Page 50 of Slap Shot
“Making Halloween costumes for a stranger’s kid,” she muses. “A yacht in Turks and Caicos would be way more fun.”
“Are you a stranger? I know a few things about you.”
“Like what?”
“You’re always wearing socks. And you hate cabbage.”
“How do you know I hate cabbage?”
“Because you made a face when you were cutting it up for coleslaw the other night.”
Madeline lifts her chin. “You noticed that?”
“I notice a lot of things.”
“Oh.” She’s quiet for a minute, working the needle through the fabric again. “No one’s done that in a long time.”
“Done what?”
“Noticed the little things.” She shrugs, still hyperfocused on that damn needle and thread. “There’s nothing special about me.”
I frown.
She’s not wrong about many things, but she’s wrong about that.
Madeline Gallowayisspecial, and I’m sad she’s been led to think otherwise.
“Agree to disagree,” I say, and her cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. “Talk to me about cooking. You said you worked at McDonald’s, but did you always want to be a chef?”
“For as long as I can remember. My mom used to let me help her in the kitchen. She was a stay-at-home parent while my dad worked as a plumber, and cooking was something we did together. She’d pull a chair up to the counter so I could reach, and by the time I was a teenager, I was making four-course meals like it was nothing. We still cook like that together sometimes. She’s the best.”
The usual pang of sadness hits me like it always does when someone talks about their mom. It’s a jealous ache of knowing they get to spend time with a person important to them, and I don’t.
“How old were you when you learned that knife trick?” I ask, swallowing down my emotions, and her laugh is soft. A gentle sound that makes me smile and feel instantly better. “Two? Three?”
“Sixteen, actually. And I nearly lost a finger the first time I did it.”
“Nowthatis a cool party trick.” I tap my phone to check the time. “Lucy’s bus comes soon, right?”
“It’s already two? Where the hell has the day gone?” Madeline stands and takes a long look at the costume. “It’s not the worst thing in the world. I could’ve cut up a sheet and told her to be a ghost. This is a little more creative.”
“You also could’ve given her one of my jerseys and let her be a hockey player.”
“Dammit, Hayes. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“Because it’s unoriginal.” I run a hand through my hair and toss her a sheepish grin. “And I didn’t think of it until you were halfway through the second ear. It felt cruel to mention it when you had been working so hard.”
“Too late now. My fingers will just be bruised for a week.” She holds up her hands, showing off the red marks between her knuckles. I should’ve offered to help more, even though I don’t know how to sew. “It’sfine.”
“Next time there’s a costume contest, I’ll make sure Lucy doesn’t tell you. She can raid my gear drawer and call it a day.”
“Fine by me.” Madeline grins and heads for the door. She slips on her jacket and fixes her ponytail. “I’m going to wait for her downstairs.”
“See ya in a few, KG.”
When the door closes, I walk to the kitchen and grab an apple from the fruit basket. Lucy always eats one after school, and I cut it into the slices she likes before sliding it onto a plate.
Ten minutes later, feet thunder through the apartment. I smile and grab a small notebook sitting on a stack of mail. Gus and Millie climb out of their beds under the window and trot toward me.
