Page 57 of The Romantic Agenda
“—but if he had told me what we were doing like I asked—”
“Summer.”
“—this never would have happened.”
Joy feels like she shouldn’t be watching them like this.Summer looks like she’s caught in that delicate middle between crying and rage. And Fox is doing his best to comfort her, but he’s the one who just went through the traumatic event, so the reverse should be happening.
Quietly, Joy wanders away to where Malcolm is standing near one of the golf carts.
“Is he okay?”
“I think so.”
“I didn’t know it would be that bad for him.”
“Well, it’s not like you talk to him. Directly. About anything.”
Malcolm scoffs. “Whose side are you on?”
“Love and justice, at all times.” Joy laughs. “You need to apologize.”
“I know.”
“And you need to give him a chance.”
“Next.”
“No, no next, Malcolm. What is your problem with him? Did he do something to you?”
“Why didn’t you come horseback riding with us?”
Joy sighs. Of course he changed the subject. “Because I didn’t. I thought it’d be better if you two were alone.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” Malcolm snapped. “Summer wanted you there, both of you. I told you to just stick to my agenda. What is so difficult for you to understand about that?”
The second he finishes talking, Joy enters a state of perfect fury. Her eyebrows go up, her eyes go wide, her entire body goes still—she doesn’t even blink—and the iciest fire known to man begins to brew in the back of her throat.
“You know what, Malcolm? You and your damn agenda are starting to get on my goddamn nerves.” She steps forward. “Yougot one more time to talk to me like that. Do that again and I will intentionally wreck all your shit. I’m not your fucking doormat.”
“Joy—”
“Don’t youJoyme. Go apologize to Fox. Right now.” She points to where they’re standing.
The golf cart driver looks from Malcolm to Joy and back again. “I’d already be over there if I was you,” he mutters. He’s an older Black man, sitting behind the wheel wearing a tan uniform.
Malcolm regards Joy for a few moments, gaze steely and unwavering. Joy knows that look—he has something to say and he’s weighing whether or not it’s worth pissing her off more to make his point.
“You really don’t want to try me today,” Joy seethes. “You really, truly don’t.”
That last threat did it—the scales tipped in her favor. Malcolm drops his gaze, saying, “Fine.” He marches over to the others, steps stiff and hands balled at his sides.
“Whew,” the driver says. “You remind me of my wife. He must not know how close he was to death right then.”
Joy tries to calm down, laughing softly. “It’s not a side I let out often.” It’s hard to reconcile how powerful the heat of the moment feels, where you’re nothing but raw, reckless rage. Fighting with people she loves always gives her the worst anxiety spirals. Stuck for hours, sometimes days, reliving every harsh word, cold stare, and idle threat. Suffering through her brain painting her as an even worse person, making her believe she said more than she really had.
She’ll apologize to Malcolm sooner or later. Sometimes it’s better to let her threats sit so the memory lingers and he’ll think twice before talking to her like that again.
When she rejoins her group, Summer is calm and sunny once more, Malcolm seems to be grappling with remorse, and Fox looks stable. He’s the one who says, “Are we ready to go? Joy?”
