Simply Mad (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 1)

by Christina Coryell

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” she mumbles as Jane helps her place the second veil on her head, then steps back to look thoughtfully at Audrey’s silhouette in the mirror.

  “Yes, that looks lovely, don’t you think?” Jane directs the question at me. I nod, and Audrey continues to stare at the mirror. “Actually, I have a similar veil in the back that matches the stitching on the dress. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Audrey continues to stare at the mirror, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking. She doesn’t move or twirl or twist to see the back of the veil. She just gazes silently into her own eyes, as though she’s studying something deep within.

  “Do you think my dad will like it?” she finally manages.

  Who cares what your dad thinks? How can you please a man who takes no interest in anyone but himself?

  “Sure he will,” I attempt to reassure her.

  She swallows and continues staring. “What about Derrick? Do you think he’ll like it?”

  “Of course he’ll like it. He loves you, doesn’t he? He would like any dress you picked out, and wouldn’t even care if you wore your pajamas.”

  Audrey turns to me and grins. “I don’t think he’d be crazy about my pajamas.”

  “Maybe not, but you get the point.”

  Jane emerges with the new veil and places it on Audrey’s head, standing back to admire her potential sale. “It’s very similar, but it matches perfectly with the dress, don’t you think?” Jane fluffs the back of the veil a little and studies Audrey’s face in the mirror.

  “I like it,” Audrey finally agrees.

  “Okay then. I’ll just have one of the girls come back and do some measurements so we can make sure the dress fits you perfectly.”

  “Don’t forget about Maddie!” Audrey calls as Jane walks away. “She still has to try her dresses, too.”

  “Oh, yes, I almost forgot. What size should I pull for you?”

  “I can’t tell you my size,” I suggest slyly, glancing over at the bride-to-be in her attire. “Not in front of Audrey.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Naturally, I’ve received a bit of teasing the last couple of days because I’m finally going out with the “pirate” after all this time. It was with a great deal of hesitation that I admitted the fact to Josh or Jess at all. I told Jess because I wanted to dispel the notion that I was after her brother, because it still felt like a really weird wall that had been placed between us. I told Josh because…

  Well, I guess I told Josh to see what his reaction would be. He laughed at my persistence, and then told me to call him when I found something wrong with the guy.

  When I insisted that Max was pretty great, he said:

  “Arr, Maddie, call me from the pirate ship in Barbados, then.”

  Exasperating.

  Not that it matters, because tonight isn’t about Josh—it’s about weeks of anticipation of what it would actually be like to date Max, and tonight I’m going to find out.

  Jess once told me not to wear a dress on a first date because it would look like I was trying too hard. Tonight, I don’t care. Putting my best foot forward is essential, because it’s Max. He’s pretty fantastic, and I want him to know that I’m trying without looking like I’m trying, if that makes sense.

  It’s a perfect opportunity for a little black dress, which I’ve paired with a simple pair of black stilettos. My hair has been straightened and polished until it shines, and it’s hanging like a cascade of strawberry molasses down my back. I’ve probably never looked better, I must admit, as I sit and wait for Max to arrive.

  When the doorbell rings, I take a deep breath before opening the door, finding him leaning casually against the door jam. His lilac-colored button down shirt is tucked into a pair of dark-gray jeans, and even though the night is slightly chilly, he holds his sports coat in his fist. His blue eyes sparkle from beneath his dark eyebrows as he offers up an easy smile.

  “Maddie,” he breathes as he gazes at me. “Wow, you look incredible.”

  “Thanks, you do too,” I answer quietly, openly gawking at him. He looks pretty fantastic at the tennis club, but tonight, he looks even better. I can’t help believing that I have totally hit the jackpot.

  “I’m kind of surprised by your little house. I figured you as a city girl through and through, yet here you are in the suburbs.”

  “You are looking at the quaintest little home on Wonder Lane,” I assure him, gesturing to the house as though I’m Vanna White flipping a letter.

