Page 81 of Mom Com

“Thanks, but no need to give me a ride,” I say, relieved that we’re going to call it quits instead of trying to press on with this failed experiment. I’m about to tell him I’ll just grab a taxi, but he responds before I get the chance.

“I guess Wilder beat me to it, huh,” he says like it was inevitable. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

I open my mouth, taken aback. Suddenly his off mood and all his comments about me not having fun take on a new light. He thinks this is about Wilder? But I don’t want to get into the weeds with him on that one while he’s tipsy; all I can do at this point is be honest. “It’s not that. I’m not accepting the ride because you’ve been drinking.”

He stares at me. “Seriously?” He laughs. “I only had a few sips.”

And here we are, exactly where I don’t want to be.

Which is the moment Wilder appears next to us, and by the look on his face I get the sense he overheard the last part of that conversation.

“Can I cut in?” he asks, even though we’re not dancing.

“No, you can’t,” Jake says before I can get out a response.

“Good thing I wasn’t asking you,” Wilder fires back.

“Don’t you have a date somewhere that you should be paying attention to instead of talking mine up?” Jake says, and I can feel this situation unraveling, both of them pulling the loose strings with all their might.

Wilder doesn’t hesitate. “Not my problem you’re insecure. You want Maddi’s attention? Earn it.”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from the guy who likes to pretend he’s perfect, but then screws Maddi over at every turn.”

And whatever hope I had of getting out of this place without incident, begins to slip away. The people around us are starting to take notice.

Something changes in Wilder’s face then, and his calm façade splinters, anger spiking in its place. “You want to talk about screwing people over? What about that baby, Jake?” he says, pointing at my belly. “Are you going to step up and be a man or are you going to run to Florida next year like a little bitch?”

All the blood rushes to my head and for a second, I see spots. Their voices have gotten louder and the people near us have all but stopped dancing to watch.

Jake’s fury is plain on his face, and it feels like a line has been crossed, one there’s no retreating from. Can’t they see they’re making it worse? That when this all shakes out it’ll be me who bears the social weight of it.

“Guys—” I start, but Jake is much louder.

“Go fuck yourself, Wilder. You think I’m the only one responsible for all of this? Maddi didn’t even ask me if I wanted to keep it, you know that? She just made the decision by herself.”

I blanch, my eyes involuntarily watering. And even though I know his anger is directed at Wilder, it feels like a shot at me.

But Jake’s not done, whether it’s the alcohol or pent-up frustration from tonight and the months before it (probably both), I don’t know. “Let’s be honest. This isn’t about the baby or college or anything else. What has always pissed you off is that Maddi chose me over you. And the part you can’t get over? She loved it.”

To say his words are humiliating is a vast understatement. He took me out at the knees without warning, a clean shot, demeaning whatever affection we shared and transmuting it into rivalry. Look everyone, it’s pregnant Maddi, the girl both Wilder and Jake screwed.

Only Jake doesn’t get another word out because Wilder punches him right in the face, a loud crack that sends Jake stumbling backward and splits his lip.

My hands fly up, palms out. “Stop!” I yell, but they’re not listening to me.

Jake is running at Wilder, and when they collide, they slam onto the dance floor, scattering the couples around them and alerting the teachers on the periphery. I feel the tears on my cheeks before I even know I’m crying, and I turn around, running from the room.

I stare at Wilder, my chest buzzing like an imbalanced washing machine. “Here’s the thing, Wilder,” I say, my voice shockingly normal for how upside down I feel. “I’ve spent a lot of years blocking you out. Many, many years. Because whether I want to admit it or not, you and the bakery were my touchstones when I lived here; I knew that if I had you both that—” I cut myself off, realizing I’m entering uncharted territory, that I’m about to say things I can’t unsay. But in a moment of Liv-inspired bravery, I throw my caution into the ocean, letting the tide carry it far, far away. “That as long as I had you both, I’d be okay. And while I’m moved that you remained so close to my father, I’m not sure I’m capable of opening up like that again, of really loving the bakery again. It feels...”

Wilder’s chest rises and falls. “Scary,” he says, not as a question but a statement.

“Terrifying,” I agree.

“I understand,” he says, and I can tell he feels it, too. We both go quiet for a moment. “But is that a good enough reason?”

I stare at him, unsure how to respond. “Are you asking me if my fear is justified?” I say, a little confused.

“I’m asking if you’re going to let it stop you from doing something that might bring you joy.”