I hardly recognize him …
“This is new,” I say, tugging at his shirt.
He leans across the sink, reaching for a bottle of cologne. Meanwhile, I can’t take my eyes off this new version of him—not that there was anything wrong with the old version. Madden Ransom is Madden Ransom. Hot as sin. I’ll take him any way I can. Clothes or no clothes.
He puts the cologne back and returns to the makeshift living room without saying a word. But he doesn’t have to. I know he did this for me.
I just don't know why.
We pull past the iron gates and into the circle drive at a quarter past seven. We’re the tiniest bit late, but my parents are so preoccupied I doubt they’ll notice, and if they do, they’re not going to make a fuss in front of company.
“Head to the circle drive,” I tell him, pointing toward the fountain and the fully-lit front facade of the house where a team of young men in red sports coats operate tonight’s valet stand.
With a Mercedes in front of us and a Bentley behind us, his vintage GTO with its purring engine and growling muffler is completely out of place—and I love it.
We climb out when it’s our turn, and he hands over his keys with reluctance, telling the young man who’s about to climb in something about the clutch being sticky.
“Come on.” I loop my hand into his arm and drag him toward the front entrance, where Eloise is stationed to greet guests.
“Miss Brighton, good to see you tonight.” She speaks to me but she looks at Madden. Her eyes light up. She didn’t get to meet him last month when we had him over for dinner. She’d already gone home by then. And I haven’t brought him back since. “And who’s this handsome gentleman on your arm?”
“Eloise, this is Madden,” I say. “Madden, this is Eloise. She’s worked for our family for almost twenty years now.”
“I’ve known this one since she was in diapers,” Eloise says, swatting her hand. “Cutest little thing you’ve ever seen. Used to run up and down these halls, little blonde pigtails bouncing, singing at the top of her lungs. Free as a bird.”
Funny. I don’t remember that. Though I suppose no one remembers anything from that young of an age. Still, it’s good to hear that I was “free as a bird” at some point in my life, that I wasn’t always locked in a gilded cage by my own parents.
“Go on inside,” Eloise says when she spots the next guests behind us. “You two have yourself a wonderful time, okay?”
I take him through the foyer, past the curved staircase, down the hall and out the back door to the patio by the pool.
White tents cover our backyard and a local band is playing cover songs, mostly upbeat seventies rock, the kind of music that makes my parents and their friends want to get up and dance.
A buffet table covered in enough food to feed a small country is set up on the patio just off the north side of the house, and a long line has already formed.
My parents go all out any time they have something catered, only booking the best local hot spots with mile-long wait lists.
Inside the pool house, my parents have set up a bar, and from here, I see it’s their usual line-up of nothing but top-shelf liquors, vintage wines, and imported beers.
Scanning the yard, I spot my mother and father chatting up a state senator, one my father had a hand in getting elected this last time. Working in the pharmaceutical industry, my father has made no bones about the benefits of having politicians in your back pocket at all times. In a lot of ways, he’s almost made it a side gig of his—collecting as many influential Washington types as possible. He always says you never know when you’re going to need to phone in a favor …
“You doing okay?” Madden asks me.
I must look ridiculous, standing here frozen in my own backyard, but I can’t deny my sweaty palms, racing heart, or the fact that I practiced what I was going to say at least a half dozen times on the drive over here.
He eyes the bar in the pool house. “You look like you could use a drink. Stay here.”
If my parents didn’t think I was becoming a lush, they're sure as heck going to think that tonight. But whatever. I need something to take the edge off my nerves so I can get this over with.
Madden returns a few minutes later, handing me a glass of white wine. I take a sip, letting the crisp sweetness linger on my tongue.
“Didn’t know what kind of wine you liked, so I got you a dessert wine,” he tells me.
“Thank you.” I take another sip, deciding here and now that this is the most amazing drink I’ve ever had in my life.
He sips from a bottle of Stella Artois. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
In that moment, my mother spots me from across the yard, pointing and waving and tapping on my father’s arm. They’re halfway here when Madden places his arm around the small of my back.
Leaning in, he whispers. “You’ve got this.”
“Brighton,” my mother says when she approaches. She kisses the side of my cheek. “We were wondering when you were going to arrive.” Mom turns to Madden. “And you brought Madden. How lovely to see you again.”
My father gives Madden a nod. “Glad you could make it.”
He lifts his beer. “Thanks for having me.”
“Did you see the spread? The brisket is to die for.” Mom points toward the catering station. “I’m sure you two are starving.”
What she’s really trying to say is, “Don’t drink on an empty stomach.”
“Mom. Dad. Can I talk to you for a second?” I ask.
“What is it, sweetheart?” she asks.
“I need to tell you something,” I say.
“Tonight?” My father scoffs. “Here? Now?”
“Yes,” I say. Madden’s hand squeezes the side of my hip, a silent reassurance of sorts. “It’ll only take a minute.”
Both of my parents look to me, then to him. The two of them stand so still I can’t be sure they’re even breathing. I can only imagine what’s going through their mind. They probably think we’re going to announce a pregnancy or a wedding or something equally unexpected.
“Well, what is it?” Mom’s thin brows lift.
“I’ve accepted a position at Hershman Medical Research,” I say. “I start in two weeks.”
“Oh.” There’s a lilt in my mother’s voice. Relief, perhaps. “So is this a summer job? A temporary sort of thing?”
“No,” I say. “It isn’t temporary. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about … I’m not going to med school this fall.”
The beer bottle in my father’s hand begins to shake, and I realize it’s because of how hard he’s gripping it.
My mother stands, mouth agape.
“Brighton, you couldn’t have chosen a worse time to share this news with us,” my father says.
Mom still hasn't said a word, but her eyes are glassy, reflecting off the party lights hanging around the pool. Her lower lip trembles.
“I … I … excuse me, I’m sorry.” She runs off, head ducked so no one sees her in her less-than-perfect state.
“I hope you’re satisfied.” Dad’s nostrils flare. “You’ve just ruined your mother’s party.”