Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(55)

And that was on a good day. We had Selfish Bitch to contend with on this one.

I sighed, a twinge of guilt running through me for reminding myself of the bad parts of Madison, like I did every time I thought about her. I got that it was my own self-protection, yet a part of me felt sorry for her. Her struggle after being beaten, wanting to be accepted, turning to me for help—tugged at me. She had a vulnerable goodness under that steel-spiked exterior. But the reasons why she hurt others—hurt me and hurt Hannah—didn’t justify her reckless actions.

That’s why I wanted to try to prevent as many glitches as possible. Not just because the double bar mitzvah was a big event, but also because I suspected I’d have my hands full with damage-controlling whatever next idiotic stunt Madison might pull.

As I opened the latest two emails from Suzanne and reread their contents, it struck me that no amount of preplanning would prevent every possible scenario. I couldn’t even be at both of the events at once. There’d be no way to monitor Madison on top of all that.

Two. I need two of me.

We would all have to dig in and do our best for one hectic night. Then it would be over. And whatever stress we’d gone through to accomplish it would fade away.

Then Hannah and I would be on a flight to a tropical beach, all the chaos behind us.

I answered Suzanne’s emailed concerns point by point. She was having difficulty securing the second photo booth. The vendor had two down for repair and the other two were previously scheduled at weddings that day. “Fucking weddings,” I muttered. I surfed the Internet for other possible suppliers, but came up empty.

The photo booth issue reminded me of all the sabotage that had happened to date and how I had yet to bring Kristen up to speed with the two health inspections—they’d clearly screamed Madison. I fired off an email to Kristen with a copy to Kiki, Kendall, Hannah, and Ben, outlining the details of what happened on Friday. I also asked if anything new had happened to any of them. Within twenty minutes, I got replies from Kristen and Ben. Neither had anything new to report.

About an hour later, Mase stumbled into the kitchen while I reread Darren’s email about the music. Darren detailed out the rental of the proper equipment for identical setups in each room, the sound buffer required to avoid having an all-out decibel war, and his suggested configuration for each room.

“Morning.” I nodded without glancing away from the screen as I chased a thought hovering at the back of my mind. I pulled up the three different configurations: the one Kristen and I had initially suggested, the one Suzanne had countered with, likely as Madison’s mouthpiece, and the one Darren needed for easy electrical access without guests tripping over wires.

A headache began to form at the base of my skull, and I groaned at the task of trying to get everyone to compromise into one workable configuration.

“You left Ava out all morning?” Mase snarled as he opened the back door.

“She’s having a ball out there. Not one scratch or whine. From her, anyway,” I muttered.

“Dick.”

“Fuckhead.” I smirked and flipped him off without taking my eyes off of Darren’s diagram.

Mase snorted and sat down with a bottle of orange juice in one hand and a bowl of his custom granola blend in the other. As he poured the one into the other, my stomach lurched.

“That’s messed up, man.” I grimaced at the rank combination.

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” He held the bowl up to me.

I gripped my coffee mug like an anti-puke lifeline and raised it up in front of my face in self-defense. “No. Keep that shit to yourself.” A deep inhale of my Italian brew prevented upheaval.

His chuckle was followed by dog claws clicking across the kitchen tiles while Ava chased her treat-filled toy around the room. All the noise scattered my concentration. I leaned back in my chair and gave up on work for a moment. I needed a mindless break anyway.

“How’s it going?” Mase nodded toward my closing laptop, mumbling around a full mouth of orange-juiced granola.

I shrugged. “It’s going. The usual obstacles, multiplied by two parties, along with trying to anticipate any shit my unpredictable ex might pull.”

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs diagonally under the table, and dropped me a heavy look. “Thought Madison dumped you.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“So what’s eatin’ her?”

“Who knows. She cuts me loose, then what? Wants me? Crazy.” Simple explanation. No details required. Mase didn’t need to hear her deeper issues. And I wasn’t in the mood to share my struggles about them.

He crossed his arms over his faded T-shirt. “Figures. Only wants you when she can’t have you. Watch her. I saw the shit that went down at the bar. She gunned for Hannah the second you were distracted.”

I sighed and pegged a hard stare at him. He mirrored my concerns. Mase cared about Hannah like a protective big brother. “Yeah, I know.”

“You’re gonna have your hands full on Saturday with even less time to watch out for your ex. Hannah gonna be up for that? Are you?”

I scrubbed a hand over my face, growling at the unknown clusterf*ck ahead. “Yeah, I know. And f*ck, I sure as hell hope so.”

“You need to make room in your budget for security. I’d look good in one of those black ‘security’ T-shirts. And I would stick to Hannah’s ass like a chair coated in Superglue.”