The Ex

by Freida McFadden

  I wonder if she’s prettier than me. If she’s younger than me. If she’s a doctor in the ER like he is.

  I look down again at the map. There’s one way to find out for sure, isn’t there?

  I suck in a breath, contemplating my next move. It’s one thing to orchestrate a couple of chance meetings with Joel. If I were to take the train into the city to spy on him and his date, that would be taking things to a whole new level. It would cross a line. I don’t want to be the crazy ex-girlfriend. I don’t.

  Yet…

  I turn off the stove. I toss my phone back in my purse and grab a light sweater from the closet. “Nonna!” I call. “I’m going out!”

  Chapter 6: The New Girl

  This man Rob will not shut up.

  “So what a thrill to finally meet the wonderful Francesca,” he says. “And now that I’ve met you, I see what all the fuss was about.”

  “Rob,” Joel chokes out. “This isn’t…”

  There’s an awkward silence while Rob puts it all together. That Cassie is not Francesca. She’s not the wonderful woman who Joel thought was perfect and beautiful and wanted to marry. She’s nothing more than a girl who owns a failing used bookstore.

  “Wow,” Rob says. “I really put my foot in my mouth, didn’t I?”

  Joel just shakes his head. “Rob, this is Cassie.”

  “Well, hello, Cassie.” Rob offers a crooked smile. “Sorry for the mix-up. Have you two been together long?”

  “It’s our first date,” Joel says through his teeth.

  “Oh wow,” Rob says again. “Shit, Joel, you must hate me.” He flashes Cassie an apologetic look. “I was just exaggerating all that stuff about Francesca, you know. Trying to make him look good in front of his girl.”

  “Thanks for that,” Joel mutters.

  Rob raps his fingers on the table. “Well, I’ll leave the two of you alone then. Hope I didn’t ruin the evening.”

  That remains to be seen.

  Cassie sits there, her fingers clutching the hem of her dress, waiting for an explanation, not certain she wants one. She had already suspected Joel had recently come out of a long-term relationship. But it’s one thing to suspect it, and it’s another thing to have it thrown in her face.

  She doubts many great love stories have started with being mistaken for the guy’s ex-girlfriend.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Joel says. “I’m so… so sorry.”

  She shrugs like she gets mistaken for ex-girlfriends on dates all the time. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Yeah…” He rakes a hand through his dark hair. “I just… I think you should know… he was exaggerating. A lot.”

  She manages a tiny smile. “So this Francesca wasn’t the most perfect human being who ever was?”

  “No.” He lowers his eyes. “She wasn’t.”

  A million questions pop into Cassie’s head. When did the relationship end? It must have been recent if this man assumed they were still together. Who ended it? She’s not sure why, but somehow she thinks it was Francesca who pulled the plug on their perfect relationship. Did you love her?

  Well, of course he did. That much is obvious from his face.

  “I don’t want to talk about Francesca,” Joel interrupts her thoughts. A muscle twitches in his jaw. “That’s the last thing I want to talk about. So… let’s change the subject. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she agrees, even though it’s the only thing she wants to talk about. But he’s right. Ex-girlfriends are not an appropriate first-date conversation. Or any date conversation.

  A song starts playing in the background. It’s a man’s voice, although Cassie can’t identify the singer or the name of the song. But Joel’s ears perk up and he smiles. “I used to love the song. Haven’t heard it in a long time.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard it.”

  His eyes widen. “Really? This is Sister Hazel. It was on the radio all the time back in…” He frowns at her. “Is it rude to ask how old you are?”

  She laughs. “No, not rude. I’m twenty-six. How old are you?”

  He hesitates. “Older than you.”

  “Oh, that is so unfair.” She shoots him a look. “I told you how old I am and now you won’t tell me how old you are?”

