Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 64

[Maddie’s POV]

The morning comes too quickly. I wake up nauseous, my stomach staging a revolt. Today I tell my parents I’m gay and in love with my roommate, which feels like voluntarily signing up for emotional vivisection.

Emily’s already awake, pretending to work while actually watching me pretend to sleep. We’re both excellent at pretending. “You need to eat something,” she says. “Breakfast. Real food, not anxiety and regret.”

“I’m not hungry. My stomach is currently staging a protest with signs and everything.” I wave her off dismissively. She can’t have that.

“Maddie.” She sits on my bed, taking my hand. “You need to eat. You can’t do this on an empty stomach.”

She makes me toast with peanut butter that tastes like cardboard, but I eat it anyway because she’s watching with determination. Every bite feels like swallowing concrete.

“Do you want me nearby?” Emily asks carefully. “When they arrive? I can wait at the library or the coffee shop, somewhere close.”

“Yes.” The word comes out too fast, too desperate. “Please. The coffee shop on Third Street, maybe?”

She squeezes my hand. “I’ll be there. The whole time. Just text me when you’re done or if you need me sooner.”

At 10:47 AM, I’m pacing the dorm lobby like a caged animal. My parents’ car pulls up at exactly 11:00 because punctuality is my father’s religion, more sacred than the actual religion he’ll probably weaponize against me in approximately thirty minutes. I watch through the glass doors as they get out.

Mom spots me and waves, completely unaware of the bomb I’m about to detonate. She pulls me into a hug that smells like home and every lie I’ve ever told is wrapped in fabric softener.

“Sweetheart!” She studies my face with maternal x-ray vision. “Are you okay? You sounded strange on the phone. Is everything alright with school?”

“I’m fine, Mom. We just need to talk.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “Somewhere private. Can we go somewhere else?”

Dad’s watching me with concern. “Madison, what’s going on? You’re worrying your mother.”

“There’s a park nearby. Quiet. We can talk there.” The drive takes seven minutes, which feels like seven hours. Mom makes small talk about their trip, about the weather, about nothing while Dad drives in silence. I stare out the window rehearsing words that keep rearranging themselves into panic.

The park is nearly empty—just joggers and someone walking a dog that looks unimpressed with existence. We find a picnic table, and I sit across from my parents like we’re negotiating a hostage situation.

“Alright, Madison.” Dad folds his hands on the table. “What’s this about? Why all the secrecy?”

My hands are shaking so badly I press them flat against the wood. I’ve rehearsed this conversation seven hundred times. Now every line has evacuated my brain like rats abandoning ship.

“Remember at lunch when you asked about the rumors?” The words rush out like I’m ripping off a bandage or jumping off a cliff or any other metaphor for doing something irreversible. “About me and Emily?”

Mom’s face does something complicated—understanding and dread mixing together in real-time like a chemistry experiment nobody wanted to conduct. Dad’s expression hardens, jaw setting in that way that means he’s preparing for disappointment. “I lied. The rumors are true. Emily and I are together. I’m in love with her.”

The silence that follows is deafening. It has weight and texture, pressing against my eardrums like I’m underwater. Mom’s eyes fill with tears she doesn’t let fall, her hand flying to her mouth.

Dad’s face goes through several emotions in rapid succession—shock, confusion, then settling on anger that makes my stomach drop through several floors.

“You’re confused.” His voice is tight, controlled like he’s reining in something volatile. “This is because of the trauma, the bullying you went through. You’re just—”

“I won’t accept this.” Dad’s voice cuts through the air, steel and hurt, and, most importantly, disappointment. It makes me sick. “I won’t support this lifestyle.”

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