Page 38

Madison

“I haven’t had their ham and mozzarella croissant in ages,” Laura says in a cute attempt to break the ice and rid our table of the demons of awkward silence. Unfortunately, they’re stubborn little fuckers, and they’re drawn to whatever this is between Rhue and me.

I offer a flat smile. It’s literally the best I can do.

Apparently, dad’s breakfast this morning wasn’t enough, and now I’m getting hungry.

On top of everything else, my stomach has decided to join the stage.

I swear, sometimes I feel like my body hates me.

It’s hard to concentrate when every atom of my being sizzles while sitting so close to Rhue, and the hunger element makes everything a billion times worse.

Despite that, I must keep a civil demeanor and not make a fool of myself.

With Laura here, I am beginning to think that Rhue is, in fact, trying to be a decent human being.

When it’s just me and him, I absolutely cannot bring myself to trust him, though that cabin episode does stab at me once in a while.

His lips brushing against my earlobe. His hand in my panties.

I was so wet, trembling like a leaf in his hold.

His hard cock pressed against my ass. Jesus Christ, my mind drowned in the gutter that night, and I haven’t been able to get it back since.

“It’s a nice place,” I manage, slowly looking around. “I used to come here with my parents when I was little. They had a pretty cool kids’ menu over the weekend.”

“Oh, they still do,” Laura replies, smiling warmly. “They do birthday parties, too, but only in the back rooms. They’ve got three of those, big enough to fit a decent crowd in there.”

“Is this your way of telling me you want me to organize your surprise Eighteenth here?” Rhue cuts in with a sly grin.

The waiter returns with our cappuccinos and sparkling water.

In less than a minute, our round table is loaded with a pleasing mélange of white porcelain, filigree silverware and crystal glass.

The cappuccinos look like works of art, with dark chocolate drizzle designs dominating the creamy foam top.

“Maybe,” Laura says, once the waiter has stepped away. “It’s a cool place. Empowering AF, don’t you think, Madison?”

“Girl power all the way,” I reply, adding a piece of candied sugar to my coffee. “So, what kind of event are you planning at the Susan B. Anthony Museum?” I decide to ask, hoping the conversation might flow more loosely if I keep Laura talking.

“Oh, it’s just an auction. They do it every year.

The curators scour the world and other museums for suffrage-related items,” Laura tells me.

“Something Lucretia Mott wore, like a necklace or anything similar, or handwritten notes by Alice Paul, or one of Sojourner Truth’s journals, and so on.

Objects that help put together an auction-worthy collection of the Suffrage era.

Last year, they managed to bring home about 1.

4 million dollars. The year before, 2.1 million.

I’m hoping I can hit the 1.5 mark this year, provided my guy at the British Museum in London comes through with what he promised. ”

I can’t help but stare at her. “It’s hard to believe you’re just seventeen.”

“She’s amazing, right?” Rhue chuckles.

“I represent Dad in this endeavor, of course,” Laura replies, her gaze dropping. She’s actually shy, and that just makes her all the more adorable. If only she and Rhue had a better father, none of this would be so difficult and uncomfortable. “But yeah, I’ve done a pretty decent job so far.”

“It’s your first time helping with the organization aspect?” I ask, slowly mixing the sugar into my coffee.

She nods. “Yeah. Rhue and I have been going to these events since we were kids, but it’s my first time behind the curtain. I have to admit, it has been quite the experience. Of course, Mom used to do this stuff before. She never missed a beat.”

Looking at Laura and Rhue now, I realize I have two simple choices.

I can change the subject and move away from the mention of Roxanne, or I can delve deeper and grab the bull by the horns.

I only met their mother a few times. Our last encounter was anything but pleasant.

Sadness permeates their features. Rhue tries to keep a bright look about himself, and Laura temporarily focuses on adding too much brown sugar into her cappuccino, but it’s there.

I can see it. The grief imbibes their expressions.

I can only imagine how their hearts must ache.

