Wow, Madison. Victim-blame much?
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I guess it’s one of those things you can’t really understand until you’ve lived it.”
With any luck, this Madisonwon’tever understand.
“You got all that from an informational session? You were gone, like, twenty minutes.”
“Sat next to a chatterbox. She was gossipy, but, hey, at least we know to avoid that guy.”
“Right. You’re right, I definitely don’t want to get involved withthat.”
Phew—glad I can check off that box.
My eyes catch someone at the other end of the room, and my heart skips a beat.
Ellie Aarons stands in the corner with his best friend—and Madison’s future husband—Patrick Leon.They’re such babiesis the first thought in my mind.
Don’t get me wrong, they’re both cute. Awkward, nerdy cuties. Ellie especially, but also… they’reeighteen.
“Him, on the other hand—I see real potential in him.” I direct Madison’s attention to Patrick.
“The tall guy in the blue?” she asks, perking up as she follows my line of sight.
“No. Not El—nothim. The other one. With the curly hair.”
Patrick really did have great hair in college, I muse. Dirty-blond curls that got lighter when he started playing intramural Ultimate Frisbeesophomore year. That’s when he really started to blossom. The current iteration of Patrick is a skinny, pale thing.
“The one in blue is cuter,” Madison says.
“He is, sure, yes, but I feel like the curly-haired one is better foryou.”
Damn it, Madison, don’t make me spell it out. You’re going to fall in love with Patrick and marry him and move halfway across the country and have an adorable (I’m sure) baby.
Madison gasps as if outraged and says, “You have your eyes on the blue, and you wantmeto distract his geeky friend.”
“No,” I protest, even though she hit the nail on the head. Idowant to talk to Ellie. But I also want to steer her toward the happily ever after she deserves. “No, I genuinely think you’d be good with him. I see realmarriagepotential. He’ll get hotter in his twenties, don’t worry.”
He really does. Ohboy, does he. Madison liked to joke that it was the Black Wife Effect.
Madison rolls her eyes and says, “I’m eighteen, I’m not looking to get married.”
I pause. Yeah, good point. Madison is focused on losing her virginity, not marriage. “Right, that’s fair. But if youwere—”
“Not everyone is dying to meet their soulmate on day one like your parents did.”
She says it cheekily. I force myself to laugh, but I feel hollow at the reminder. My parents met at college orientation, dated throughout undergrad, and got married the summer after graduation. They supported each other—emotionally, if not financially—through law school and medical school, respectively, and built a life together.
What did I tell Madison about them? I don’t recall the conversation. Did I brush it off as a simple biographical detail, or did I admit I’d always hoped my life might follow a similar path? Did I tell her that the thought of having someone by my side through the different phases of life had alwaysseemed wonderfully romantic? That I longed to carve out my own little corner of the world, a place for just me and my other half, where I would never feel lonely?
In the end, of course, my reality had not been quite so idyllic.
“Forget about marriage, I bet he’d be a great boyfriend too. Or even”—I think about how she originally got together with Jake tonight and pivot—“a great low-stakes casual hookup.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“I’ve got a feeling.”
“I know the two of us just met, but I want you to know I see right through you.”
