Page 91 of Mom Com

Wilder’s hesitation is all the confirmation I need.

Sell the place like he advised Eleanor?Those words devastate me, thoroughly eviscerating the sweet moment Wilder and I shared last night. All the things he said about how he only ever wanted to be at the bakery now feel cheap and distorted. And it’s too much. Ten straws too many for this camel.

“I think I should go,” I say, already turning away from him, my cheeks flushed and my heart hammering long betrayed beats.

“Maddi,” Wilder says, but I don’t stop.

He follows me, catching my elbow just as I enter the foyer. “Wait.”

Wilder finds me by accident two days later, while I’m sitting on a stool at Tony’s countertop bar with a fountain soda, waiting for my to-go order of pizza. He walks in with a group of friends, laughing as they choose a four-top—not sulking at home under his mother’s watchful eye like I imagined him to be. And seeing him so at ease, while I’ve been at home crying, hits me like a two-by-four to the head.

Which is when he spots me. But instead of looking relieved to have an opportunity to clear things up, he visibly pales. It takes him a long conflicted second to push himself up from his seat. And his reluctance stings so brightly that I curl in on myself, swiveling my stool forward so he can’t see my face.

“Maddi?” he says, stopping next to me.

“You’re not grounded, huh?” I say, because I’m trying to understand why he wouldn’t at least try to explain what happened to me himself.

“No,” he says, a twinge of guilt in his voice. “I, uh, I’m sorry I haven’t called,” he starts like he can hear my thoughts. “I thought we might talk in person. I just haven’t seen you.”

His lame excuse makes me constrict even further.

“I don’t know if your mom told you—”

“She told me,” I say curtly, looking at the blackboard pizza menu instead of his face. “So don’t worry about explaining. You can go back to your friends.”

“No, I want to explain,” he says, and even now I want to believe that he wants to be here next to me, which only makes me more upset with myself.

“The thing is, my mom is real worked up right now. You know how she gets. I think if we just give her a couple of weeks, she’ll forget all about it. But if I fight her on this, it’ll become a thing. Trust me.”

I hear myself laugh like I’m somewhere outside my body, viewing the cynical look on my own face. “Okay, Wilder. Great. Let’s do that.”

“I know this sucks,” he tries again. “But it’ll all work out. Everything will go back to normal in like three weeks tops.”

Now I do look at him. “All work out?” I say, trying to fight my instinct to hold onto his words, breathe life and meaning into them. “Back to normal? What about our relationship is normal to you, Wilder?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“Tell me, why did you ask me to dance at prom?” I say, trudging forward, too wrapped up in my own crumbling world to stop.

“I thought...” He stumbles, his expression looking conflicted.

And for once, I don’t try to romanticize it or cling to fanciful ideas. Right now, I see us clearly, and there’s nothing romantic about us. “Did you do it because we’re such close friends? ’Cause if we’re being honest, we’re not. Did you do it because you still have feelings for me? Except no, you asked Elaina to prom without so much as a heads-up. Did you do it because you and Jake have some stupid turf war over me? Yes, yes you did.”

“You can’t seriously think that,” Wilder says briskly.

“Can’t I? What about that argument in front of the school about Jake asking me to prom? Or you almost kissing me when you knew I was dating him? Or a thousand other things,” I say, and as his expression grows more conflicted, my hurt grows. “I’m not saying it’s entirely your fault. I definitely played my role, so desperate for you to still care about me that I let you come back over and over again. But you know what? I’m done. As much as it truly pains me to say this; our mothers are right. We’re no good for each other.”

I know people are staring at us, and that for the five millionth time this year, Wilder and I will be everyone’s favorite gossip. Hell, our families will probably have a bullet-pointed cheat sheet of everything we said before we even get home. But right now, I don’t care. My heart is aching. My stomach is turned. And I have zero fucks to give, because as far as I can tell, there’s nothing left to salvage, and the sooner I accept that, the sooner I can move on.

“Mads, please—” He exhales in exasperation, but I cut him off.

“I think you should walk away now,” I say, my voice quieter than before. I slide off my stool, collecting my purse and my drink, not willing to wait for the rest of my order and risk crying in front of Wilder.

But Wilder’s not walking away, he’s staring at me like I just ripped the rug out from under his feet. “Look, I know things have been weird between us. And I know that’s my fault. But listen, Mads—”

I brush past him. As I do, he catches my hand.

“Let go of me, Wilder,” I warn, fighting the feeling that I’m drowning.