Page 9

9

ALISSA

What is it with this place? I’m not usually this much of a brazen flirt this early on a first date.

Of course, I’ve never had a first date quite like this.

I’ve been in the Chicago dating scene for over ten years now. I’ve seen it all. Usually they take me out to a fancy dinner—or to deep-dish pizza at Lou Malnati’s, my guilty pleasure—or occasionally we’ll frequent a bar. One time a guy drove me all the way out to the Medieval Times in Schaumburg, which was actually a lot of fun. Up to this point, that was my most unique first date.

Maddox just shattered that record, and we’re only ten minutes in.

But it’s not just this place, as bizarre as it is. It’s Maddox himself.

He’s not only easy on the eyes. He’s really easy to talk to.

I mean, we chatted quite some time in his haberdashery yesterday when I walked in on a whim. He has a sort of effortless charm about him, along with a slight edge. He changed the subject pretty quickly when I asked about his father. I didn’t pry. I of all people know what it’s like to have a complicated relationship with a parent.

But even beyond that, there’s an almost unhinged element to Maddox. Taking me here on a first date, knowing full well how weird it must look to first-timers, is a bold move for sure. And there’s the way he dresses, the fact that he wears a hat anytime he’s outside. Not to mention his bloody Rolls-Royce and his cozy haberdashery only a few blocks away from where I live.

Maddox is a man who is completely comfortable with embracing his eccentric side. The side that is open to trying new things, to stepping out of his comfort zone.

A side I’ve recently discovered exists in myself as well.

“Another drink?” Maddox asks, eyeing my empty martini glass.

I usually limit myself to one drink. But I’m taking the train home, and I’m sure Maddox will escort me to the station. So what the hell?

“Sure, one more.” I turn to Dudley. “Can I try the elderflower gin and tonic this time?”

Dudley nods and begins preparing the drink.

I turn back to Maddox. “So tell me more about yourself, Maddox. How did you end up with that gorgeous little shop in Uptown?”

Maddox takes a sip of his gin and tonic, frowning slightly as he places the glass back on the bar. “The shop belonged to my great-uncle. When I finished high school, I had a choice. Join the…family business or strike out on my own and pursue my own interests.”

“And you chose the family business? The shop?”

He shakes his head. “The shop had fallen into disrepair at that point. The building belonged to my family, but we hadn’t done anything with it in years. I struck a deal with… I struck a deal to get the shop in my name.”

Dudley places my gin and tonic on the bar. I grab the small straw it was served with and stir it gently. “So what was the family business?”

Maddox points at my drink. “First try that and tell me it isn’t the best gin and tonic you’ve ever had.”

I take a sip. I’m not normally one for gin—I know, sacrilege for a woman from the UK—but Maddox was right. The elderflower liqueur really brings out the floral quality in the gin quite nicely. It’s like springtime in a glass. The slightly bitter edge of the tonic water rounds it out brilliantly.

“It’s marvelous, Maddox.”

He smiles. “I’ve been ruined forever by this place. Can’t get a gin and tonic anywhere else.” He points at the bartenders. “DeeDee and Dudley are masters at their craft. Rouge hired them herself, apparently searched all over the world looking for the perfect bartenders for her club.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Rouge? That’s a person’s name?”

Maddox nods. “She’s the owner. Rouge Montrose.”

“And the Monstroses built the club.”

“Exactly.” Maddox takes another sip of his drink. “Let’s grab one of those tables. That way I can actually look at you.” He offers his arm and escorts me to one of the small tables surrounding the bar. He pulls out the chair for me and I take a seat.

He snags the seat opposite of me, taking another sip of his drink. “Anyway, Rouge is the granddaughter of the original owner, Ruskin Montrose. She took over around fifteen years ago when her father, Robinson Montrose, died. She really revamped the place. It always had the playing-card theming, but she took it to the next level, hired all new staff. She even brought her sister, Bianca, from Broadway to be the singer.”

I look over toward the Hearts section, where the beautiful blonde singer is still crooning away. “The singer is the sister of the owner?”

Maddox shrugs. “Guess it helps to be well connected.”

