Ex and the Single Girl Read online

  “See, all this time, I thought it was a curse driving all the men away, or some sort of...aura, or smell, or something...” Bev raised her eyes to mine and blinked heavily. “Smell?”

  “Or something,” I said. “But now, I think...I think it’s us. Our behavior. Our choices. We probably don’t even realize we do it. I didn’t with Peter, but after talking to him at dinner tonight, it’s like—BOOM!—I suddenly understand, you know?”

  Mags grinned. “How was dinner? Did you have a good time?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s about how we broke up. That whole mess...I thought I was totally innocent, and it turns out I wasn’t. I was doing things I didn’t realize I was doing, and I drove him away.”

  I paused. They stared. I hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to ask what I was going to ask, but based on Bev’s expression I’d spent whatever currency I’d made in her good graces the other night, so I didn’t have much to lose by continuing.

  “So, I need to know...” I said, my eyes connecting with each of them before I continued, “what happened. With all of you, I mean.” Bev shifted in her seat. I estimated the chances at fair to middlin’ that she was fixing to hand me my ass on a platter. I held my hand up to silence her.

  “Look, I know you probably think this is a load of crap, but hear me out, Bev. I can’t stop the pattern if I don’t know how it started. I don’t know anything about you and my grandfather. I’m not even entirely sure his name was Henry.”

  Bev’s eyes iced over as I said the name. I hurried to switch my attention to Mags. “And Mags, I know you don’t want to tell me, but you and Jack...I need to know what happened.” Mags focused on smoothing her skirt over her legs. I turned to Vera, who was watching me intently.

  “And Vera...What about you and Bridge?”

  Vera kept eye contact but didn’t say anything. I felt a cold sweat break out on my neck. All wrong. I was handling this all wrong. I got up and began to pace the floor in front of them, searching my mind for another tactic, something that would work, some secret handshake that would allow me into their world, that would help me understand. All these years, we’d never discussed these things, and it was scary territory. For me as much as them. But I needed to know, damnit.

  I needed to know.

  I stopped pacing and slowly moved my eyes from Miz to Miz. “Look,” I said, “y’all are always saying that you want me to be happy. If I’m gonna be happy, with Peter or with anyone, I need to know what I’ve been doing that’s been making me unhappy. You can help me. Just tell me your stories. It was all a long time ago, but I’m going through this now, and I need your help.”

  There was a pin-drop silence. Finally, Bev stood up, her eyes swimming in fury, her index finger pointed at me like a gun.

  “Let me tell you something,” she said, her voice scratching the muddy bottom of her range, “just because you can’t make a relationship work, do not turn around and blame it on us. Peter wants to marry you and care for you, and you keep putting him off, and then you have the nerve to come to us talking about Penis Teflon?” I didn’t know what to say. I’d pissed Bev off a fair amount in my day, but I’d never seen her this angry. Her lips trembled. Her jaw clenched. She lowered her shaky index finger and took a step toward me. I half expected her to slap me across the face. Instead, she just locked her steely blue eyes on mine.

  “And don’t you dare ever mention your grandfather’s name in my presence again. You hear me, child?”

  I nodded, feeling like a terrified six-year-old. She tightened her grip on her sweater and walked out, slamming the door behind her, the bells jangling nervously in her wake. I stared at the door, heat shimmering in my eyes. I swiped my hand over my face and looked at Mags and Vera.

  “Well. What about you two?”

  Mags hesitated for a moment, then stood up. Her eyes were watery and her smile was gone. Without a word, she walked out, her unholy red pumps making almost no sound as she made her way out of the Page. I watched as the door closed behind her, waiting for the bells to stop jingling before I spoke again.

  “Go on, Vera,” I said. “I’ll make sure everything’s locked up.” She was quiet for a minute, then said, “You were right, you know.”

  “Me? Right? When?”

