Chapter 10
washington
. . .
Two Weeks Later
Ihadn’t taken Madison seriously when she limited our meetings to DuVall events. But she’d been true to her word, ghosting me for the past two weeks. It felt awkward contemplating slinking up her fire escape as if I were thirsty.
Hell, I was.
But after the fire I endured with her thighs wrapped around me on her sister’s porch, I expected her to play hard to get.
A little. The woman had forgotten I existed.
Madison had me checking to confirm I had even reached out and tried to call her.
On March first, I left her the most pitiful voicemail.
I hoped we could talk about Elijah, but she never responded.
Texts? Not even left on read.
Now, Momma had taken over my Sunday. My entire day, to be specific. First church, then she had dragged my ass to City Park, and I carried her tote bags with the Hot Chicken I don’t.”
“Sorry … I didn’t mean any disrespect, Momma Virginia.” Madison stepped back after the hug. “I have … this thing … with the soap. Gotta buy some lavender soap.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “I, uh, love you, Momma Virginia. Bye, Wash.”
I stepped forward, and as she turned around to run, I strode with her. “Didn’t know avoiding my calls required a whole farmers market.”
She stopped, lowered her sunglasses, and scanned the crowd. “I wasn’t avoiding you. I was … abiding by the rules of your contract. You love law-abiding citizens, don’t you, Probation Papi?”
Her subsequent eye roll implied she’d reconsidered that title. I smiled at her. “I was waiting for your daily dose of teasing, but call me Probation Papi whenever, chère.”
She snatched her glasses off. That look said it all. Yep. She saw me as an unpaid bill. Eviction notice. All of that. Her eyes swung away and softened. “Momma Virginia, you gonna let your son harass me in broad daylight?”
“Wi, bébé.” Momma waved. “I raised him on cornbread and conviction. If he’s harassing you, it’s love.”
As I chuckled, the woman of my dreams backed away. Madison teased, “Enjoy hanging out with your momma!”
“I will. She’s my accountability partner.”
“For what, buying kale?”
“For not chasing you across this market.”
“Mm-hmm.” Madison’s smile fell a second later.
Something seemed to capture her attention, and her eyes transformed into pure rage.
As she reached for my chest, I grabbed her wrist. Madison gestured to my shirt.
Damn, I knew what she saw. I allowed her to pull out the gold necklace I kept tucked inside my shirt. My wedding band dangled from the chain.
“Wh-why are you wearing this?” Her eyes narrowed. “I saw the necklace but wasn’t too sure I saw the band when we attended Gaston’s event, all matchy-matchy. But why? Why would you wear that?”
“Because I can, Madison,” I growled. It took me six months to remove my gold band. When I did, I still hadn’t gotten my vows outta my mind, so I slipped it around an old Cuban link chain I hadn’t worn in a while and placed it around my neck.
Madison shook her head. “You know what? Whatever. If you’re more confused than a pretzel and a game of Twister about our divorce, that’s on you.”
“Confused, huh? Confused?” Guess who was being manhandled now. I snatched her by the waist, my hands as tight as possible. Damn straight, I wanted to hurt her. Okay, maybe not that much, so I readjusted my hold. I glared into her eyes. “I still love you, Maddy.”
“Then why are you roughhousing me in front of your momma?”
I know it didn’t hurt her because she laughed as I glanced over my shoulder. Momma wasn’t looking. Good. That saved my ass.
Madison laughed again. “Gotta run, Mr. Baby No. Meeting someone at NOMA. Work thing. I may be able to pay you for the vandalism. Prorated since I did the first date, buh-bye!”
She what? Of course, I wanted my woman to make money and care for herself. But she couldn’t break my contract. Why hadn’t I thought about that? Make that thing so binding she’d have to pay me a billion dollars to break it because she’d signed it.
With a two-finger salute, Madison walked away with the last word, my dignity, and my damn heart.
Momma elbowed me after a moment. “M? garcon, if you’re gonna stand there looking pitiful, at least do it with purpose. Broaden them shoulders.”
Too busy watching Madison, I barely heard her. My wife stopped at an art stall, and a man, glancing around, approached her wearing tight jeans and dingy-ass confidence. He hugged her as if he’d been waiting.
Work meeting, my ass! She was on a date. “Uh … Momma. These are getting too heavy,” I lied, lifting the tote bags while eyeing Maddy. “Lemme put them in the car. Be back in a minute.”
Madison and her date, some pale-looking brotha, not Omari Riche, strolled toward the New Orleans Museum of Art, located farther inside City Park. This woman was trying to take my life!
How was she dating multiple dudes and my closest relationship was a large oak tree?
I was rubbing all up on the bark and everything as I worked my way around it to stalk her.
Then I retraced my steps to the building’s side, all 007 meets Mission Impossible.
I crept around the ionic pillars and glanced inside the museum.
Damn, where were they? I cussed under my breath, did a full three sixty, and found Madison and her date standing on the farthest side of the fountain by the driveway, looking over the lake. Romantic ass.
I strolled toward them, leaving Momma’s tote bags on the short fountain edge facing NOMA. Then I strutted around the cold stone, chest puffed out like George Jefferson, knowing good and well I’d listen in first.
With my vantage point of half her face and the back of his head, I assessed the situation and sighed. Oh, thank God. Everything was going left. The guy tilted his phone her way. As Madison glimpsed the screen, she stepped back, and her expression went from polite to boy, you got me messed up.
From my angle, I caught sight of the screen.
No. Nope. The audacity was on full display, in high definition. But it was little. Noodle little.
Dude was one pixel away from having me come out of my farmers-market Nike-Tek suit and into a mugshot.