  “Well…”

  “Okay, in that case, I’m going to guess…” She squints at him across the table, studying his face for lines and gray hairs. She detects one possible gray hair around his temple. When he smiles, there are lines around his eyes, but they mostly disappear when his face relaxes. Mid-thirties, or thereabouts. But she feels in the mood to tease him. “Fifty… seven?”

  His mouth falls open. “That’s a joke, right?”

  She blinks. “Older or younger?”

  He grins at her. “You know, it makes you look even worse if you agreed to go out with a fifty-seven-year-old if you’re only twenty-six.”

  “What can I say? I’m looking for a sugar daddy.”

  “Says the girl who wouldn’t even let me pay for dinner.”

  The spell that was broken by that idiot who mistook Cassie for the ex-girlfriend has returned full-force. They’re staring at each other again, and even though she loves sushi and hasn’t had it in ages, she can’t wait for the meal to be over so she can walk close to him on the street and maybe get that kiss she’s been thinking about.

  “Thirty-six,” he says.

  “Oh my God, you’re so old,” she teases him.

  “Considering more than half my patients are geriatric, I usually don’t think I am.” He takes a sip from his water. “But right now… on a date with a twenty-six-year-old… yeah, feeling a little old. When I was in high school and taking the SATs, you were a kindergartener eating paste.”

  “Uh, I never ate paste.”

  “You think I can’t recognize a paste-eater when I see one?”

  She laughs. She likes the smile that plays on his lips when he teases her. He’s very sexy. And so what if he had a serious girlfriend right before her? Everyone’s got a past.

  Chapter 7: The Ex

  I don’t entirely know how I got here.

  One minute I was staring at the tiny avatar of Joel on the screen of my phone, and the next minute, I’m riding the D train into Manhattan. I didn’t have a plan in my head—not really. Mostly, I want to reassure myself. I want to take a peek into the restaurant and find Joel there with his buddies, and know he hasn’t found someone new.

  But what’s the point of that? Joel doesn’t want me back. He made that quite clear when he asked me to move out of our former apartment if I couldn’t cough up the rent. He’s willing to try to be friends, but that’s the best I can hope for.

  Then again, it’s been nearly six months, and from what I’ve heard, he hasn’t been dating. That says something, doesn’t it?

  When I get out of the subway, the sun has fallen in the sky and I throw on the sweater I had wrapped around my shoulders. Joel was the sort of gentleman who would always give up his jacket for me when I was cold. He would see me shivering and laugh. Don’t you ever bring a jacket? Then he’d wrap his own jacket around me, and it would feel warm and big and smell like his aftershave.

  Sometimes I forgot my jacket on purpose so he’d give me his.

  If I ever saw him do that for another woman, I don’t know what I would do. It would break me. That’s why we can’t be friends.

  When I get to the restaurant, my heart is pounding, although I’m not sure if it’s from the brisk walk or from what I’m scared I might see. I approach the restaurant, doing my best to be inconspicuous. That’s not hard for me. I am not someone who attracts much attention.

  I peer through the glass windows of the restaurant, ready to duck out of sight if I’m spotted. Please let him be out with Pete or Jim. I squint at the tables and…

  I don’t see him. He’s not in there.

  I whip out my phone. I open the WhereAmI app, and see the avatar of Joel has left the restaurant. It’s hovering about a block aw
ay.

  I should go home. Maybe grab a bite at a restaurant then take the train back to Bensonhurst. Or maybe I’ll send Lydia a text and see if she’s free—I haven’t heard from her in ages. That’s what I should do.

  Except instead I start walking toward Joel’s avatar.

  I see them when I get to the corner. Joel isn’t out with the boys. He’s out with a woman. If I wanted to reassure myself, I have done the exact opposite. And…

  She’s beautiful.

  God, she’s beautiful. I can tell even from nearly a block away. She’s wearing a dress that shows off miles of leg, she has flawless olive skin, and her dark hair is loose and sexy going down her back. And she’s young. So young. I don’t want to think about it.