  “When you said I should know better. You were right. I do know better.” She inhaled and looked up at me. “But Mags and Bev don’t, and their stories are their stories. But, if it would help you to know what happened with Bridge and me, then I’ll tell you.”

  “It would help, Vera,” I said as I settled myself in the chair next to hers. “It really, really, really would.”

  She gave me a sad smile. “But first you’ve got to tell me why.” I rubbed my fingers over my eyes, feeling suddenly drained to exhaustion. “What?”

  Vera watched me for a moment. “Why is this so important?”

  “Because,” I said, choosing the first reason that came to mind, “Peter told me that he left because I made him feel like a failure.” She shook her head. “That’s not the reason.”

  I blinked. Looked up at the ceiling. Shrugged. Looked back at Vera. “Because I don’t really want a cat?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Aw, girl, you’re not even trying.”

  “Good God, Vera. Why don’t you just tell me what answer you want because I don’t know what it is.”

  Vera leaned over the side of her chair and stared me down. “I think you do.”

  I felt light shed on a thought that had been hovering in a dark corner of my mind. “Because if I don’t understand what the Penis Teflon is all about, I’ll lose him, and I don’t want to lose him.” She nodded knowingly. “That’s the one.”

  She didn’t ask me who I was talking about. Either she assumed I meant Peter, or it didn’t matter. Either way, I was grateful for the stay of execution. I wasn’t entirely sure myself.

  “I’ve known Bridge since high school,” Vera said, leaning back in her chair and settling her delicate hands over her stomach, “but we didn’t start seeing each other until Bev hired him to install the shelves in the back of the store.”

  “I remember,” I said. I’d been in the sixth grade at the time and had thought it funny how Bridge kept coming back to make sure the shelves were level.

  “Yes,” she said. “Anyway, not long after you went away to college, he asked me to marry him.”

  I blinked. “He what?” No one had told me this part. “Anyway, I wasn’t sure what to do,” Vera said. “So, I did a Tarot card reading, and the reading said no. And I told Bridge I couldn’t marry him.”

  Her voice was starting to waver. I stayed quiet until she was ready to go on.

  “He asked me why not, and when I told him about the reading, he got angry. We didn’t speak for years, and now, when we see each other...Well. We’re civil.”

  I waited a minute before asking my next question.

  “Did you love him?”

  She smiled a faraway smile, as if reliving an old memory. “Yes.”

  “Then why did you pay attention to the Tarot reading? Why didn’t you just marry him anyway?”

  “Listen, honey, if you go into it with intent, the Tarot will read whatever way you want it to. That Tarot reading didn’t say no. I did.” She sighed and leaned her head back on the chair, staring at the ceiling. “I was scared. When Bridge and I fought, I could never feel right again until we’d made up. It scared me, needing one person so much that if they ever up and left...” She gave a small laugh. “I guess you weren’t the only one who’d noticed the Penis Teflon.”

  I sat back in my chair. “Do you think that’s what I did with Peter? Pushed him away because I was scared?”

  Vera shrugged. “Only you know that for sure. What do you think?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “Well,” Vera said, pushing herself up from her easy chair. “I’ll leave you to yourself to figure that out.”

  I got up and pulled her
into a hug, resting my cheek on her shoulder like a little girl.

  “Thanks, Vera.”

  She patted my back, pulled away, and cupped my chin in her hand. “You tell me what you find out, okay?”

  I smiled. “Okay.”

  I watched her leave, shutting the door carefully behind her and tucking her hands into the crooks of her elbows as she headed back in the direction of the house. I waited a few minutes, then followed her out, closing and locking the door behind me before dragging myself up the outside stairs to my apartment. I brushed my teeth, thinking about Bridge and Vera and how I was almost sure they both still loved each other, and how Bridge’s pride and Vera’s fear had cost them eleven years that might have otherwise been happy.

  Or that could have led to pain and loss and heartbreak anyway, like Mags and Jack.

  I spit and rinsed and looked at myself in the mirror.

