Page 38 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
“You could think of it as me supporting a colleague. Or maybe keeping my childcare options secure.”
Her eyes flick over my face. “But that’s not it, is it?”
Of course that’s not it.
But I can’t exactly say what it is, because it would terrify her and maybe terrify me too. The way I feel about Maddie—protective and tender and greedy and stern—it’s not the kind of thing that would help either of us to admit. It wouldn’t help her because she’s just gone through an awful breakup, because she’semployed by me, because she doesn’t need Mid-Thirties Single Dad Baggage while she’s making a fresh start.
And it wouldn’t help me because... because I don’t know the last time I’ve felt like this.
I don’t know that I’veeverfelt like this.
Maddie slumps against my chest, and I take a moment to treasure it, what I assume will be the last time I have her in my arms.
“You’re not going to answer me, are you?” she murmurs, but she sounds resigned to my reticence.
“I’m helping because I want to, Maddie. That will have to be good enough.”Because telling you the truth will send you running, and I need you here, warm and safe.
“If only you could help me with those asshole students,” she grumbles. “I know it’s not the most important thing right now, but I’m just dreading going back in there and facing them.”
“Actually,” I say, sitting up a little. “I think I can help with that.”
Chapter Thirteen
Maddie
Last night after Bram and I picked up the twins, we ordered Thai for dinner and told all three girls that I’d be staying here at the house under the guise that it would be easier to have a live-in nanny—or as Bram prefers: achildcare provider. I expected lots of questions, especially from Fern, but the twins squealed and flung themselves at me while Fern gave a nonchalantcooland took advantage of the moment to steal the last spring roll.
This is the first morning since arriving back in Kansas that I’ve had a bathroom all to myself without having to wait in line for it. It is the peak of luxury. Fern and the twins share the other upstairs bathroom, which connects their rooms, at the top of the stairs and I’m at the end of the hallway in the guest room.
After the kids went to bed, I tried to be a brave little toaster and sit on the couch with Bram while he watched some documentary about the history of national parks. But I fell asleep before the opening credits were even done. Bram woke me up and practically pulled me upstairs to the guest room. I let my fingers linger on his arm, hoping I might lure him into breaking his own rules, but either he was a gentleman or I was too tired to convince him otherwise.
I fell asleep in his T-shirt and under his roof, and for the first time in a very, very long while, I felt safe and looked after.
Today, I’m back in my ivory pants and striped sweater, now washed, and I smell like Bram from his body wash to his laundry detergent, and it’s hard not to press my face into my own shirt and inhale deeply.
So yes, I am rested, but as I stand in front of the mirror, I can’t stop noticing all the ways that the upkeep of my appearance has lapsed.
When Gentry and I became serious, his mother invited me to go to her salon with her before a big family wedding. I didn’t realize that this was all just a ruse to ambush me with a makeover. But at the time, I felt spoiled and pampered. I walked into the salon with my dark brown, nearly black hair and came out with tasteful honey-blond layers that framed my face in a way that Penelope Pike later described asaspirational yet approachable. Then there was the eyebrow threading, the glowy spray tans, the biweekly nail appointments, the facials, and of course the personal trainer, who was actually wonderful despite being hired to help me achieve my “fitness goals”—or weight loss.
Now, my dark roots are coming in, my eyebrows are haphazardly plucked, my skin is pale, and my nails are bare. It occurs to me that Bram has definitely not seen me at my best.
And yet... and yet, he’s made me feel sexier in a few weeks than Gentry did during the four years we were together.
When I go downstairs, Bram is waiting with a to-go cup of coffee. “I got you something on my way back from dropping off the twins. I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee, so I went with a latte.”
“Thanks. I like a latte. The more froufrou the better.”
“Froufrou... Next time, I’ll have them add lavender,” he says. “You look rested.” His lips twitch like he has more to say, but instead he just motions for the door.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “I haven’t slept that well in a while.”
He nods once, satisfied, a ghost of a smile on his lips as we walk out to his car.
“We can pick up your car after your lecture,” he says as he reverses out of the driveway with his arm braced on my headrest as he twists to look over his shoulder.
“Um, I might need to call and see how much it is first, but they should let me get my stuff back, right?”
He stops the car and looks at me. “Madelyn, we are picking up your car today. That was not a question. I will pay the towing fee.”