  “Quaint is a perfect word. Not for you, though. I’m thinking stunning, gorgeous…”

  “Do go on, I could listen to you for hours,” I tease.

  He holds out his arm, allowing me to latch my hand onto his elbow. “Come on, my funny lady. The night is young.”

  Max took me to a fantastic restaurant with jazz piano playing in the corner, where the atmosphere was quiet and romantic. We have shared easy conversation the entire night, and it’s the type of first date I’ve dreamed about for a long time. Sheer, absolute perfection, practically. I haven’t found a single thing wrong with Max yet, and not in the “settling” kind of way that I haven’t found anything wrong with other dates in the past. Beyond not being at all disgusted by Max, I am finding myself completely drawn to him.

  After dinner, we went to dance at a piano bar, where he held me against him and whispered his dreams and aspirations into my ear. Being with Max was easy, and it was delightful. I was almost sorry to feel the night coming to a close, but I’m also filled with anticipation.

  We’re pulling onto Wonder Lane right now, and that handsome fellow with the black flowing hair keeps glancing over at me. I’ve been on enough first dates to tell when I’m clicking with someone, and wow, are we ever clicking. He places his car in park as we arrive in the driveway, and then turns off the engine.

  “You actually have a pretty cool little neighborhood here,” he states, smiling over at me.

  “Oh, I know. Harley Laine lives at the end of the street down there.”

  “The news reporter, no kidding?” he wonders, giving a crooked grin. Opening the car door, he crosses to my side and takes my hand to pull me out of the car.

  “We should have done this a long time ago,” I sigh, walking toward the door.

  “Yeah, that’s a fact,” he agrees. “I don’t usually like to date people from Big Cedar—too much potential to cause problems, you know?”

  “Absolutely.” I step up onto the porch and fiddle with my keys just a bit. He pauses to wrap his coat gently across my shoulders, his fingers grazing my skin and causing a sharp intake of breath on my part, which he definitely notices. He gives me one of those signature lopsided grins, lowering his face a bit, and I tilt my head up expectantly. His lips meet mine gently at first, and then more firmly, as the edges of his goatee scratch my cheek. Wrapping my arm around his neck, I hold him solidly against me as he breaks for a second, but then tilts his head the other way and kisses me again.

  “Should we go inside for a minute?” he whispers against my ear. “I don’t want you to get cold.”

  Going inside is really tempting—I mean really, really tempting. Max’s lips taste like peppermint, and his breath is warm against my neck, and I don’t want the evening to stop. In my mind, though, all I can see is Josh’s face staring at me, his brow wrinkled in two places, regarding me sternly over his glasses.

  “Sorry, Max, but I can’t,” I tell him quietly. “My friend who lets me live here…well, he has a rule about having boyfriends over.”

  “Whoa, hold up,” Max says with a laugh, recoiling slightly. “Where did this boyfriend stuff come from? It was just a date.”

  “That’s not what I meant, really,” I insist, feeling him pull away from me. “I just meant that he doesn’t like me having guys over, that’s all.”

  “I had no idea you lived with some guy.” His tone indicates that he’s teasing, but his smile is telling me a more sordid story.

&nb
sp; “I don’t. I’m just using my friend’s house while he’s overseas…”

  “Gotcha,” he says, straightening himself. “It’s okay, I really should turn in early, anyway. Thanks for the nice evening, Maddie.”

  “I’ll see you Tuesday?” I offer, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Sure,” he responds with a shrug, turning to walk away. He takes only two steps before he turns around. “Hey, let’s not make this weird at the club, okay? You’re a great girl—funny, beautiful—I’m just not at that place right now where I’m ready to give the time it takes for serial dating, you know?”

  “Oh, yeah, I get it,” I assure him with an uneasy laugh. “I’m so there myself.”

  “Good. That makes me feel better.” He smiles once more. “See you Tuesday, pretty girl.”

