Madison Awakening

The next morning, I pounced out of bed, to my own surprise. After countless cocktails, I’m thankful that I don’t have a mean hangover. I never saw the Hamptons god again after our dance, but the night was filled with fun that I didn’t know I missed. Ashely rallied after a bottle of water, and we didn’t make it home till four a.m. 

I look at my reflection in the mirror and note my eyes are brighter. 

The darkness that was suffocating me has lifted a bit, and I slept soundly. For the past few months I’ve woken up crying from dreams that I can’t remember. I wonder idly if it is the pristine air of the suburbs or the interesting character I met last night that’s influencing my new vibe. But subconsciously, I know it is because of him. I can still feel his smile on my cheek, giving me flutters. I shake my head and force myself out of la-la land, finish brushing my teeth, then head downstairs to make breakfast.

By noon, Ashely and I are sipping citrus-infused water by the pool, bathing in the warmth of the sun. I turn to look at Ashely in her coral ensemble, hair piled on top of her head, typing feverishly on her phone.

“What are you doing?” I ask with mock annoyance.

“I’m working. Not all of us get the summers off.”

“Whoa. Now you are well aware my summers off are necessary for sanity purposes.”

“Whatever, Miss Davis. Some of us have to work for a living.” She pokes her tongue for emphasis. I stick my fingers in my water and splash Ashely for her petulance.

“Hey!” she yelps and splashes me back.

“You could have been a teacher too, but you chose the fabulous life, darling.”

Ashely landed a job at Jones PR Agency as a junior executive, and our Hamptons getaway is care of one of her A-list clients as a gift for all her hard work. She could have easily gone the Real Housewives route like her family wanted, but instead she committed to her dreams and has worked her ass off to get what she has.

 In contrast, I have fallen into conformity, which has partially fueled my blah state of mind. I love teaching, but it wasn’t my first choice; it was the safe one. When I started college, I wanted to be a writer. But knowing that life is not easy or lucrative in the beginning for a writer, plus the push by my mom to get a “good job,” I chose the road well traveled. Now, after five years at Vanderbilt Prep and two more academic degrees, I started thinking about writing again earlier this year. But the plume of sadness stopped me before I could start. 

I know I have a good life, but I’m restless for a great life. A life I’m actually excited about. With the nightmares and the dull ache of monotony starting to wear on me, this girls’ trip is exactly what I need. 

I place my book down, take a deep breath, and close my eyes as my skin sears under the hot sun. Then, the chime of the phone breaks my peace.

“Are you going to answer that?” I tease.

“That is not my phone ringing.” 

I jump up from my chaise, frantically searching for the sound, grab the phone, and answer the unfamiliar number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Madison, this is your personal bartender,” a husky, sensuous voice coos from the phone.

“Um…Who is this?!” I say, my voice raised an octave at the audacity of the person on the other line…