I clear my throat. “So…the haberdashery.”

He leans in. “Yes, to answer your question… I’ve always loved men’s fashion. Ever since I first got my hands on a copy of GQ. I thought about designing, but I’m about as creative as a box of rocks. So selling was the logical choice. I got the haberdashery in my name and, with the help of a bunch of small business loans, managed to get it up and running.”

I press my lips together. That isn’t the question I asked. I asked what his family business was. But he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, so I’ll let him steer the conversation.

“I learned everything I needed to know from those magazines. When it came time to buy inventory for the store, I knew which brands were the best, which ones I could get a good deal on wholesale, which ones were the bestsellers.”

I look him up and down. “Though, clearly, you kept some of the best clothes for yourself.”

Maddox fiddles with the lapel of his jacket, grinning. “Like I said, it helps to be well connected.”

“I had no idea there was so much to know about men’s fashion.”

“Oh, there is.” He stretches out his right arm. “For example, you see here how the cuff of my shirt peeks out just a little bit from under the cuff of my suit jacket?”

I nod.

“When my arm is straightened out, about a half inch of the shirt cuff should be visible. That way, when I bend my elbow”—he does so—“I expose a little bit more, including the cuff link.”

I take a closer look at his cufflink. It’s a gorgeous blue gemstone laid in gold.

“Is that a real sapphire?” I ask.

He nods. “Like I said, wholesale.”

“Even wholesale, those must have been terribly expensive.”

I shut my mouth. Look at me, talking about money on the first date. Good heavens, could I be more bloody gauche?

Maddox clearly does all right for himself. His car is evidence enough of that.

He adjusts his cuff link. “The shop has done well the last couple of years. I’m very fortunate. Besides the building, I started with basically nothing.”

“Very impressive.” I take another sip of my drink. “I must say, I’ve never met a man who takes such care of his appearance.”

Maddox frowns. “I sort of grew up in the spotlight. Every so often I would catch a photo of myself in a newspaper. And the photos were not always flattering. So I sat down with those GQ magazines and learned everything I could about how to present myself to the rest of the world. It shouldn’t matter, of course, but it does, and I wanted to put out a good impression. I learned all the rules—cuff length, for example, as you now know. Which patterns and colors go together. How to match a pocket square with a tie. The correct fit for a shirt collar. And there was personal grooming as well.” He runs his hands up and down his stubble. “A well-maintained neckline and jawline can mark the difference between scruffy and smart.”

I smile at Maddox. He just nerded out a bit on me, and I love it.

He mentioned growing up in the public eye. That’s interesting. So his “family business” must have been something in local politics, or maybe sports. He certainly has the build to be a good athlete. Broad shoulders, toned muscles. Not to mention his diamond-cutting jaw, highlighted by his meticulously groomed scruff.

Maddox continues talking, but I can’t help staring at him. How gorgeous he is, how perfectly presented every aspect of his appearance is.

And… Oh no.

Someone else in my life was like that. So into appearances.

I’m thinking back to my mother.

The day she really went off the rails.

* * *

Now that I’m ten, Mum expects me to help with the work around the house. I do my own laundry, clean my own bathroom, and am in charge of washing the dishes after dinner.

We have a dishwasher. I don’t know why Mum insists on washing everything by hand.

I guess that’s how she grew up doing it, and she doesn’t trust the dishwasher to get rid of all the germs and food crumbs that are left behind every time we have a meal.

We had spaghetti tonight. Mum made the meatballs herself. They’re way better than any meatballs you can get in a restaurant, which all taste like they’re made of dog food.

Mum is a great cook. She uses lots of spices to accentuate the mix of ground beef and pork that she uses.

But, of course, spaghetti is a messy meal. So I have my work cut out for me while I’m on dish duty tonight.

Mum has a multi-step process for dishes. The first thing you do is put a big pot full of water on the stove to bring to a boil. Then you scrape any leftover food into the trash before organizing the dishes by type. Glasses first, and then plates, followed by silverware, leaving pots and pans for last. I don’t know why that’s the order, but Mum says it’s the way it has to be, and she doesn’t like it when I diverge from her methods.