  There’s something about her that reminds me of myself, only prettier and younger. She’s the two point oh version of me. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse about the whole thing.

  I wonder how long they’ve been seeing each other. I squint at her face, and it doesn’t look familiar. I haven’t seen her featured on his Facebook page or other social media. It’s got to be a new relationship. Maybe even a first date.

  I wonder if they’ve kissed yet. If she’s been to his apartment. If they’ve slept together.

  This is the point where I know I should turn around. I have gotten an answer to my question, and even though it’s not the answer I had wanted, it’s an answer. Yet I can’t make my feet move. I can’t look away.

  Especially when he leans in toward her until his lips are against hers.

  I can’t describe how it feels to see the man you love—the man you were certain you would marry and spend the rest of your life with—kissing another woman. It’s a sick, horrible feeling, like the entire world is falling out from under me. And the kiss… it lasts forever.

  I remember the first time Joel kissed me. It was the night we met. We were at a Christmas party thrown by a mutual friend, and he showed up in his scrubs (no surprise there) and was passed out on the sofa sitting up when I arrived. When I sat down on the couch, it jostled him awake. I apologized for waking him, and as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, a smile spread across his face. I’m glad you did, he said.

  We spent the next two hours talking and ignoring everyone else at the party. He entertained me with stories from his med school rotations, and I confessed to him my dream of opening my own shop someday. We had several drinks in us when he got shakily back on his feet, then offered me his hand to help me up. Can I walk you home?

  I had been hoping for a kiss at my front door, but instead, we ran into a piece of mistletoe stuck above the doorway. I can’t remember which one of us pointed it out, but as soon as I saw it, I knew what he was going to do. When he leaned in to kiss me, I knew this was the man I would spend the rest of my life with.

  Or at least, that’s what I thought.

  Stupid, I know.

  And now he’s kissing another woman. There’s part of me that can’t believe this is happening. Maybe I’m trapped in some sort of elaborate dream I can’t escape.

  God, why is this kiss lasting so long? Are they trying for the World’s Record?

  I need to leave. I need to walk away. I need to forget all about Joel and move on with my life. But instead, I keep staring at them as they kiss.

  And then something inside me snaps.

  Chapter 8: The New Girl

  It ends up being a great dinner and a great date. The best Cassie has had in years, although to be fair, she can count on one hand the number of dates she’s been on in the last few years.

  Is it as good as the first date between Bea and Marv? She doesn’t know. She wasn’t there for that date, although she has to assume it was a good one since they were married only six months later.

  Joel won’t let her see the number on the check when it arrives. He yanks it away before she can even attempt to reach for it and hands it back to the waiter with his credit card. She doesn’t want to think about how much the meal cost, considering how many plates are stacked up in front of them, and they had two glasses of wine each. She tried to take the salmon plates, even though he told her to get whatever she liked. Well, she does like salmon.

  The sun has gone down, and the air has gotten brisk when they leave the restaurant. Her formerly comfortable dress is no longer warm enough, and Cassie feels goosebumps prickling her arm.

  “You’re cold,” Joel notes.

  “I’m fine,” she insists.

  “I’d give you my jacket, but I’m not wearing one.”

  “I’m fine,” she says again, even as her teeth start to chatter.

  Joel looks down at her. He’s about six inches taller than she is—a perfect height for her. Or maybe she’s a perfect height for him, even if she’s not generally perfect like Francesca.

  “Come on,” he says.

  He takes her by the arm. He’s not quite holding her hand, but close enough that the goosebumps on her arm multiply. She barely notices where he’s leading her until they’ve ducked into a tiny gift shop on the corner. Her elbows brush against various license plates with names on them, snow globes with the Statue of Liberty within, baseball caps in every color, and yes, sweatshirts.

  “I can’t afford an overpriced sweatshirt.” Cassie worries she sounds like a broken record, but it needs to be said. She’s got plenty of perfectly good sweatshirts at home.

