Page 58 of Love is Angry

“Hm?”

Dad lets a heavy sigh out. “I knew he would cheat. Not even two years into their marriage, and the local tabloids were already screaming. She chose to turn a blind eye and focused on the family, on raising kids and doing charity events. Roxanne Spaulding-Echeveria was one of the best psychologists in the entire state of New York. But she was terrible at fixing the very issues that plagued her own home.”

I can see it. Clearly, even. Clearly, to the point where the taste of bile returns to the back of my throat. It’s getting so hot that I can barely breathe. I would like nothing more than to tear my own skin off so that the flesh might breathe for once.

Dad and I finish up the rest of our breakfast, dropping the topic of Julian and Roxanne, but so much of it still lingers. The fact that they had history is the last thing I would have expected. Something about that makes this whole situation feel even worse.

Once our plates have been wiped clean and the table cleared of all eating utensils, I head to my room to get ready for a much dreaded date. This is a step in the right direction. A burying of a hatchet, so to speak. But forgiveness, does Rhue really deserve so much after all he’s done?

I shake my head, suck in a breath, dab a smudge of blush against my cheeks. This isn’t about Rhue. This is about me. About my sanity. My strength. My will to move on .

Chapter 26

Madison

Cigar-shaped lanterns descend from the ceiling, forming a playful dance of shape and color with the red drum lights. 1872 Café has a pleasant vibe about it, its atmosphere warm and sophisticated. It smells amazing, of freshly baked pastries and ground coffee. The espresso machine’s steamers hiss and bubble as milk gets frothed for our cappuccinos.

“I haven’t had their ham and mozzarella croissant in ages,” Laura says in a cute attempt to break the ice and rid our table of the demons of awkward silence. Unfortunately, they’re stubborn little fuckers, and they’re drawn to whatever this is between Rhue and me.

I offer a flat smile. It’s literally the best I can do. Apparently, dad’s breakfast this morning wasn’t enough, and now I’m getting hungry. On top of everything else, my stomach has decided to join the stage. I swear, sometimes I feel like my body hates me. It’s hard to concentrate when every atom of my being sizzles while sitting so close to Rhue, and the hunger element makes everything a billion times worse. Despite that, I must keep a civil demeanor and not make a fool of myself. With Laura here, I ambeginning to think that Rhue is, in fact, trying to be a decent human being.

When it’s just me and him, I absolutely cannot bring myself to trust him, though that cabin episode does stab at me once in a while. His lips brushing against my earlobe. His hand in my panties. I was so wet, trembling like a leaf in his hold. His hard cock pressed against my ass. Jesus Christ, my mind drowned in the gutter that night, and I haven’t been able to get it back since.

“It’s a nice place,” I manage, slowly looking around. “I used to come here with my parents when I was little. They had a pretty cool kids’ menu over the weekend.”

“Oh, they still do,” Laura replies, smiling warmly. “They do birthday parties, too, but only in the back rooms. They’ve got three of those, big enough to fit a decent crowd in there.”

“Is this your way of telling me you want me to organize your surprise Eighteenth here?” Rhue cuts in with a sly grin.

The waiter returns with our cappuccinos and sparkling water. In less than a minute, our round table is loaded with a pleasing mélange of white porcelain, filigree silverware and crystal glass. The cappuccinos look like works of art, with dark chocolate drizzle designs dominating the creamy foam top.

“Maybe,” Laura says, once the waiter has stepped away. “It’s a cool place. Empowering AF, don’t you think, Madison?”

“Girl power all the way,” I reply, adding a piece of candied sugar to my coffee. “So, what kind of event are you planning at the Susan B. Anthony Museum?” I decide to ask, hoping the conversation might flow more loosely if I keep Laura talking.

“Oh, it’s just an auction. They do it every year. The curators scour the world and other museums for suffrage-related items,” Laura tells me. “Something Lucretia Mott wore, like a necklace or anything similar, or handwritten notes by Alice Paul, or one of Sojourner Truth’s journals, and so on. Objects that help put together an auction-worthy collection of the Suffrage era. Lastyear, they managed to bring home about 1.4 million dollars. The year before, 2.1 million. I’m hoping I can hit the 1.5 mark this year, provided my guy at the British Museum in London comes through with what he promised.”

I can’t help but stare at her. “It’s hard to believe you’re just seventeen.”

“She’s amazing, right?” Rhue chuckles.

“I represent Dad in this endeavor, of course,” Laura replies, her gaze dropping. She’s actually shy, and that just makes her all the more adorable. If only she and Rhue had a better father, none of this would be so difficult and uncomfortable. “But yeah, I’ve done a pretty decent job so far.”

“It’s your first time helping with the organization aspect?” I ask, slowly mixing the sugar into my coffee.

She nods. “Yeah. Rhue and I have been going to these events since we were kids, but it’s my first time behind the curtain. I have to admit, it has been quite the experience. Of course, Mom used to do this stuff before. She never missed a beat.”

Looking at Laura and Rhue now, I realize I have two simple choices. I can change the subject and move away from the mention of Roxanne, or I can delve deeper and grab the bull by the horns. I only met their mother a few times. Our last encounter was anything but pleasant. Sadness permeates their features. Rhue tries to keep a bright look about himself, and Laura temporarily focuses on adding too much brown sugar into her cappuccino, but it’s there. I can see it. The grief imbibes their expressions. I can only imagine how their hearts must ache.

I lost my mother, too, though not to suicide.

Mom left, and I don’t remember much about her anymore. I chose to try and forget her because dealing with her abandonment was too painful. That is a can of worms I have worked hard to keep closed, and Dad has always respected mydecision, never bringing her up if I didn’t mention her first. The bottom line is that I know what that kind of loss might feel like.

I can choose to be oblivious to their pain, or I can show a smidge of empathy and move this whole dynamic in a better direction. Rhue loved accusing me of being a home wrecker. Laura sought to use me as some kind of emotional replacement, though I kept my distance from the whole family after what happened. How could I not? But that was then. This is now. I can do things differently.

“Dad said he and your mom used to date,” I decide to say, hoping to at least stir the mood a little. I think we all need to ease into this part of our weird relationship. “Back in high school. She dumped him for your dad right before senior prom.”

“Whoa,” Laura murmurs, understandably shocked.

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