Page 112 of Betting on the Brainiac

If Madison wants to see what’s between us, I’m down. It doesn’t matter that I don’t have time to fall for someone. I already did. There is no slowing that progression. No containing it. No reversing it.

On my side, I’m toast.

Madison gets to decide now—with all the facts.

When I walk into my place after work, it’s weirdly empty without Tabitha and the kittens. I pick a first-date outfit. Short-sleeved black button-down with Western snaps over a white ribbed undershirt, tattoos barely peeking from below the sleeves, vintage 501s, and a pair of black-and-white retro Nike Dunk Lows.

When I get to Madison’s place, I walk in without knocking, knowing the party is outside. She’d said something about how everyone would come out on their patios, and anyone from my side of the building who wanted to hang would bring chairs and pick a patio.

“Hey, young man,” Mrs. Lipsky says. She’s sitting on an armchair next to a barricade of sofa cushions across one end of the living room. “I’m in charge of the kittens tonight.”

“You’re definitely the woman for the job.” I walk over to peer down at them. I don’t see Tabitha, but the kittens are rolling around in a ball, squeaking and meowing. Even with their cat cave in there with them, they have plenty of room to roam and plow into each other.

“Got ringside for kitty WWE,” Mrs. Lipsky says. “Their mama wanted nothing to do with it, so she ran up to Madison’s room.”

“Thanks for all the advice you’ve given us,” I say.

“Sure, and now I’ll give you some more. They’re about ready to move to litter boxes and soft food, so be ready.”

“How will we know?” I’ve gotten less nervous about them, about doing the wrong thing or screwing them up somehow, but it comes creeping back with this new milestone.

Mrs. Lipsky waves her hand as if brushing away my worry. “I’ll come over this week for this first soft food feeding. We’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you,” I say again, and it’s heartfelt.

She smiles. “Go enjoy the party. I expect these kittens will have future homes by the end of the night.”

I head out back knowing her words should be reassuring, but I feel a pang at the idea of the kittens leaving for good.

The sound of music and conversation increases when I slide open the kitchen door and step out onto the patio. Madison had told me to think of it as a tailgate, and I understand as I thread my way toward the main group. It’s a relaxed party vibe, andeven with the anxiety of the confession looming over me, I drop a gear. Still in high rev, but it’s better.

Alt-country plays in the background, glasses and bottles clink, and laughs float into the darkening sky. It’s early October now, and night falls sooner.

I spot all the girls, including Madison, who is sharing the patio armchair with Kaitlyn. Madison sees me, and her laughing smile turns almost shy as she gives me a small wave. I raise an eyebrow and nod at Kaitlyn, who is talking to a neighbor I recognize from the wedding.

Madison mimes that she texted Kaitlyn, then makes a sad face with begging hands, and I deduce that she apologized to her sister. I smile, happy to see them together. They both look relaxed, but I know this is huge, and I want to hear more about it.

Josh materializes beside me. “Good to see you, man. I thought I worked too much, but your boss is worse.”

“I’m my boss.”

“Like I said.” He grins and hands me a cold beer. “We’ve got Torchy’s on the table by the gate. Kind of a tradition now from our two units. But you can free range at any patio up and down the sidewalk for the price of some small talk.”

The fences are low, maybe reaching my thigh, and it’s easy to look straight down the sidewalk and see what other people have set out by their fences. Chips and guac, cookies, cupcakes. I squint. “Are those . . . ?”

Josh follows my gaze. “Bacon-wrapped Oreos? Yeah. Hugo’s specialty.”

I nod. “Tailgating.”

“Joey calls it plain old gating because you wander in and out of any gate with a patio light on. Enjoy, man. I’m going to find my girl and convince her she prefers my lap to that sofa seat.”

I move closer to the main party, which is loosely organized in groups of two or three around the patio set. When I was here for the movie, the furniture had been set up in a U-shape with the open section facing the gate, a coffee table in the center where everyone propped their feet. That coffee table is doing taco stand duty by the fence, leaving an open space.

“Sun’s down, let’s turn it up,” calls Joey, and the music changes to a club hit and gets louder. This is met with approving cheers up and down the sidewalk, and a low laugh beside me startles me.

Ruby has joined me, and she’s smiling at Joey. “My brother and his secret deejay ambitions.”

“Is that what he wants to do?”

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