“Perhaps we can start again, Madison. Perhaps over lunch. Think you could get away for a few days? Tell them you want to go over a few sections of upcoming chapters of my stories personally? It would give us a chance to catch up. A chance, to talk. A chance to remember the good times we had. I would love to see you.”
They say when life gives you lemons, make lemon-aid.
Except, what happened if life hands you a perfectly chilled vodka, slice of lemon and a cherry? At least, that’s how Madison saw this situation. She’d gone from happy to upset as fast as a Porche could go from 0-60 in seconds flat.
Byron wasn’t the type to apologise. A bit arrogant, true, but very much his father. Proud, bookish. God only knew what his place would look like now. She knew that he had a housekeeper. If he didn’t she could easily see things slowly start piling up, until he became the weird man that everyone knows and no one talks about.. the guy that packrats everything, piled up until there is only room to just squeeze through.. and eventually the sheer enormity of everything collected would collapse and he’d spend his dying few breaths realising just how much junk he’d accumulated.. killed by his own collection.
It took a great deal of self restraint not to giggle at that thought. Truly, until she found he had a housekeeper, she pictured that as his fate. Instead, she devoted her energies to concentrating at the task at hand..
“I am sure I can be over there quite quick Byron. After all, nothing screams article more then fashions of the United States. I can see the article now; ‘who copies who?’ or if not, whatever articles that have been on the back burner for a while waiting for the resources to be published. Especially if it has anything to do with your writing. Honestly, the girls over here are so addicted to your storyline Byron, and truth be told, so am I.” She added softly, her voice suddenly seeming a lot younger, as she felt a lot younger.
It’d been years since she’d last seen Byron. She wondered if the passage of time had been kind to him, or if there were lines forming on his face, part of his personality, brought to bear with age, which would show exactly how bitter and resentful he was inside.. or perhaps tiny laughter and smile lines, reflecting some grain of happiness he felt about the world. Either way, it was a sight she was looking forward to.
“I can make a booking on-line as we speak, and give you the flight details. I’ll catch a red-eye here, so that I can arrive in time for breakfast there. I will of course be exhausted, but it’s nothing that a stay in the Hilton won’t cure. And.. thank you Byron. I’m looking forward to seeing you again. Just like old times.”