Page 3 of Sugar (Gilded #1)

Stud, Attorney at Law

MADDIE

“ A re you listening, Mads?”

Shit.

I hadn’t been.

Looking up from my phone, I gave my mom my attention. “No, sorry. I was texting Greer.”

“We’re literally driving to her house right now,” she pointed out.

I shrugged. She should be used to it by now.

I expected her to give me shit, but rather than exasperated attitude, she began sniffling. “I guess I need to get used to talking to myself. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be gone.”

“You’ll still have Dad to talk to.”

She pulled her attention from the road to shoot me a sharp look. “Like I said.”

It was a fair point. My dad was great. Better than great. And he adored my mom in that nauseating way that made me cringe. But he was also prone to distraction, and almost everything said to him required repeating.

And a text message follow-up.

“You can always talk to Huey, Dewey, and Louie. They’re great at keeping secrets,” I tried.

She rolled her eyes.

It was a valid response.

I’d won the trio of goldfish with Wren and Greer from a sketchy carnival during junior year of high school. Since separating the fishy pals would be rude, we’d opted for them to live at my house with the assumption they would die within the week.

They were still swimming.

My mom liked to complain about being abandoned with fishy duties she never signed up for, but she was the one who’d replaced their tank with a massive one so they would have more room to stretch their fins. Not to mention, all the decor that kept showing up inside of it.

I used that against her. “Actually, maybe I’ll transfer them into a smaller tank and bring them?—”

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, proving that she was more attached to them than she let on.

When the look of heartache didn’t clear from her face, I gently reminded, “It’s only a short drive.”

“I know.”

“Once we’re settled, you can have one of your sangria brunches with the OGs, then Dina’s driver can haul you to visit.”

She laughed. “They’re not always sangria brunches.”

“I know.” I paused before adding, “Sometimes, they’re mimosa ones. Or Bloody Mary ones.”

My mom swatted at me, but my joke worked, and her tears slowed. For like half a second. “What am I going to do without you at home to annoy me?”

“Mom, this is the fourth year we’ve done this.” I doubted the logistics would make her feel any better about her favorite—and, fine, only—child going away again.

Though away was a bit of an exaggeration. Coastal University was just outside of Los Angeles. Barely an hour from home.

Unsurprisingly, more tears slid down her cheeks. “But everything is different this time.”

She wasn’t wrong about that, either.

I’d assumed senior year of college would feel like senior year of high school. Fewer classes. More partying. Excitement and anticipation and the thrill of the impending future.

But it wasn’t just more years of schooling that hovered on the horizon. Once I graduated, there would be no more classes. No campus housing. No set schedule to dictate my days.

Real life loomed ahead. It was so much more monumental.

And terrifying.

Unknowingly echoing my own panic, Mom continued. “Once you graduate, you won’t be moving back in during the summer and breaks. You’ll be off on your own. A baby bird, flying from the nest.”

“In this economy? Mom, we’ll be lucky if I don’t live in my old treehouse for the rest of my life.”

She gave a soft laugh. “You know you’re always welcome, but that won’t happen. You’ll be too busy taking over the world while you leave us in your rearview mirror.”

Mom shared my flair for the dramatic, but that wasn’t what the conversation was. She wasn’t being passive-aggressive, and it wasn’t a one-way ticket on an all-inclusive guilt trip. It was pride that mixed with the bittersweet sadness in her voice.

As much as I loved and appreciated it, her confidence in me did nothing to grow my own. Instead, it added to my turmoil over the daunting future.

I quickly swallowed it down as she turned into the gated community.

Wren and Dina moving into John’s house had broken the bond keeping everyone on the same street.

Greer’s family had moved a few short months after before upgrading twice more after that.

Only my parents remained in the same house, though I wondered how long it would be before they put it on the market.

Even if I had to live with them for another year or ten, we didn’t need the large family home with a treehouse in the backyard.

I was betting it was sentimental attachment holding them in place, but they deserved to be somewhere with more luxury and less upkeep. So long as they had room for me in a guest room, attic, or even crawl space, I would be fine.

Mom punched in the security code and waited for the wrought iron bars to slide open. Once they did, she drove through, easily navigating the winding roads as though she was driving to her own home—which wasn’t far from the truth. She pulled into the long driveway and took her reserved spot.