  “It’s all a big, stupid crapshoot,” I said to my reflection. My reflection didn’t seem to be buying that line.

  “Oh, what the hell do you know?” I said, turning out the light in the bathroom and heading for bed.

  “Portia! Ian!” Beauji’s mom, Wendy, clapped her hands after opening the front door. “We’re so glad you could make it!” She took Ian’s bottle of wine and the baby gift basket I’d brought and grinned up at us.

  “Oh, you didn’t have to bring anything, honey, but thank you.” She motioned with her head toward the living room. “Everyone’s in there. I’ll be right with y’all.”

  I felt Ian’s hand on the small of my back as we moved into the house, and I was glad I decided against jeans and went with the sheer blue summer dress the Mizzes had given me when I got into town. I had to admit it was gratifying when I caught Ian tugging at his collar after he picked me up.

  Beau Sr., Davey, and Beauji were in the living room, all crouched over the bassinet where, judging by the relative quiet, baby Miles was sleeping.

  “Well, hello, you two.” Beau Sr. popped up when he saw us. He engulfed me in a hug, kissing me on the cheek and lifting me off my feet, then reached out to shake Ian’s hand.

  “I have to thank you two again for taking care of my baby.” He glanced over at Beauji and winked, then turned back to Ian and me. “Not at all,” Ian said. “Glad we could help.”

  “Bridge couldn’t make it tonight, so Daddy sent him five pounds of peaches,” Beauji said, waving us over to the empty spaces on the couch next to her. “I think y’all got the better end of the deal.”

  Davey grabbed Ian’s arm as he was about to sit down. “I have to warn you, man,” he said, glancing quickly over his shoulder toward the kitchen, “Wendy’s a huge fan. She’s read all your books and she actually changed her dress four times in the last half hour.”

  “Really?” Ian said, quirking an eyebrow at me.

  “Don’t look at me,” I said, smiling back at him. “I had no idea.” Beau Sr. stepped forward and clapped Ian on the shoulder. “She’s promised to behave herself, but my lovely bride is known for behaving however she damn well pleases.”

  My lovely bride. Hearing Beau Sr. talk about his wife was like standing next to a blazing hearth in winter. I smiled at Beauji, who rolled her eyes affectionately.

  “So it’s a decent bet she’ll be making you sign a pile of books,” Davey said.

  “Or posing for endless Polaroid pictures she can show off in town tomorrow,” Beauji added.

  “My bride,” Beau Sr. said, leaning in toward Ian, “is an enthusiastic woman.”

  That was an understatement. Wendy had been famous for doing the cheers from the bleachers along with Beauji and the rest of the squad at all the home football games. And some of the aways.

  Ian grinned. “It’s no problem. I’m terribly flattered, really.” Wendy entered the room at that moment with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. She watched Ian as she toured the room with the platter, finally breaking after he complimented her on the stuffed mushrooms. She put the platter down and placed one hand on his arm.

  “I’m just such a huge fan,” she gushed. “I read Clean Sweep at least five times, and I just think you’re one of the most talented writers I’ve ever read.”

  “Thank you, Wendy,” he said, putting his hand over hers. “You’re very kind to say so. I do hope you’ll allow me to sign your copy while I’m here.”

  “Copies,” Davey coughed into his hand. Beauji smacked his leg. Wendy grinned and clasped her hands together.

  “Oh, really? Would you?” she squealed, practically hopping up and down. “That would be oh so wonderful! They’re right down here, in the den.”

  Ian started down the hallway and Wendy practically skipped after him, turning back to squeal in excitement at us before following him. I didn’t realize how big my smile was until I turned to Beauji and saw hers. Davey and Beau Sr. looked at each other.

  “I don’t know about you, son,” Beau Sr. said. “But I need me a drink.”

  “Right behind you. Portia?”

  “Gin and tonic,” I said.