I lost my mother, too, though not to suicide.

Mom left, and I don’t remember much about her anymore.

I chose to try and forget her because dealing with her abandonment was too painful.

That is a can of worms I have worked hard to keep closed, and Dad has always respected my decision, never bringing her up if I didn’t mention her first. The bottom line is that I know what that kind of loss might feel like.

I can choose to be oblivious to their pain, or I can show a smidge of empathy and move this whole dynamic in a better direction.

Rhue loved accusing me of being a home wrecker.

Laura sought to use me as some kind of emotional replacement, though I kept my distance from the whole family after what happened.

How could I not? But that was then. This is now. I can do things differently.

“Dad said he and your mom used to date,” I decide to say, hoping to at least stir the mood a little. I think we all need to ease into this part of our weird relationship. “Back in high school. She dumped him for your dad right before senior prom.”

“Whoa,” Laura murmurs, understandably shocked.

Rhue raises an eyebrow. “That is–––”

“Strange,” I chuckle. “Very strange. He even has few Polaroid shots of him and your mom from high school, somewhere in a shoebox. I’ll gladly fish them out if you want to see them.”

“Nah, I don’t think—” Rhue cringes.

“Yes, please,” Laura cuts in, giving me a pleading look. “We don’t have many pictures of mom as a kid. Our maternal grandparents, they… Well, we’re not really in contact. They cut us off a while back.” There’s an underlying current of true emotional agony in her words.

“They cut you off?”

Rhue sighs. “Ever since Mom died. It’s like we’re radioactive. They text back and whatnot, but we haven’t seen them since the funeral. And anything Mom or Dad related is immediately shut down. Maybe it’s not even their fault. Das has been horrible to them.”

“It’s not just our grandparents. Mom’s sisters won’t even acknowledge our existence anymore,” Laura adds. Her eyes are glassy. “The Spauldings and the Echeveria never really got along. From the moment our parents got together…”

Rhue lowers his gaze. “Some people are just not meant to be together, and some people should never be allowed to be together, to begin with.”

“You’re talking about your parents,” I say, my face burning.

Laura clears her throat. “For what it’s worth, Madison, we’re not blaming you.

I know I’ve said this before, but now that my brother has joined this side of the conversation, I feel it’s important to say it again.

Everything that went wrong between Mom and Dad prior to her death, it was on them.

Not you. Lord knows you weren’t the only woman he…

I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bring you into the conversation like this. ”

“It’s okay,” I tell her, forcing myself to stay calm, though I can feel my anxiety lurking, testing the lock on my mental box.

“It’s part of our reality, whether we like it or not.

I’m just thankful you understand that it was never my intention to hurt you or anyone in your family.

” That’s not a lie. It’s just a half-truth.

Roxanne was right, in her own selfish, cowardly way.

The truth very much looks like it’s on the verge of breaking them.

It’s written all over their faces. Julian, as awful as he is, he’s all the family they’ve got left.

Especially since he’s pushed everybody else away on their mother’s side, isolating them, too.

Fucking monster. Putting his kids in such a horrible and difficult situation.

The waiter returns with our food order. The ham and mozzarella croissant for Laura and two sets of fusion crostini for Rhue and me.

The table becomes loaded all of a sudden, also accompanied by a sophisticated cheese platter and a fresh fruit platter.

The mimosas will follow later. For now, I’m not finding this entire outing as difficult as I originally thought it would be.

I am only getting more proof that Rhue is being genuine in his sudden shift.

Maybe he was telling the truth all along about how my mention of his mother sort of jolted him back into this elevated state of mind. I can only hope, at least.

Once the waiter is gone, I decide this conversation needs to go in a slightly better and perhaps more healing direction.

“Tell me about your Mom. What was Roxanne like?” I ask, smiling gently.

“I never had a chance to properly talk to her. I only know what the newspaper gossip columns wrote. Oh, and that profile of hers in The New York Times.”