Page 5 of The Ruckup
Maddie gives me a small smile that doesn't really reach her eyes. "Right."
There’s something in her expression—something that almost looks sad—and it draws me closer. I motion to the empty spot beside her on the sofa. "Can I sit?"
Her cheeks turn a little pink as she nods. "Sure."
I settle my big body into the space before she has the chance to change her mind, feeling a little more confident when she doesn't scoot away. "It's been a long time."
"Yeah. It has." Her delicate fingers tangle in her lap, twisting gently as her eyes drop to watch them work. "How have you been?"
I offer up the simplest answer. "I've been good."
Technically, I have been good. But, technically, I'm not super interested in discussing how I've been. I’m fucking boring. "What about you? How are you doing?"
Her body stills, muscles going rigid. "Fine."
That was a lie if I've ever seen one. A lie that gives me a little bit of a clue about why my parents want me to stay away from her. But I want more than a clue. I want to know whatever she'll tell me. All the reasons she looks sad and so different from the bright-eyed, smiling girl I remember. "It doesn't sound like you've been fine."
Maddie's eyes finally come back to my face. Her shoulders lifting in a small shrug. "It's a long story."
I relax against the cushions, draping one arm across the back of the sofa. "I've got time."
She huffs out a little laugh, eyes rolling to the ceiling. "I'm sure you want to spend your favorite night of the year listening to me complain."
Her words confirm a couple things for me. First, things aren’t going fine. At all. Second, Maddie remembers me at least a little if she knows tonight is my favorite night of the year.
It used to be anyway. The past few haven't been the same. Not since I started seeing certain things through the eyes of a grown man instead of a naive kid.
“Obviously, you underestimate my love of hearing complaints.” I stretch my legs out in front of me, using them as a blockade to deter anyone who might think of loitering a little too close to the quiet corner Maddie staked out. “And this party is way less fun now that I’m legally allowed to drink the punch.”
Maddie finally gives me a genuine looking smile. “I’d stay away from the punch if I was you. That stuff could start a house fire.”
The observation has me chuckling. "I think my mom’s primary goal every year is to see how many of their friends she can get on the brink of alcohol poisoning."
Back in the day, I thought the concoction was fucking amazing. I could get wasted without getting caught since it only took a little bit of sneaking. But now, the shit isn't worth the hangover that comes with it. Even in the off-season. I don't love being out of commission the few days it takes to recover.
Maddie's eyes slide over the crowd around us. "It looks like my dad might be the first one to succumb."
I find her father standing in the center of a group of people, talking loudly as he gestures wildly with his hands. "Are you sure? I remember him being pretty much exactly like that."
Maddie offers a little laugh. "That's because you only remember him from these parties when he was drinking your mom’s death punch."
A laugh spills out of me. "Great name. That's what I’m calling it from now on." My eyes settle on the cup in her hand. "Does that mean you're the designated driver?"
Maddie follows my gaze, staring into the cup of bubbling soda. "I thought they invited me tonight so we could spend some quality time together, but now I'm thinking your assumption is probably a little more accurate." Her dark eyes lift to search the crowd again. "I'm assuming my mom is in the dining room with the rest of the wives, bitching about their husbands."
Her observation sits between us. It's one I made a few years ago, when I started seeing this party through the eyes of an adult. When I started seeing my parents’ marriage in a whole new light.
Part of me is glad I grew up blissfully unaware, believing my mom and dad’s relationship was the epitome of health and happiness. I'm not sure how my teenage hormones—and the reactivity they caused—would have handled knowing the truth. Especially since I haven’t handled the truth so well as a grown man.
I pull in a deep breath, blowing it out. "I'm not sure I can blame them. If your dad's anything like mine, he deserves to be bitched about."
Maddie's face snaps my way, her dark brows pinching together. "What makes you say that?" Her tone isn't accusatory. Just curious.
I tip my head, trying to diffuse a little of the harshness I know my words will seem to carry. "I just mean my dad probably isn't the world's greatest husband."
Maddie seems to lean a little closer, her already soft voice dropping even lower. "Why not?"
"He doesn't appreciate my mom. Takes all the shit she does for him for granted. Pretty much expects that she’ll make him dinner every night. Do all his laundry, clean the house, book all his doctors’ appointments… And all he has to do is bring home a paycheck and occasionally mow the grass."