After you scrape, you rinse the dish in the sink. Then you get out the dish soap and scrub it hard. All surfaces must be scrubbed. Front, back, edges, and undersides, paying special attention to hard-to-reach areas like rims and handles. Then the second rinse to remove the soap.

Then we sanitize. Remember that big pot of water? Every dish, once it’s been rinsed, scrubbed, and rinsed again, goes into the pot of water. I have special gloves that let me reach into the pot without burning myself. Each dish goes in for ten seconds before we pull it out, dry it with a lint-free towel, and put it back in the cupboard.

I’ve been doing dishes for a couple of months now. When I first started, Mum would look over my shoulder, guiding me through the process. But tonight she is letting me do the dishes on my own.

I go through the process with each dish. It’s become pretty routine at this point. I sing little songs in my head to pass the time. Pretty soon I’m on autopilot, and before I know it, an hour has passed and all the dishes are clean and in the cupboard.

Mum walks in the kitchen, smiling. “This was your first time washing the dishes on your own, sweetness. How did it go?”

I gesture to the cupboard, beaming proudly. “They’re all put away.”

“Wonderful.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Mummy is just going to do a little inspection, okay? Check to make sure that you did a good job.”

“Of course, Mum.”

Mum looks into the big pot where I sanitize the dishes in boiling water. She squints her eyes. “Alissa, honey, come over here and look.”

I peer over the pot of water. It’s no longer boiling, but the water is still hot. “Yes, Mum?”

Mum grabs a slotted spoon from a drawer next to the stove and plunges it into the pot, stirring it around. She pulls it out.

There’s a teeny-tiny piece of tomato skin on the slotted spoon.

I take a few steps away. “Mum, I swear, I made sure every single dish was cleaned fully before I boiled it. There’s no way the water got any food in it.”

“Alissa, my angel, I knew it was too soon for you to wash the dishes unsupervised.” She regards the slotted spoon, her eyes narrowed. She looks back at me. “You’ll have to wash all the dishes again. In fact, to be safe, we should assume that every dish in the cupboard is now contaminated. You’ll have to wash all of them, not just the ones we used for dinner this evening.”

I fight back tears. I thought I did such a good job. “But Mum, that’ll take all night. I’ve got homework I need to do.”

She slowly turns her head toward me, twisting her lips into a smile.

I don’t like when Mum smiles like that. It means that another side of her personality is taking over. The side of her personality that tied me to the lemon tree all those years ago when I trudged mud inside.

“I’m being silly. Of course you don’t have to wash the dishes, darling.” She walks over to the cupboard, grabs a plate. “We’ll just buy new dishes.”

I raise my eyebrows. “We will?”

Mum, her smile not wavering a millimeter, throws the plate on the kitchen tiles, shattering it. I jump back, my heart beginning to race.

“Mum, what are you doing?”

She looks at me, her eyes wild. “You were the one who didn’t have time to wash the dishes tonight, Alissa. So we have no other choice.”

She grabs another three plates and throws them against the wall. She turns around and clears the entire cupboard with her arms, bringing them all to the unforgiving hard surface of the counters and floor, all while I stand there, too shocked to react. Pretty soon, the entire kitchen is covered in shards of ceramic and glass.

Mum then opens the silverware drawer and tosses all the forks and spoons on top of the mess. They don’t break, of course, but she’s tossing them to the floor so violently that they are bending a little out of shape as they hit the floor. She then grabs the pot of still-hot water and throws it on top of everything.

A little bit of the hot water splashes up at me, hitting my belly. It’s not boiling, but it still burns, and I cry out in pain.

Mum tosses the empty boiling pot on top of the mess, her body hunched over almost animalistically.

She slowly straightens up and pastes that same sweet-and-sour smile on her face. “Alissa, honey. Tomorrow we’ll go to the store and buy new dishes. We’ll take the money out of your university fund. In the meantime, you need to clean up this mess you made. After that, you may work on your homework.”

With that, she turns and exits the kitchen, leaving me breathing heavily in the kitchen.

I fall to my knees, not even noticing the shards of glass that are poking into me, and let out a heaving sob.