Make Me Bad (Page 14)
Maybe I should have done it.
No.
I jerk the thought out of my head. I’ve moved on from my attraction to Madison. I’m not in her life for that. I finish my last bite of cereal and load my bowl into the dishwasher. After, I slam it closed a little harder than necessary and am about to switch off the kitchen light when I turn back and swipe the book off the island.
I have to see the color at least.
Just that.
They’re pale blue and lacy.
Fuck.
I’m not on the schedule at the library again until next Saturday. I know because I have an email waiting for me when I arrive at work first thing on Monday morning. It’s short and to the point.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Volunteering
Hi Ben,
If it works for you, I’ll need you at the library this Saturday at 8:00 AM. You’ll be helping with toddler story time.
See you then,
Madison Hart
Children’s Librarian, Rosenberg Library
Below all of that is a phone number. On a whim, I text it.
Ben: Hey, this is Ben. I just got your email. Saturday morning is fine.
She texts back right away.
Madison: Oh, great!
Madison: Also, maybe I should clarify that this is my personal phone number, not my work number.
Another text pops up right after that one.
Madison: I can get you the number to my work phone at the library if you’d rather have that?
Why in the world would I want that?
Ben: This is fine.
A little bubble pops up to show she’s typing a reply. It disappears. Then another one pops up in its place. It disappears too. She’s obviously overthinking whatever she’s about to tell me. If she were here in person, I’d shake her and tell her to spit it out.
Finally, a new message appears.
Madison: Okay, great. I just didn’t want to make things too personal if you’d rather leave them professional.
Another text immediately follows that one.
Madison: I feel like I’m not coming across well via text. Does my tone seem weird to you?
Andy walks into my office then with a cup of coffee in hand. He’s whistling under his breath, much too happy to be in the office this early on a Monday morning.
“Who’re you texting?” he asks once he sees my phone in my hand.
“I’m not texting. I’m checking my emails.”
“Okay, first of all, you’re smiling, so I know you’re lying. Second of all, why would you check your emails on your phone when you’re sitting at your desk with your computer right in front of you?”
I glare at him and make a point of dropping my phone, turning my attention to my computer, and going straight to my email.
“Do you need something?” I ask brusquely.
He helps himself to the seat across from my desk usually reserved for clients, crosses one ankle over his knee, and gets comfortable. He’s smiling at me. His blond hair’s a little disheveled. His socks are brightly colored and striped. He’s getting on my last nerve.
I want to tell him to get out of my office, but he speaks up first. “I wanted to check in and see how things went on Friday. You left early.”
My phone vibrates and we both stare at it.
“Need to get that?” he asks, eyebrows raised tauntingly.
“It’s fine,” I say, turning back to my computer.
He sips his coffee, eyes narrowed on the window behind my head as if he’s just enjoying the morning sunrise.
He has work to do. We both do.
My phone vibrates again, a reminder that I didn’t open the last text message.
Andy clears his throat and with a near growl, I grab the phone like I’m angry at it.
Madison: You know what? Forget I said all of that. Ha ha. Also, I’ll stop texting you now. You’re probably very busy at work.
I fire back a quick response.
Ben: I texted you first, remember? Also, I don’t have a client meeting until 9:00 AM.
I’m staring down, waiting for the little dots to pop up again. She clearly doesn’t subscribe to the standard rules of texting as evidenced by the fact that she texted me three times in a row before I replied. Now, nothing.
The dots don’t appear. I lock my phone, unlock it, open my texts again. Nothing new has come through.
Then something finally does.
Andy: Hi.
I resist the urge to laugh. I really do hate the guy.
When I glance up at him, he’s smiling over his cup of coffee, phone in hand, pleased with himself.
“Anything you’d like to share?” he asks, feigning innocence.
“Nothing.”
“I saw you disappear with Madison at the party.”
I open my desk drawer, drop my phone inside, and then slam it closed. “I was in the bathroom.”
