Page 239 of Mad Girl

As I walked over to Vera with my wrists held out, I heard your sharp emphasis on my name. The dread mixed with fear in your voice.

The only way through this, I’ve decided, is to focus on the rage.

In the weeks following my outburst, my dad remained distant, spending extra time in his office or hanging out with the Harrises. Long dinners at their house. Late evenings at ours, two extra fingers of scotch poured over more talk of the election—the past, too.

They reminisced about their boarding school days—Libby going up against John on the debate team and winning, Nic and John taking their lacrosse team to the championship game but losing—while they sat close, my dad wedged between them, their heads lolled back against the sofa. Things murmured near my dad’s ear. Things whispered back. The teasing. The flirting. The touching.

How had I missed it? How could I have been so blind to what had been taking place, right under my nose, for so long?

Had the backdrop become so familiar that I stopped paying attention to it? Too caught up with my own problems? With reading? With school?

Or had I grown up too sheltered? Too ignorant to realize what normal adult friendships were supposed to look like?

One fall morning, the threat of starvation finally forced me downstairs. I found you standing over your teakettle, scrolling on your phone.

“You’re checking out some hot guy in vintage Ralph Lauren, aren’t you?”

You glanced up. “Vintage Dior, actually.”

I put the full force of my wrath behind a glare.

You chuckled. “I’m joking. Would you like to go for a coffee with me?”

“Aren’t you already making coffee?” I asked, gesturing to your teakettle.

“Yes, but now that you’ve finally emerged from your lair in something other than a robe,” you said, gaze warm and twinkling, “I’d rather do something with you.”

I crossed my arms over the sweater dress I’d put on, fighting back a smile over the lair comment. “Okay.”

“Then let’s go,” you said, switching off the stove. You rounded the island, grabbing your leather messenger bag off a stool. “Grab your book from the Garland Room. We’ll make a morning of it.”

So that’s what we did, taking the scenic route to a coffee house on Newbury that we loved, lucky to find a free table outside in the shade. We lingered over breakfast long enough that you finished your homework for the day, and I managed to finish half of my book.

As we emerged from the sunken patio onto the sidewalk later, I received a picture from Tinsley. A shirtless guy sleeping in her bed, taken early that morning. Hot night, the text underneath it read. I give his performance a 7 out of 10 for the abs alone. I lifted my phone for you to see.

Your eyebrows rose. “Very nice,” you said, smiling, and I shot you a look. “You don’t think so?”

Feeling petty, I said, “Sure. I guess if I had unlimited freedom like she does, I’d document my hookups, too.”

Your smile fell. “Would you, now?” You leaned in, lips close to my ear. “Be honest. Willoughby’s not really doing it for you, is he?”

You’d hit a nerve, and you didn’t even know it.

“Here’s an idea,” I said. “Cut your music off next time he’s over and find out.”

The cocky look melted off your face.

“That was a bitchy thing to say,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said tightly. “Here, let’s cut through to the Mall.”

A muscle ticked in your jaw as you placed your hand at the small of my back, keeping it there as we made our way through the first crosswalk, then the second one, then finally onto Comm Ave. You always kept a hand on my back when we crossed the street, making my heart soar especially high that day. It felt like a protective gesture. Like you cared. And I really wanted you to care, despite how bitchy and reclusive I’d been lately.

The sky was that deep autumn blue, the day crisp and bright. A light breeze lifted the loose strands of my hair, catching the leaves mid-fall, several of them zigzagging down on us as we walked. Trees flanked the walking path on both sides, forming a tunnel of green and yellow and burnt orange that always lifted my spirits that time of year.

A perfect fall day.

God, I miss that place—the Mall. It’s my favorite spot to take an afternoon stroll. Especially with you.