Chapter 5
mad
. . .
OMARI: I’m banned from the Madison Spencer Coffee Club because I told your parents you were running a lil late?? I panicked. You’re too fine to lie about.
Iflicked an eyebrow. Flirting? Boy, bye.
I put the phone down, giving it a side-eye.
Omari Riche didn’t deserve a response. I tapped the screen to my music app, selecting the Hits station.
That beat right there! Yessss! I rolled my hips, getting low for a twerk workout.
I was about to go all out. Full-blown Baby Michael Jackson and grab my hairbrush when I heard a knock at my window. My shoulders shot up to my ears.
Hold on. No way Prime climbed up my fire escape. Besides, I’d canceled my subscription. Too expensive.
Weapon? Weapon? My gaze swept across my nightstand, and I snatched up the pineapple-shaped lamp. Good, heavy. I spun around and charged.
SNAP!
The plug betrayed me. That cord snatched me backward like, Girl, be serious.
The squeal that exited my mouth seconded my audacity, as if I couldn’t protect myself. But I damn sure tried. I landed on my rear. Nothing seemed hurt … except my pride, as I noted the face at my window. The next second totally didn’t come off awkward as I climbed to my feet. Is that man laughing?
“What? Why Wash-ing-ton? The window is cracked. You could’ve just said hello!” I strolled over to lift the lower sash.
“I told you I’d start stalking you now.” As he spoke, my mind abruptly contemplated some You-Netflix vibes. I was hooked on Joe Goldberg after binging the entire series. Why couldn’t a sistah get some of that kinda undeniable and unhinged love? Check. Check.
And unrequited, boy, I’m feeling myself so much I don’t have to feel you love. Check. Check. Check.
Washington lifted the bag. “I promised you dinner. Chinese. I got extra egg rolls.”
“Good, you may need one for that egg of a head you got the next time you surprise me.” But that didn’t stop me from waving him inside for free food.
“Damn, Maddy, you don’t gotta be so violent.”
“You can take over my life for however long it takes me to eat dinner. Then you gotta go.”
He placed the food onto the dresser and was glancing at my phone when I tuned back into reality. I nearly broke my neck to reach him. I figured Judge Bald & Order had observed me long enough to investigate. Flipping over the phone, I pressed the side button and lowered the volume.
I approached the door and peeked into the darkened hallway.
For his safety, not mine. But dang, I still felt like we were young.
At seventeen, I’d started at Stanford. Sneaking in and out of his room to …
cuddle, really cuddle, though it hadn’t been easy.
I murmured over my shoulder, “Keep quiet, and I’ll get myself a drink. ”
“What about me?”
After shutting the door again, I said, “I’m on a water and red beans and rice diet.” Which meant I couldn’t afford to buy soda. “I don’t think Lynetta will be okay with my sneaking a drink for you too, sorry.”
“Maddy …” He gave me a this-is-how-you-gonna-do-me look.
I shrugged. “You didn’t think of yourself when you brought this food.”
“Funny. I told them not to pass on the dry-ass almond cookies.”
“Touché.”
Minutes later, I returned with sodas, and he’d made a pallet on the wooden floor.
My eyes locked onto his attire. Some semblance of a three-piece suit. If he were wearing golfing pants, I’d have figured he’d hit the greens today. But … He’d gone to work. Anger flashed in my eyes. “You helped those kids!” I blurted. Okay, Mad. Too much. Even for you.
“Maddy,” he scoffed. “It’s my job. And don’t forget, you baked them cookies once upon a time.”
Once upon a time … meant before Elijah passed. I kept him alive in my heart. Not sure about Washington. He never even took a brief sabbatical. While our baby fought to survive, cue his replacement children at the courthouse.
Uncomfortable silence swallowed us whole. I kept telling myself that I’d once loved his dedication to at-risk youth, but this was another reason I divorced him.
Misery loves company? Bull crap. Misery wanted to sit her ass in the corner, alone, with a threadbare blanket, and rock back and forth while recalling the pain of twenty-three hours of childbirth. Maybe even suck her thumb like she did when she was ten.
Washington handed me a takeout box. The aroma smacked me, sweet and spicy. Some therapy in soy sauce form.
As he offered chopsticks like I wasn’t about to attack him for it, he cleared his throat.
“Cakes, too, Maddy. You also made cakes. And remember when a foster youth’s court hearing was on their birthday?
You had that one girl bursting into tears, without a mean mug though.
She was happy.” He seemed to want to say that I was too.
