Page 95 of Host for the Holidays
Madi makes an appearance just as I’m finishing the omelet, the hold music alerting me to her approach.
Gut punch. It’s safe to say she didn’t change her mind.
“Only a fifteen-minute wait,” she says.
I smile even though I want to sabotage the phones at the call center. I hadn’t realized how diabolical I was until this exact moment, but my TV villain impulses are apparently all talk, because I settle for offering Madi some breakfast instead.
“You’re up early,” she comments as I serve her half of the omelet.
“Yeah. I”—thought about you for the past eight hours—“was too hot to sleep.” Partially true.
She’s eaten about half of her omelet when an agent with an incredibly thick French accent picks up. The woman asks Madi a question, and Madi’s expression turns into one I know all too well. I see it on my students’ faces on the first day of class when I start speaking to them exclusively in English. It is utter bafflement. Complete lack of comprehension.
Madi asks the woman to repeat herself, but ultimately, I have to step in and explain that the woman just needs Madi’s name. Next she wants Madi’s booking number, and as Madi repeats it back to her, I already know it’s going to be an ordeal. The woman is parroting it back, but she’s almost unintelligible. The only reason I can understand her is because of the practice I’ve had with my students’ attempts at speaking English.
Ten minutes later, I find myself pacing the front room, speaking French with Jacqueline from the airline, which is definitely a more efficient option than whatever botched communication was happening between her and Madi. I’ve turned into an interpreting service, explaining the situation to her and relaying her responses to Madi, who’s standing still and watching me intently as she waits for me to feed her hope.
Enter Villain Rémy from stage left, whispering in my ear. I could tell Madi there are zero flights departing from France between now and the New Year, and she would never know the truth.
Okay, that might be a hard sell. But I do have some power here.
I shove the villain back where he came from and listen to what Jacqueline is saying about changing the flight. I glance at Madi, feeling a bit sick on her behalf.
“There’s a 250 euro fee to change your flight,” I say. Madi’s hurting for money, and that fee is a pretty penny.
She nods, her jaw setting determinedly. “I’m gonna pay Siena back for it.”
Siena’s a good friend, but I kind of wish she hadn’t offered to do that. I get that Madi beingforcedto stay here isn’t exactly what I want. I want her towantto stay, but I guess part of me is hoping that, in time, she’ll change her mind.
But I do my job, conveying the information that Madi is aware of the change fee. I hate that I’m the one arranging for her to leave when I really really really want her to stay.
Jacqueline asks what date Madi wants to fly out.
I stop my pacing and ask Madi the question, even though she answered it last night. Better to check.
Madi looks at me for a second, her eyes scanning my face, like maybe the answer is there. “Today?”
Curse words.
She keeps her eyes on me, biting the edge of her lip. “Or maybe tomorrow would be better?”
I hold her gaze, trying to understand whether it’s my imagination or if she’s waffling a little bit now that the moment to change her flight is here.
I keep my gaze locked on her as I ask Jacqueline to look at tomorrow’s flights, trying to communicate telepathically to Madi that it’s okay if she doesn’t go. No. Not just okay. I don’twanther to go.
She knows that, right? I mean, I’ve spent pretty much every possible waking moment with her. Some non-waking moments, too. And there’s no way in heck she hasn’t noticed me checking her out. Or that I kissed her like she was the only thing keeping me alive.
But I could swear there’s a question in her eyes as she looks at me. And yeah, maybe it’s just because I want her to ask me that question, but I can’t help but think of my conversation with my dad last night. How quickly things changed with a bit of honesty.
“Monsieur?”
I blink, realizing Jacqueline is waiting for a response from me, for some sign of life on the other end of the line.
My gaze never leaves Madi’s as I ask Jacqueline to hold, my heart thrumming in my ears. I bring the phone down, and Madi’s brow furrows a bit.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“No. I mean, yeah. I mean . . .” I suck in a huge breath. “Madi, I don’t want you to leave.”
