georgina are trapped beneath the surface, blanketed in fear like I’ve done something fatal.
“It was for the best,” I finally muster, though the words feel hollow against the weight of her disdain. “But I never once looked at anyone else.”
“And you expect me to believe you?” Georgina questions, each word echoing her passive aggression, as if she’s pointing a finger and branding me the villain. “Our family didn’t deserve the humiliation. The arrogant shamelessness you possess to return to town as if nothing ever happened!”
I bow my head, hands shaking as I try to muster up the courage to argue back.
“There’s a name for women like you.”
Elliot is quick to stand beside me, the sudden protectiveness easing my anxiety slightly.