“What do you want?” I ask, rubbing the crust from my eyes.
“A peaceful continental breakfast in the parlor?” He suggests.
I contemplate slamming the door in his face, but instead I gently start to close it. It takes him a second to realize I am closing the door on him, and he sticks his hand between the door and the frame, preventing me from shutting it completely. I could sandwich his hand in half if I wanted.
“Madeline, please,” He starts.
“It’s 9:30 in the fucking morning,” I retort. “I want to sleep in. Come back in an hour.”
“Breakfast is over at 10 o’clock,” He sighs heavily, like this breakfast is his last dying wish, or his last meal on death row.
“Your groveling sucks ass,” I tell him, despite this, I’m surprised at how quickly I give in. He is my only friend at this time. I would be an idiot to decline a continental breakfast with him, even if I am mad. “Let me get ready.”
I put on a sweater that’s the same exact brand and size as my green one, but in blue with tan corduroy pants. It’s the ultimate cozy outfit. I don’t bother doing my hair or makeup because after this breakfast, I’m coming back to my room to mope until it’s time to see the concert. Even if I wanted to go out, there’s at least a foot and a half of snow on the ground and I’m not on good terms with my chauffeur.
When I emerge, he’s standing in the same spot, hands in his pockets. We walk silently, side by side, down the hall and down the stairs into the lobby. The entrance to the parlor room is adjacent to the entrance to the restaurant where we were last night. The parlor is nearly empty, save for a few breakfast-munching stragglers. All that’s left of the buffet is some oatmeal and single serve yogurt cups.
“Pick your poison.” Dean offers me a spoon, and instead of taking the one he is offering me, I take a fresh one from the pile on the counter.
I don’t like when my silverware is touched by others, even if it’s just the handle. Even the thought of eating at a buffet skeeves me out—the fact that there’s open food that people could be coughing and sneezing over. The yogurt was left out unrefrigerated, but the oatmeal was uncovered. I opt for oatmeal. I’d rather risk someone sneezing on it than tasting and getting sick from spoiled milk.
I place my cup of oatmeal on a tray and carry it over to a small table next to a window that overlooks the lawn, which is of course, covered in mountains and mountains of snow. There’s a lovely fire going in the nearby fireplace, and it makes the whole room feel quaint and cozy. I try to enjoy the atmosphere despite my unwanted guest. Dean sits across from me, and the table is so short that our knees almost touch, but I keep it together and refrain from letting my knees relax.
I eat quietly, looking anywhere but at Dean. Despite this, I can feel his eyes fixated on me, looking, watching, waiting. Still, I don’t say anything. I won’t apologize for my standoffish behavior after his stunt last night.
“We could break our deal,” Dean suggests.
“No, it’s fine.” I keep my eyes fixed on my bowl. “Then I’m really fucked. A deal is a deal.”
“You don’t have to pay me anything. And I’ll pay for gas too,” He suggests.
“Yeah, you better pay for gas.” I spoon a bite of oatmeal into my mouth when I see a woman with shiny red hair and a well put together outfit carrying what seems to be a hundred white flowers, coming up behind Dean. I keep my eyes down, ignoring her and Dean again.
“Dean?” The woman asks, stopping at our table, like she can’t believe she’s seeing him here, setting the flowers down on the floor. Her pale skin radiates glowing light, like it’s reflecting the snow, and she has a gorgeous smattering of freckles across herface. “What are you doing here?” She checks to see if it’s really him.
“Eliza?” Dean looks up and away from me finally, his voice nervous. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m doing florals for a wedding here at the mansion. What are you doing here?” Eliza looks surprised and caught off-guard by seeing Dean here, but she’s clearly trying not to be. She handles what must be a shocking moment graciously.
“I’m here with…” Dean trails off into space, looking anywhere but at Eliza or me. There sure is a lot of trailing off happening between these two.
“Madeline,” I interject. “It’s nice to meet you.” I say, ready to kick the elephant in the room squarely on the trunk. They both ignore my introduction.
“Why weren’t you at your mother’s last weekend?” Eliza asks, tossing her long hair from one shoulder to another. “She was very upset you weren’t there.”
“I had things to take care of,” Dean responds quickly, not giving me a chance to jump in again. By things he means me. “I’ll be there this weekend.” He clears his throat.
“You better be or she’s going to have a fit.”
“Are you going to be there?” Dean asks hesitantly, his eyes wandering from his bowl of oatmeal to her face for the first time.
“I’m planning on it, yes. She invited me.”
The pointed look Dean gives me tells me that was not the answer he wanted to hear.
“Who is this?” Eliza asks, completely ignoring my self-intro.
The flowers. His mother’s house. Enough awkward energy that it feels like a middle school dance in here. I put two and two together. She must be the ex-girlfriend.