Throat thick, I murmured, “Okay, Judge Lo Mein, we’re having this conversation, huh?
” I impaled my stick in the orange chicken, as if I lacked the skill to grab it correctly.
Washington was messing with my desire to be bitter and alone.
“Red Velvet Velma had never gotten a cake. When I told her the flavor, she repeated it, mouth puckered like she’d drunk pickle juice.
Nope. Like I’d said I’d ground up unicorn bones.
Then she fell in love with my upgraded box cake. ”
“Yep, classy choice. Shame she never had it before then.”
“Seriously!” After unintentionally flicking orange sauce at him, I acted as though it was all part of the plan.
Washington shook his head and then dug through the bag for napkins. He gave me one, and his hand brushed mine. A tiny contact. But the spark caused enough electricity to run Vegas.
I shifted in my seat to ignore the electric current that coursed through me from his touch. “Let’s find her parents, Wash. Make them bake an apology cake. A tier for every year they were absent from her life. If the layers come out lopsided, we’ll …” Okay, insert something heinous here, Maddy.
“I’m loving the look in your eyes.” He chuckled, sipping his cola. “Menacing. I’m good with whatever you say next.”
On instinct, my hand pushed his chest. The solid fortress burned my palm like lava, and a wave of memories hit me.
Us. My manicured fingers clawing into his smooth, hard chest. So many positions.
But I played it off. “Mm-hmm, that’s not the type of reform you care about.
And I had better stop with the name-calling, Judge Babineaux, before your momma brings the holy oil over.
” My cellphone rang on the dresser, and I popped up, annoyed that Red Velvet Velma encouraged me to care for other children. I’ll never abandon you, Elijah.
Mr. Snitch texted me again. I swiped the notification up, keeping Omari on read, while settling back onto the floor.
“Who’s that?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I picked up my container and steered the conversation toward why this man had usurped my evening. “You know, when Montana and Zuri fake dated, your brother gave her $50k on each occasion. We should discuss compensation for our dates.”
“One, he plays for the Dodgers, Maddy, and she had that crazy baby daddy. Montana didn’t want Zuri to disappear out of fear.”
See! I need a You situationship. Or that old Sanaa Lathan movie.
Lord, how did that slip my mind? Black women needed way more screen time.
Especially as the primary obsession. Morris Chestnut and Michael Ealy chased her down in The Perfect Guy like the last Thanksgiving slice of sweet potato pie.
The unhinged one only needed to dial his fatal-attraction energy from a ten to a solid six. Seven, maybe.
“Did you hear me?” Washington cut into my fantasy flick.
I blinked away the very vivid, very shirtless mental slideshow. “Hmm?”
“I said, and two, we aren’t fake dating.” Washington slowly rubbed a palm over his bald head. He knew exactly what that did to me. His deep-set eyes locked onto mine, dark pools of water.
Oh, yesss …
“Madison, are you still seeing your therapist?”
Um, what? “Excuse me, Lifetime Ex-Husband, are you worried I’ve missed my meds?”
“Shonda gave you meds?”
His stare pricked me with a thousand stigma stabs. “Baby No, you’ve outstayed your welcome.”
“Are you on medication, Maddy? How can I help? You need reminders? Wanna talk about it?”
I lurched up from my seat. “Time to go!”
“Mad—”
“If I want to be psychoanalyzed, I’d schedule with Shonda.”
“How come you never understood that was the furthest thing from my intentions, Madison? Do you … still blame me for Elijah’s death?”
I’d kept quiet about that at first. Didn’t need my parents to have ammunition against the man my heart would forever love.
“I forgive you.” The lie choked out. I’d hurt this man a lot, but I never blamed him for losing our child. I’d rather let him feel the sharp sting of my words for some unnecessary crap than watch him wallow in that guilt. Who could recover from that? I wasn’t that type of evil.
I murmured, “Wash, I never blamed you for the accident. You still gotta go, though.”
My phone popped up with a text. Omari. Again.
Ugh. But if Mr. Riche hadn’t snitched …?
Yeah, right. I had no business craving romance when I’d never replace my son.
Still, I glanced at the phone to keep from staring at my ex-husband. Omari had left another funny message.
A smile creased my lips, pure and automatic. When I looked up, Washington pinned me with a glare. “Whoever it is, tell him y’all need a break.”
It’s not like that … but maybe I could use it to make Washington jealous. I straightened my shoulders. “Good night, Wash.”
“Bonswa, amour.” He muttered, Good night, love, in Kouri Vini, leaving me conflicted about the messy state of our lives.