His stare pricked me with a thousand stigma stabs. “Baby No, you’ve outstayed your welcome.”
“Are you on medication, Maddy? How can I help? You need reminders? Wanna talk about it?”
I lurched up from my seat. “Time to go!”
“Mad—”
“If I want to be psychoanalyzed, I’d schedule with Shonda.”
“How come you never understood that was the furthest thing from my intentions, Madison? Do you … still blame me for Elijah’s death?”
I’d kept quiet about that at first. Didn’t need my parents to have ammunition against the man my heart would forever love.
“I forgive you.” The lie choked out. I’d hurt this man a lot, but Ineverblamed him for losing our child. I’d rather let him feel the sharp sting of my words for some unnecessary crap than watch him wallow inthatguilt. Who could recover from that? I wasn’t that type of evil.
I murmured, “Wash, I never blamed you for the accident. You still gotta go, though.”
My phone popped up with a text. Omari. Again.
Ugh. But if Mr. Riche hadn’t snitched …?
Yeah, right.I had no business craving romance when I’d never replace my son.
Still, I glanced at the phone to keep from staring at my ex-husband. Omari had left another funny message.
A smile creased my lips, pure and automatic. When I looked up, Washington pinned me with a glare. “Whoever it is, tell him y’all need a break.”
It’s not like that …but maybe I could use it to make Washington jealous. I straightened my shoulders. “Good night, Wash.”
“Bonswa, amour.” He muttered,Good night, love,in Kouri Vini, leaving me conflicted about the messy state of our lives.
The next morning, I lay on my stomach in bed, my cheeks still warm from my morning glass of Pinot. I scrolled through a listing of glassblowing art jobs. When all I had left was Mad Bold & Blown, I thought I’d start anew. Succeed without Washington. Without the Babineauxs, who had truly become more family to me than my parents. But then …
Inch by inch, my son’s memory echoed across the void. I couldn’t create art. Couldn’t promote my place. Couldn’t stay open for more than a couple of hours.
For some, the pain of lost love is a price worth paying for the happiness it once brought, but not for me. How long did their memories run? Had they laughed and taken candids at kindergarten or high school graduation? Had they at least seen their child married?
“Dang, Maddy, stop.” I shook my head. Instead of turning my attention to the job listings, I tilted my wine glass high enough to gather that last little drop.
No more breakfast boxed wine, girl.
Next ration would be at lunch.
A knock came at my window. My hand tightened around the stemless glass. My neck rotated suspiciously slow.
But it wasn’t Washington.
Okay.I climbed out of bed and tugged up the sash. “Latrice, girl, what are you doing here?”
Why was my ex-husband’s assistant climbing through my window? She wasn’t my favorite person. I had caught her staring at Wash a few times. She had no shame salivating over my ma-ahem.
“How can I help you?” Iliterallyasked her ass. Those big ol’ hips she used to slap her decorative fan with on Saturday night, and fan her face with on Sunday morning, shimmied through the opening. Why hadn’t she just stepped a foot over the normal way?
“Ye-yeah, help me, Madison.” She gasped, breaths ragged.
“You scared?” I asked, wringing my fingers together. This was my version of trying to be helpful. She hefted the other leg over, hands still on the wrought iron.
“Yep.” She climbed in, wilted against the wall with a sigh, then her eyes nearly detached themselves from her eye sockets as she side-eyed the window.