“For thirty minutes?”
I shrug. “Bad fish.”
“We live on the coast—there’s no such thing.”
“Andy, I’m not going to talk to you about her.”
“Oh I know. I’m just over here wondering why that is.”
I’m saved from having to reply to him when my secretary, Mrs. Cromwell, walks in with an armful of files.
I work straight through the morning and then meet my dad for lunch at the club. I don’t see him as often as I should, especially considering how close we live to one another. I think it’s easier for both of us to have some distance. The last few years have been hard, and I don’t think either of us has quite adjusted to the reality of our situation: it’s just the two of us now.
He met my mom when they were teenagers and they got married young. She was with him through college and law school, and she helped him build his practice to what it is today. He’s one of the top litigators in the state and has no plans to retire any time soon.
We look a lot alike, and though his hair has turned gray and he wears glasses now that his eyesight isn’t as sharp as it used to be, he’s still a handsome guy. He could date if he wanted to, but I know he won’t.
“Tell me something good,” he says after we finish our meals and the waiters are clearing our plates.
I lean back in my chair. “The firm’s really taking off. I think we’ll need to hire—”
He laughs and the skin around his eyes crinkles. “Outside of work, son.”
Right. That’s all we talked about through lunch.
I wipe my mouth with the linen napkin and fold it neatly across the table, stalling. “The house has really come together. The landscape architect you recommended put the finishing touches on the back yard last week, and with the pool, it’ll be a nice spot for entertaining.”
I’m not sure he means for me to see his disappointment, but it’s there in his subtle frown, in the way he nods but doesn’t offer a reply.
He scoots his chair back from the table after signing the bill, and we walk in silence toward the door. Once we’re outside, standing shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the valet to bring around our cars, he speaks about the subject we usually do our best to tiptoe around.
“I’ve been hoping you’d come to terms with your mom’s passing on your own, but it occurs to me that I might have failed you in that department.”
We’re both staring out at the manicured golf course, unwilling to turn and meet the other’s eyes. We don’t talk about this, at least not often. If he’s bringing it up, it’s with a hell of a lot of courage.
“I was with her for 47 years, Ben. The suffering there at the end was only for a short while. Ask me if I regret the 47 years because of how it ended. Go ahead.”
It’s too hard to swallow past the lump in my throat, much less speak.
“The answer’s no. I don’t regret a single damn day. If you want to keep your focus on that firm and that house, that’s all right. It’s your life, your only life, and you get to choose how you spend it. I just don’t want you to get to my age one day and regret…” He pauses and scratches his chin, buying himself time. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m rambling, aren’t I? Look, there’s my car. You’ll be free of me soon enough. Forget I brought it up, all right?”
He claps my shoulder twice and then steps forward to greet the valet. I catch his boisterous laugh and the few words they exchange, but my attention is still on the horizon.
It’s your life, your only life, and you get to choose how you spend it.
I reach into the pocket of my pants and pull out my phone.
10
Madison
I honestly didn’t expect to hear from Ben again. After the strange way we ended things on Friday, I sort of expected him to cancel his volunteer assignment at the library and avoid me at all costs. My email to him was my way of casually putting the ball in his court. Are we going to steer clear of each other from now on? Pretend we don’t know each other? Or is the “make me bad” plan still on?
So, you can imagine my utter shock when I saw his text message pop up on my phone first thing this morning. Hey, this is Ben. I just got your email. Saturday morning is fine. It felt strange and thrilling and wonderful and I replied quickly because I was so excited, but now in hindsight, I realize I should have waited and played it cool.
His text was kind of curt, impersonal. One reply from me would have sufficed, but no, I had to let my fingers fly and send off half a dozen rambling messages before common sense finally kicked in and I nearly flung my phone at the wall. Reading our conversation back to myself only made matters worse. None of my texts make any sense. I asked him about my tone?! If he wanted my work number?!