Page 90 of Mom Com

Kate nods into her wine glass. But before she replies, I catch Mrs. Buenaventura’s voice through the crowd. “You can’t truly be encouraging this nonsense, Wilder.” Which I can only assume is about me or the bakery or likely both. And it doesn’t escape my notice that people are glancing over their drinks at her and her son.

I don’t hear Wilder’s response because Kate’s speaking again. “I offered yesterday to take a step back from working with his family, but he didn’t seem to think that was a good idea, said he liked the idea of us working together...” She trails off with a sigh, like she’s giving it some thought.

My heart beats violently in my throat. Yesterday? He was telling her he wanted to spend time with her yesterday? The same day Wilderkissedme? And the sick feeling that follows only makes me mad at myself. What am I doing right now? Why am I tangled up in this? I’m standing here convincing myself that Wilder’s somehow pining for me, meanwhile he’s getting engaged every two seconds, flitting from girl to girl, never able to live up to commitment, just like all those years ago.

As if Kate could hear my doubts, she says, “But you know how Wilder is, so hot and cold. I seem to remember him telling me you two had a lot of push and pull to your relationship as well?”

She looks directly at me now, watching for my reaction, which I’m not doing a very good job of masking. In fact, I think I’m nodding? Because her words ring true.

“And anyway, Wilder says you’re going back to California?” Kate continues when I don’t respond, and it feels like I’m unraveling—is this what he’s been telling her, that I was going away? I doubt myself even more.

She glances at her wine, swirling the red liquid. “Besides,” she says, and this time when her eyes meet mine, she seems focused, “everyone knows that Mrs. Buenaventura would never let her son work at that bakery long-term. No offense, but I give it two months tops before he abandons it in favor of his family business.”

It’s like she’s inflicting tiny cuts, slowly bleeding me out, the warmth leaving my fingers and toes first, making me dizzy and unsure.

I want to shut her down, slam the drawbridge on this conversation, but my confidence has taken a real blow. Which is when she adjusts the hem of her sleeve and a gold bracelet shakes out with a calligraphy charm on it. I instantly recognize it as the Buenaventura family B. My stomach takes a nosedive that is so dramatic, I touch my middle to mitigate the fall.

Kate follows my eyeline to her wrist and smiles. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she says, holding it out for me to see. “I think it was Wilder’s great-aunt’s or some such?”

Of course, it’s a family heirloom.

“You done?” I say briskly, because I don’t want to do what Kate does, veil my insults and poke at her insecurities. It’s clear that whatever is going on between her and Wilder is not only complicated but isn’t as over as he made it seem. And I want no part of that mess, of Wilder’s emotional vacillations, never deciding what he really wants.

“I’m sorry?” she says like she’s not sure why I’m reacting. “If I upset you, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did mean to. And fine. You’re hung up on Wilder. I get it. I spent a lot of time that way myself. Hell, maybe I still am. But I’m not playing whatever game this is.” My tone is clear and direct.

The instant I admit I might still have feelings for Wilder, the façade of civility disappears as though I just vowed to marry him myself. She raises one perfect eyebrow like she’s taking aim, her sugary sweetness gone. “You want honesty? Okay fine. How about this? You’re a temporary distraction from his childhood.” Her words are silky smooth with an aftertaste of poison. “Even then everyone knew the only reason he kept hanging out with you was because he felt bad for you. Poor lost pregnant Maddi. Do you really think it’s any different now? Can’t pay your rent. Can’t get along with your mother... or anyone really? It’s no wonder he tells me he has to handle you with kid gloves, that he pities you. And come on, do you really think the Buenaventuras would ever allow it?”

Her words slice right to my core.

And to make matters worse, Wilder’s mother raises her voice. “You need to think about your family. About building a future worthy of you. And this... this is certainly not it.”

Kate looks so satisfied that it snaps my tentative grip on my temper.

“Screw you, Kate,” I fire back too loudly, earning me shocked glances, but I’ve blown way past caring. “You might be upset about Wilder, but that’s no excuse to be a raging shit of a person. I’d much rather be lost and confused than whatever it is you are. And maybe you’re right about Wilder’s mother. She’s always been petty and judgmental, which is probably why you two get along so well.”

Kate winces, suddenly aware of the people around us who have stopped to listen. And to make this steaming turd of a situation worse, Wilder and his mother are headed our way, likely having heard the last of what I said. Mrs. Buenaventura stares at me like I’m a monster. And while I don’t feel like a monster, I do feel like a fool. A supreme idiot who thought things might be different this time. But Wilder didn’t know what he wanted as a teen, and it seems he still doesn’t.

And I shit you not, Kate’s chin shakes. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she says, doing a very good impression of fragile innocence.

Mrs. Buenaventura reaches out for her. “Kate honey, wait.”

But she’s already turning away, hand to mouth, cutting a dramatic exit through the room.

I stand there, stunned, seeing all of it stretched out before me like a bad soap opera—Kate’s Oscar-winning performance, Mrs. Buenaventura’s disapproval, my own mother bound to agree with her, pitting me against Wilder’s family once again, and him ultimately choosing them. And I’m angry, angry that I let myself get ensnared. But the worst part is, I’m still standing here, hanging onto the hope that I’ve gotten it all wrong.

Mrs. Buenaventura’s expression turns stark. “I was going to appeal to you, Madeline, to talk some sense into my son, but I can now see that’s never going to happen.”

“Enough,” Wilder says brusquely. “Do not insert yourself here.”

“What would you have me do, Wilder?” she replies. “Sit back while you board a sinking ship? And be honest, how much of your sudden desire to take over the bakery is simply to spite me? Do you think you’re doing Maddi or yourself any favors by pretending otherwise? Sell the place like you advised Eleanor and take your position by your family as you agreed.”

And that’s it—the moment I realize I’m a profound idiot for believing him.

Wilder meets my eyes. “Maddi, it’s not—”

“What it sounds like?” I say, humiliated and shrinking. “Did you or did you not tell my mother to sell the bakery?”