Page 26 of Season's Schemings

I leave.

10

MADDIE

This morning, I am two things I was not yesterday.

First, I am a meme.

Second, I am married.

I think.

I have no idea if drunken chapel weddings where the groom is wearing a traffic cone on his head and the bride is draped in a hotel bedsheet are actually considered legal.

And I have no idea where my apparent new husband is so that I can clarify this with him.

I also have no idea why I’m so calm about this. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe I’m still intoxicated.

Or maybe, it’s because I’m more preoccupied by the fact that the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to me is currently pasted all over the internet.

Basically, I woke up a few minutes ago in a strange bed (fully clothed, thank the Lord), but also wearing pizza and cuddling my new husband’s traffic cone (which is not what the meme is about, also thank the Lord). That was all a little startling, but then… I fished my phone out of my bag, and my day got a whole lot crazier.

It’s a snapshot of me with my hand on the back of Adam’s head, plunging him into a vat of red frosting.

It’s everywhere.

And like the masochist that I am, I can’t stop looking at it. Captions accompanying the photo range from “Taylor Swift fans when someone cheats on her” to “When people hang their Christmas decorations in September” and “When my boyfriend asks me if I’m on my period.”

There’s even a GIF version, with a super slow-mo of me committing the dunking offense and the word “Noooooo!” written above. Which is, coincidentally, what I currently feel like screaming.

I wasn’t planning on watching the episode ofBaking Bonanzathat aired last night—I didn’t want to have to reliveThe Incident.But now, I’m going to be forced to look at it everywhere on the freaking internet.

I’ll also have to ignore my mom’s relentless phone calls from here until eternity.

I don’t realize I’m crying until the door opens.

Seb’s standing there, looking much more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him. His hair is standing straight up, his clothes are rumpled, he has purple circles under his eyes, and there’s lipstick smudged on his cheek (mine?!?).

He lingers in the doorway for a moment, clutching a tray of takeaway coffees and a bag of what I’m praying is baked goods.

“Maddie, hi. I didn’t mean for you to wake up alone. I picked up coffee. And tea. And a hot chocolate. I wasn’t sure what you drank. I also got croissants and breakfast bagels and…” He seems perturbed as he gingerly walks towards me—like I’m a chained-up dog with a biting habit—and sets down the tray of drinks. Then, he finally looks at me. “Oh, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please don’t cry, I can fix this.”

His words are coming fast and a little panicked, and my brain—in its current molasses-thick state—groans as it struggles to catch up.

I reach across the bed for a tissue and hurriedly wipe away my tears. I’m sure my eyes are entirely panda-fied by now. “I’ll take tea, please. And a breakfast bagel. Sorry about the crying.” I hold my phone out to him. “Evil Ex and I are a meme and I’m feeling a little humiliated. My delicate hungover state probably isn’t helping.”

He looks at me carefully for a few moments, like he pities me but he’s trying not to show it. “I forgot, you said that the episode aired last night… Are you okay?”

I smile wanly. It’s sweet of him to ask. Sweet that he brought me breakfast, too. Sebastian really does seem to be genuinely nice beneath all that flirty hockey-player swagger of his. “I’m fine. I’m a big girl and Eugene deserves no more of my tears, so I should reel in the waterworks.”

Seb gives a small, encouraging nod, but his face is pale as he sinks down onto the edge of the bed. He passes a cup to me, his hand shaking slightly so that our fingers brush when I accept it. He then hands me a wax-paper wrapped bagel that smells like literal heaven—wafts of bacon and melty cheese that are making my mouth water—before saying, “Just to check… you sure you’re not crying because of this?” He gestures between himself and me.

“Well, I mean, I probably should be. Have you seen our wedding pictures?”

“There are pictures?” Seb’s handsome features relax slightly as he reaches for a coffee and takes a sip.

“Open at your own risk.” I hand him a manila envelope. I found the “Complimentary Photos of The Happy Couple!” package under my butt when I woke up, and boy oh boy, it’s a sight for sore eyes. Well, the bridal half was. The groom, meanwhile, somehow managed to pull off (literal) traffic-stopping orange and look like a top model.