Literally.

There were customized driveaway bricks labeling spots for my mom and Wren’s. Our house had plaques for the other two. Not to be outdone, Wren’s house had anchored aluminum signs that looked right out of a parking lot, except they were bedazzled .

The OGs were that serious about their friendship, and that extra about life.

Staring out at the massive mansion that’d been like another home to both of us for years, I tried to memorize all the little details I rarely paid attention to.

The garden that took up half the lawn.

The angled windows on the first level that couldn’t open but were architecturally gorgeous in their uselessness.

The loose brick that was haphazardly stuck back into place after Wren, Greer, and I had attempted to drunkenly scale the house to sneak in after a kegger gone wrong—or right, depending.

For a wild moment, I nearly begged my mom to drive to Wren’s house.

I desperately wanted to see it, too. To reminisce about the hours spent swimming when we should’ve been studying.

To remember our small get-together at the end of junior year that’d turned into a rager within minutes.

And how John had whisked Dina away for an overnight away and hired a cleaning company to cover for us.

To notice all the tiny details and refresh the faded memories that seemed so much more vital at that moment.

Which was stupid.

I wasn’t disappearing forever. Neither were the houses.

I kept reminding myself of that until the elephant got off my chest, and I could speak without my voice wobbling. “Ready?”

“Uh-huh,” she choked out.

“Mom.”

“It’s our last movie night.”

Movies had always been a big thing for the OGs and us. When we were little, we would have a monthly girls’ day that involved lunch and a movie. Once Greer’s family moved into a house with a theater room and a projector outside, we’d started doing it there.

After we’d left for college, the frequency was reduced to during breaks—though we’d occasionally snuck in an extra night or two when one of us had needed it.

Tears burned my eyes. “I’ll be home for Thanksgiving before you know it. We’ll do our annual Elf viewing to kick off the holiday season.”

She opened her mouth before closing it. I knew she wanted to point out that it wasn’t the same. That we wouldn’t always be able to come home.

That after that year, nothing would be the same again.

But like me, my mom was exhaustingly chipper. She wouldn’t ruin the night with tears.

There would be time enough for that later.

As I climbed from the car, the front door of the house swung open and my goddess of a best friend ran out, her light brown hair flying behind her. “You’re finally here!”

“We were just texting. I literally told you we were right around the corner.”

“I know, I know, but?—”

Her words were cut off when my mom got out and rolled her eyes. “Sorry we’re only ten minutes early . I got caught up with Howie.”

It was innocent, but I still went for the dramatics as I put my palms to my ears. “Eww, Mom, TMI.”

My dad loved his practice—though my parents’ hushed whispers made me wonder if he was thinking about retirement. He claimed to be living the dream, but he loathed the paperwork involved. Rather than letting it build until the last minute, my mom went into the office to help him with it.

“We were working.” A mischievous smile curved her lips. “Although we do take breaks…”

“La la la,” I cried at an increasingly loud volume.

Ignoring me, she asked Greer, “Are you excited?”

“Very.” She lowered her voice until only I could hear her. “And not just for the morning.”

“What?” I asked.

“You’ll see. C’mon.” Grabbing my hand, she pulled me inside. She kept going, not stopping until we were in her huge kitchen.

The usual spread of pizza crusts and every topping known to man covered the island. There was nothing there that would explain her bouncing restlessness.

“Wow, so exciting,” I deadpanned. “You got pineapple for the pizza. Very edgy and controversial.”

“Patience.”

“What I’m known for.” I snagged a Diet Coke and rested my hip on the counter as I lifted an expectant brow. Her focus was locked on the closed doors that led to her dad’s home office.

“Is someone in there?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” she whispered with an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle.

“Is it a celebrity?”

With their stellar reputation, our dads saw their fair share of the Hollywood elite.

Their secluded and heavily guarded practice was located far enough outside of LA that discretion was possible, but they both occasionally saw an extra famous—and demanding—patient in other locations. It wasn’t a big deal.

It definitely didn’t warrant her excitement unless it was someone hugely popular.

“No,” she said. “And not a patient.”

“Then who?” I asked, totally lost.