  Fumbling with the key in the lock, I twist it three times before I manage to let myself in the house, where I instantly drop my purse to the ground and stare at the door, aware of the headlights pulling away from the driveway. So much for a future with Max. He is totally a pirate, simply out to enjoy life’s pleasures. I’m not ready to give the time it takes for serial dating. Seriously, who even says something like that?

  Suddenly, Josh’s words from that long-ago prom flood back to my mind: If a guy isn’t willing to throw his heart on the line and give you the world, he doesn’t deserve you.

  Lowering myself to the floor, I allow the disappointment to flood over me.

  Goodbye, Barbados.

  Oh, who am I kidding? Forget Barbados—goodbye happily ever after, or Christmas with a boyfriend, or even next Friday night’s date. I had thrown so much hope on my pursuit of Max, to my own detriment, because as it turns out, he definitely has a massive, blatant, truly fatal flaw:

  He’s not Joshua Mason.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mom has called three times this week, and I haven’t called her back yet. I’ve just been so aggravated by the way she treated me leading up to the blood drive, I don’t know what I’d say to her. If I knew what precipitated the sudden change in her behavior, I might be a little better prepared. I’m pretty sure I know what brought her to the blood drive—if it wasn’t to get close to me for the purpose of possibly getting herself on television, then it was to be able to tell all the people nearby that I was her daughter, since I had been on television that day. I wouldn’t have thought much about it after the fact, but she has been calling me ever since and leaving phone messages.

  Maddie, it’s Mom. I just want to talk to you. I miss you.

  Maddie, this is Mom. I was thinking about you and thought I’d call.

  Maddie, Mom again! Just called to tell you I love you.

  It’s nice, isn’t it? The problem is, she never talks to me that way. Why is she suddenly being so affectionate? Is there some other gain she is hoping to take away from that thirty seconds of television? If so, I can’t imagine what that would possibly be. Does she finally consider me a success, and now wants to make up for lost time? Maybe she truly feels bad about the bulimic intervention and is simply trying to apologize, in her own backwards way.

  I’ve considered calling Dad several times to find out what’s going on, but the fear that she might answer the phone always stops me in my tracks. It’s silly, really, that I should be afraid of my mom caring about me. The problem is, that’s not it exactly. I think I’m afraid that my mom is pretending to care about me, and I don’t want to know how I’ll feel when that is proven. It’s one thing to believe someone is lying and making you into a fool, but it’s quite another to discover that it is, in fact, true.

  Sometimes I wish my mom was more like Hazel. I never have to worry about whether Hazel cares for me, because she shows me. She doesn’t have to call me every five minutes and leave me messages telling me she loves me or misses me. She always takes the time to listen to my problems and never makes me feel stupid or silly or insignificant. Her actions resemble what I imagine a mother should be.

  Still, I should just call my mother, shouldn’t I? It does seem pretty cowardly, sitting here acting frightened about calling my own parent. I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman with a wonderfully advancing career (well, sort of) and a very happy life. I almost sound like Audrey, seeking my mom’s approval and knowing I won’t get it, so in turn trying to avoid the situation.

  Eww, I do sound just like Audrey. Well, without the crying and whining and certainly not as rich, but I do. I sound exactly like Audrey.

  That’s it! I’m definitely calling.

  The phone rings two times before I hear a voice come across the other end of the line, muffled and distant.

  “Mom?” I ask.

  “Oh, Maddie, is that you?” she says, louder than before. “I’m sorry—I was just pulling something out of the oven.”

  “Well, if you’re cooking dinner, I can call back later.”

  “Don’t be silly! Dinner can wait. It’s been so long since I talked to you.”

  “It can’t have been more than two weeks,” I say, counting back in my mind to the blood drive.

  “Well, two weeks is forever, isn’t it? Two weeks—almost an eternity!”

  Except I distinctly recall you not speaking to me for over a month, and you brushed that off when I mentioned it.

  “I’m just returning your call,” I state, waiting for her response.

  “Good, so you did get my messages. I was afraid your phone was broken or something.”