  He blew a quick kiss at Beauji. “And I’ll be bringing the nursing mother the stiffest ginger ale in the house.”

  As the men left, I stood up and looked down over Miles, sleeping in his portable bassinet. Beauji got up and stood next to me. “Is he or is he not the most beautiful baby ever?” she asked.

  “He is,” I said. Although it had only been two weeks, he was distinctly less puggish looking. That had to be a good sign.

  Beauji bit her lower lip and spoke quietly. “I got Jack’s phone number and home address.”

  I straightened up and turned to her. “You’re kidding.” Beauji shook her head.

  “I found him in the online white pages. He’s living in Tuscaloosa.” She leaned over the bassinet and picked up Miles’s baby bag, pulling a little yellow piece of paper from the front pocket.

  “You don’t have to call him, but if you decide you want to, which I predict you will, it’s there.”

  I stared at her, all the warm fuzziness of the last few minutes practically obliterated by the small square of yellow paper in my hand. Beauji clasped her hand over mine and looked into my eyes.

  “You’re going to be just fine, darlin’,” she said. “Now put that in your pocket and don’t you think about it again until you’re ready. We’re going to have a good time tonight.”

  I gave her a small smile as the rest of the party flooded back into the room on cue. Davey pressed my drink into my hand and I sipped it gratefully.

  “You seemed a little quiet at dinner,” Ian said as he shut the car door behind him. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You were great with Wendy. I think you made her year.”

  He started up the engine and shrugged. “It was nothing.”

  “Not to her, it wasn’t.” I watched the trees and the houses float by as Ian drove us out of the neighborhood and toward town. “You don’t like attention, do you?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, for starters, you don’t write under your own name.” I leaned my head against the window. “And you didn’t tell me who you were at first.”

  “That’s because I’m not anybody.”

  I pulled my head up and looked over at him. “Sure you are. You’re a famous millionaire writer.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “Who told you that?”

  “Everybody knows it.”

  He laughed. “Writers don’t make as much money as you’d think.”

  “But the movies...”

  “I’m a comfortable, moderately well-known writer, that’s all. And weren’t we talking about you?”

  “We’re always talking about me. I want to talk about you.” I could see the muscles working in his jaw as he made the turn onto Main. He pulled up in front of the Page. I made no move to get out of the car. He shut off the engine and we sat in the pool of light coming from the streetlamp.

  “I’m not sure what you’d like to know,” he said finally.
/>   “I want to know why you don’t like the attention you get for being a famous millionaire—”

  He held up one hand. I nodded concession.

  “A comfortable, moderately well-known writer.”

  He sighed, staring out at the empty street in front of him. “I guess I’ve always felt somewhat...apologetic for what I write.”

  “Why?” I asked, but I knew damn well why. He’d told me his father had been a lit professor, and I knew what the typical lit prof felt about genre fiction. It had been my own reaction, at first.

  I put my hand on his shoulder.

  “If it helps at all,” I said, “I’m as snobby as anyone, and I think your books are great.”

  He smiled at me. “Well, we’re friends. You like me, so you like my writing.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not that—”

  He shrugged, and my hand fell off his shoulder, trailing down to his elbow. He smiled and squeezed my hand.

  “You’re very kind.”

  “I think your father would have been proud of you,” I said, surprised when I heard the thought come out in real words. Having been without a father my entire life, I knew how powerful a comment like that could be when a parent wasn’t around to say it themselves. And typically, how unwelcome.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m tired and I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m going to go.”

  I opened the car door and had one foot out the door when Ian spoke again.

  “Thank you, Portia.”

  I turned back to see him watching me, his eyes intense with...something. Something private. Something his own. I scooted back into the car, leaned over, and pressed my lips lightly to his for a second, using all my will to pull back before it went any further.

  “You’re welcome.”

  We stared at each other for a moment. His chin moved toward me, and then he pulled back. Just a touch, just enough for me to see that we were both sharing the same conflict. I put my finger to his lips.