Madly (New York 2)

“Nah, I’ll take care of myself. You can go after your girl. See you around.”

She wasn’t his girl, not in the way Chasity meant. Not as he’d like her to be. But he couldn’t make up his mind to say so, couldn’t fully decide whether he’d like to hear what Chasity might have to say on the matter, and by the time he decided to speak, she was halfway down the block.

Winston went in. Allie wasn’t in the kitchen or living area. He checked the bedroom, then the patio, and finally found her on the roof.

She sat at the edge of the raised flower bed, her legs crossed beneath her skirt, her spine bowed in defeat. She didn’t look up when he sat beside her.

“You were rude to Chasity.”

She shrugged.

“I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am.”

“Forgive me for pointing this out, but I’ve seen you pleased. This”—he gestured at the spectacle she made, her dress and her posture and her face all announcing that she’d had a difficult day—“this is not a pleased, Allie.”

She shrugged again.

He stood. “I’ll be downstairs if you want to talk.”

She grabbed his hand before he could walk away. “Don’t.” She pulled him back to stand beside her. “I’m sorry. I’m being childish.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “It was bad.”

“Tell me.”

She told him, and he settled on the railroad tie beside her, listening to Allie tell him that she didn’t know how to do this next part, and that there was no reason to try to speak with her mother after all. It had all been harebrained and ill-considered. She should cancel the anniversary party and take her father home to Manitowoc right away. She would spend the next few years holding his hand through divorce, making him pots of soup to reheat and buying him new pairs of chinos when they went on sale at Kohl’s.

She might as well begin doing that right away. Right away meaning tonight, or in the morning at the latest.

She’d given up.

The sun had slipped behind the skyscrapers, leaving the light diffuse, leaching some of the heat from the air, setting the frizz around her hair aglow.

She would leave. He’d known this, although he’d thought they had two more days. Instead, she was already beginning to go. He could feel the goodbye in her arm where it pushed against him, in her fingers lacing over top of his. He could hear it in her voice.

It made him angry.

Allie had given up, and he wanted to shake her.

“I know you’re discouraged, but I want you to believe me when I tell you everything you’ve described sounds perfectly reasonable. These sound like the kinds of reactions one can expect in this sort of situation.”

“Then I didn’t tell it right. You weren’t there, Winston, you didn’t see my dad, or Ben’s face, or May. Even if you had, you don’t know them.”

“I’m an outsider. My views are irrelevant, is that what you’re saying?”

“No, I mean—” She shook her head, her shoulders dropping. “I can’t explain it right.”

“You didn’t respond to my messages.”

“I turned my phone off, sorry.”

“I phoned to ask if you’d like to go to the theater. Neville and Cath and Beatrice have tickets, and invited us to join them.”

“Oh.” She picked at her toenail. “You can go if you want.”

“It’s too late. They’ve already left.”

She sighed. “I borked it.”