Page 89 of Mom Com

“It was about me, but what does that matter?” I say, my defensiveness on the rise. “If it were about this couch, would you be blaming it?”

“Really, Madeline,” she tsks, not like she’s mad, but like I’m wearing her out. “An entire week of suspension is a serious thing. It’s no wonder Hannah is upset.”

“Suspension?” I repeat.

My mother nods. “It’s a mark against Wilder’s permanent record.”

For a split second I do feel bad, but I shrug it off. There are only so many things I can be responsible for and Jake and Wilder fighting like roosters is not one of them. “Still, not my fault.”

“Maybe not,” she concedes. “But Hannah and I think it best if you and Wilder stay away from each other for the time being.”

Whatever semblance of calm I once possessed vanishes. Being forbidden from talking to him feels like I’m some sort of social pariah who’s corrupting the fine folk of Haverberry with her wanton ways. “Hannah and you? This is what you think of me? That I’m some bad influence who should be banned?”

She exhales audibly. “We’re not saying this is anyone’s fault. But you must admit that every time you two are together there’s some sort of altercation. We think it would be better for both of you to have some space,” she qualifies, lifting her hand in the air like she could pacify me with it. “Just until things settle down.”

I scoff. “You mean just until we go to college on different continents? What happened to all those years of pushing me toward the Buenaventuras like they were the social North Star?”

Her face tightens like a corkscrew. “I understand that you’re upset. Maybe we should discuss this when you’ve had a moment to realize the reason in it.”

Now my face cinches. Because once again we’re back to me being the problem—not the forced separation, not what it implies, but some innate failing on my part to see logic. “Tell me, Mom, do you actually agree with this or are you just too afraid to disagree with the all-powerful Mrs. Buenaventura and stand up for your own daughter? Afraid you might lose your invite to bridge?”

“Madeline DeLuca,” she says like a warning, and I know I’ve crossed a line, that I’ve pushed her too far, but I don’t care. “You will stay away from Wilder Buenaventura and that is final.”

“Wilder,” Mrs. Buenaventura says to her son after a strained beat. “I wonder if I might borrow you a moment.”

“No, I’m sorry, but it’ll have to wait,” Wilder says so decisively that some small part of me feels bolstered.

“I really wasn’t asking, dear,” she says like she has no intention of walking away.

The other larger part of me, however, feels nothing but dread. The fact that there’s a beautiful, civilized party currently underway would be reason enough for most people to awkwardly defuse the tension, but not Mrs. Buenaventura, who has never once shied away from having an argument, public or not—not that I have any real leg to stand on in that department.

“And I wasn’t negotiating,” Wilder says back, not meanly, just as a statement of fact.

I gulp.

Mrs. Buenaventura looks from Wilder to me and back again. “So be it,” she says, appearing friendly enough, except that her undertone is steely. “I thought I’d let you know that I had a conversation with Kate’s mom. As you know, Kate’s going to help us redecorate our offices since your father will be shifting things to make room for you. She was planning on traveling next week, but things have changed, and I’d really like the two of you to meet up right after the holidays and go over the space together. It’s time you took your place in the office like we discussed.”

Her words explode into the air like a bomb, shining a spotlight on all the insecurities that exist between me and Wilder in one go. Kate is redecorating their family offices? Did Wilder know? And really, how hard is Mrs. Buenaventura working to interfere with whatever’s happening here, ’cause it feels like she’s putting in overtime. Not to mention Wilder just admitted that he broke up with me because his mother asked him to, and now here she is not so subtly telling him she has different plans, ones that obviously do not include me. I find myself defensive of her invasion into this moment, aware how fragile the tether is that links me to Wilder, not wanting our connection to be trampled before it even gets a chance to take root.

Wilder’s expression darkens. “I’ve changed my mind, I’d like that private word,” he says, and gestures toward a less populated spot near the fireplace. “Forgive me, Mads. I’ll only be a minute.”

She follows him and I’m left awkwardly standing there, clutching his note and the feeling it represents. And it’s damned uncomfortable. I shift my weight, refolding the paper and chewing on the inside of my cheek.

I look out into the room, trying to find something else to focus on to keep my doubts at bay. But as my eyes flit over the happy crowd, they land on Kate—wine glass pinched elegantly between her forefingers, staring straight at me. I feel the discord in my bones, and know before she even lifts a tapered heel to step in my direction that things just took a turn for the worse. Did she hear my conversation with Wilder? Did she hear his mother?

Only I don’t make a run for it; maybe I fear that if I leave this room everything will go irrevocably sideways with Wilder, or maybe it’s my pride, not wanting to signal to Kate that she makes me nervous as hell, but whatever it is, it lives securely in the realm of bad ideas.

“Maddi,” she says, rolling my name across her tongue like this situation wasn’t vying for a place among Dante’s levels. “I owe you an apology.”

For a flash of a second, I’m taken aback. Kate’s apologizing? Tome?

“My behavior in the market was inexcusable,” she continues.

And I hear myself mumbling a nervous, “It’s fine.” Which really, it’s not, but I’m so hyped up that all I have is rote response. Also, I hope that by giving her no more than a few words we might end the conversation here.

“I appreciate you being so generous,” she says, and for a second, I wonder if I misjudged her—well, not misjudged exactly, but maybe she’s not supervillain evil, just a malevolent side kick? “It’s just that... Well, I’m sure you’ve heard that Wilder and I have an intense relationship? That this isn’t the first time we’ve broken up? And I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I feel I owe you an explanation. Wilder didn’t just break up with me, he called off our engagement.”

Whatever blood was in my cheeks makes a fast escape, my unease ratcheting up to a thousand. “I, um, I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, because there is literally nothing else to say. They wereengaged? I hate being caught so unaware. Why didn’t Wilder tell me this? Why didn’t Liv?