Date Me Like You Mean It

“Yeah?” I venture quietly.

“I can’t forget it…not even if you asked me to.”Chapter SixMaddieThe next morning, I crack my bedroom door open and peer out, looking for signs of life. With laser-focused attention to detail, I sweep my gaze over the living room and kitchen. Aiden isn’t here. At least, he’s not in the common area. Without a second thought, I grab my purse, throw my door open, and make a run for it.

It’s not that I’m afraid of confrontation; it’s that I don’t have the energy for it bright and early on a Sunday morning. My plan is to be away from the condo all day. It’s easy enough to do on a summer day in Austin. I start by reading on the grounds of the state capitol. I have a late brunch at Caroline and treat myself to waffles with loads of hot maple syrup. Afterward, I take a walk around Town Lake and feed the ducks some of my leftover brunch. Of course they get a little greedy as I try to walk away, and for a good quarter of a mile, I have a line of impatient quacking waterfowl trailing after me.

“Mom! Look!” a little girl says in wonder. “She’s like Snow White!”

Then a duck quacks loudly and nips at my heel.

“Ouch! Dammit!”

The mom rushes her daughter away from me, creating earmuffs with her hands to cover the child’s ears.

In the early afternoon, I show up at Blythe and Mia’s apartment. They’re still in their pajamas, planning on spending the day binge-watching period films. Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette is up next.

After I make myself at home, they ask me what I’ve been up to today.

“Oh, not much. Just exploring the city.”

Blythe hums.

I don’t want to explore that hum. I don’t care what her hum means. I just want to eat popcorn and concentrate on Jamie Dornan in his role as Marie’s lover.

Any time they try to talk during the movie, I say, “Let’s pretend we’re in a movie theater”—i.e. Shut your trap.

At the end of it, Blythe stands up and yanks the popcorn bowl away from me.

“Okay. Out.”

“What!?”

“We know you’re hiding out here, using us.”

I act deeply affronted. “Can’t I spend a Sunday afternoon with my two best friends without being accused of hiding out?!”

“Sure, yeah, if Aiden hadn’t called earlier asking us if we’d seen you.”

Drat.

“Also, by the way, it’s our five-year anniversary.”

I clap my hands together in excitement. “That’s wonderful! Why don’t I go out and get some stuff to make dinner? Oh! And I’ll bake a cake too!”

“No. Up. Out,” Mia says, coming over to physically remove me from the premises.

“Okay! Ouch, you don’t have to pinch me,” I say as the two of them kick me to the curb.

“Go home. Talk to Aiden.”

That sounds like a horrible plan.

Instead, I return to the streets of Austin, fortunate enough to stumble upon a farmer’s market. I taste all the free samples then loop around again for seconds. Feeling bad, I eventually buy a few things: some fresh sunflowers and artisanal cheeses. Aiden loves cheese, but I didn’t buy it for him, I adamantly assure myself.

Near dinnertime, my stomach pains prod me back to our condo. I know I’ll have to face the music eventually. With heavy feet, I climb the stairs and unlock our door.

Aiden’s at the stove, cooking and asking a person on speakerphone questions about the recipe.

“I just added the chicken broth. Is it supposed to boil?” he asks.

“Yes, and now pour in the pasta. Once you’re done, make sure you cover it.” I recognize his mom’s voice. “The pasta only cooks through if you cover the pan.”

“But if I pour it all in, it looks like it’s going to overflow.”

She laughs. “It won’t. Just pour it in gently so it doesn’t slop over the sides.”

“Okay, and then how long do I let it go for?” he asks, adjusting the heat.

“About fifteen minutes. Stir it every so often so the pasta doesn’t stick.”

“Got it. Thanks. I think it’ll turn out halfway decent. Nothing like yours, but it’s the best I could do.”

“She’ll love it.”

I smile, knowing full well what dish Aiden has on the stove. It’s my favorite: a creamy tomato-based sauce mixed with Italian sausage and tortellini. His mom makes it any time she comes down to visit.

“Hi Mrs. Smith,” I say, announcing myself to the both of them.

Aiden whips around, surprised I was able to sneak up on him. I drop my farmer’s market finds onto the island and head over so I can peer into the pan.

“It looks good. Almost like your mom’s.”

“Now don’t get carried away,” she teases on the other end of the line.

“All right, Mom. I think I got it from here,” Aiden says, picking up his phone.

“Call if you need any more help. Love y’all.”

“Bye!” we chime in unison.