  “Yeah, I got them,” I assure her with a sigh.

  “Oh, I wanted to tell you that I recorded that segment you did on the news. I made a bunch of copies and sent them to all our relatives. Of course I gave one to Lance and Brittany, too. Everyone was so proud of you!”

  “Really?” I ask doubtfully. “What did Brittany say, exactly?”

  “Just something about how great it was, I can’t really remember. I don’t want to talk about Brittany—I want to talk about you. How is your job going?”

  “My job? It’s fine.”

  That’s a first. Mom has never asked me about my job before.

  “Are you working on any more big projects I should know about? I can tell everybody to watch you in advance, so they will set their DVRs.”

  “That was just a one-time thing. I won’t be on the news anymore.”

  “Well, that’s a pity, because you were so good at it. You should go to the TV station and get one of those anchor jobs. I know they would hire you.”

  She thinks I’m famous. Or maybe she just wants me to be famous. Either way, I don’t think I like it.

  “It’s not that easy, Mom. First of all, I don’t have a background in broadcast journalism. Second, I’m really not interested in that type of career.”

  “That’s a shame, Maddie. I know you would be an excellent newswoman.”

  “Thank you, I guess.”

  “Well, if you’re not going to be on the news, then what are you working on now? What is the next big project for my little coordinator?”

  Living vicariously through me, maybe? I don’t get it.

  Well, let’s see. I’m planning a grandiose wedding for my boss’s daughter. That doesn’t sound like a job, though; it sounds like a movie plot. What else?

  “We’re going to be helping with a food drive for Thanksgiving,” I offer. “We’ve teamed up with a project already in process to be a co-sponsor. I’m going to be at a homeless shelter the day before Thanksgiving, helping to prepare all the food.”

  “That is so heroic of you! My little Maddie, volunteering to help the homeless. I’m so proud of you.”

  She has officially gone off her rocker.

  “Why don’t you come, too?” I suggest. “They need as many volunteers as they can get.”

  That ought to shut her up. There is no way Mom would spend her day volunteering at a homeless shelter. I don’t think she has volunteered for anything in her life, with the exception of the blood drive, and that was just for attention.

  “Let’s see, the day before Thank
sgiving?” she repeats, pausing for a second.

  Go ahead—take your time and come up with an appropriate excuse. Brittany is coming over that day, perhaps? The kids might be out of school on account of the holiday?

  “Okay, I’ve got it marked on my calendar. This is so exciting! Just imagine, you and me, side by side, volunteering for the homeless. I can’t wait to tell your father!”

  What? Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?

  “Um…alright. I’ll send you the details the next time I’m at the office.”

  “You go ahead and do that, dear. That sounds great. Listen, I wanted to ask you another question. What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Your dad and I really hope you’ll come over. We do so want to see you.”

  She does so want to see me? She’s been watching old westerns or something, obviously.

  “Actually, I already promised Josh’s parents I would go over there. I hate to leave them by themselves on Thanksgiving.”

  “Oh,” she says with a sigh.

  Wow, she actually sounds disappointed. Something must be wrong with me, because I feel the stirring of a feeling like sympathy in the pit of my stomach. I should just leave it alone, ignore it. Tamp it down like a brush fire that is getting out of control.

  “Listen, I have an idea. Why don’t you come over here? I’m sure Josh’s parents wouldn’t mind coming over to the house instead.”

  “Oh, Maddie, what a wonderful idea! We’d be delighted to come. Of course, you did mean Lance and Brittany, too?”

  Drat. I forgot about them living here now. Can I take back my offer without being a jerk?

  “Sure, Lance and Brittany, too.”

  “Hooray! This is so exciting. Imagine me going to my little Maddie’s house for Thanksgiving. I can’t believe you’re so grown up now.”

  I’m twenty-five years old. Did you miss the last ten years or something?

  “Okay, well, it’s all settled then. I’ve got some stuff I need to do, so I’m going to go…”