  “Good thing I’m buying it then.”

  “Joel…”

  “Don’t make a big thing about it.” He reaches out and fingers one of the first sweatshirts in the rack. “What do you think? Are you a New York City Gurl?”

  “Oh God,” she laughs. “You know, I’ll get mugged if I walk around in one of these.”

  He examines the second shirt in the rack. “Well, how about New York Mom?”

  “I feel like maybe you don’t want a second date.”

  He takes a step back. “Okay, point taken. So… which one do you like?”

  She’s reluctant to buy a sweatshirt here, but it is quite cold. Plus, she’s not sure if Joel will let her leave without one. She thumbs through the rack and finally selects a navy blue Yankees hoodie.

  “You’re going to look adorable in this,” he tells her as he pays for it.

  “Unlikely.”

  She’s right. When she slips the hoodie over her head, she’s immediately sorry she got it. It’s big and bulky and ugly. But when Joel looks at her, a smile spreads across his face. “See? I was right. Adorable.”

  She rolls her eyes. At least it’s warm.

  They stroll around the neighborhood. He suggests ice cream, but she’s stuffed from sushi. She wonders if she should invite him over. Is that what people do on dates these days? She can’t remember the etiquette.

  Sometimes on sit-coms, a character bemoans a long dry spell without sex, which is always around five or six months. Cassie’s dry spell is two years. Her last boyfriend was named Harry—she met him when she was out getting drinks with some friends. He had a job in advertising and was trying to break into the industry, which apparently required him to drink a lot because he was always slightly drunk when they got together after work. At first, he was sweet as he courted her, but the longer they were together, the more irritable and demanding he became. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or his personality, but it got to the point where they couldn’t get through an evening without fighting.

  There was one night when she and Harry were out to dinner, and the waiter gave them a table he didn’t like, too close to a boisterous group of college kids. Cassie had suggested switching tables, but instead, Harry bitched and moaned about it through the whole meal. He ruined the night. She realized at that moment that it wasn’t the great love story like between Bea and Marv. It was a horror story. (Or at the very least, dark women’s fiction.)

  She broke up with Harry that night.

  After a bad relationship, being alone came as an incredible relief. Cassie basked in her newly rediscovered ability to spend a night
out without Harry’s moodiness. She was happy being single. It was far preferable to being with someone like Harry.

  Then it started to become a dangerous habit. Every time an attractive man would approach her, she’d think back to Harry and all the other unsatisfying and often miserable relationships she’d had. And she’d shake her head no. She preferred to focus on her business and enjoy having fun with her friends.

  But now it’s bordering on too long. There are times when she aches for another person’s touch so badly, she can barely sleep. Other days, she doesn’t miss it. Right now, she can’t think about anything but the way Joel’s hand felt on her arm. She knows she won’t be able to go to sleep tonight if they don’t share a kiss.

  “Do you want to share a cab home?” Joel suggests after she inadvertently lets out a yawn.

  Her heart skips a beat. “To… my home?”

  One corner of his lips lifts. “We get one cab, they drop you off first, then they drop me off.”

  “Oh.” She isn’t sure if she’s relieved or disappointed. She’s glad at least that he’s being a gentleman and not pushing to come over after only one date. “Okay.”

  Except it turns out he lives in the opposite direction to her. He puzzles it out for a moment, and finally declares, “I’ll get you a cab, and I’ll find one of my own.”

  “That’s okay,” she says quickly. “I’ll take the subway.”

  “Don’t even joke about that,” he says. “I’m not letting you take the subway home all alone at night.”

  “It’s not that late.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Cassie looks down at her watch and… wow, it is rather late. Were they really talking together at the restaurant that long? But still. It’s Friday night. The subway won’t be deserted.

  “I’ll get you a cab,” he says again.

  “Listen, buddy.” She pokes him gently in the chest. “I take the subway home from here every single night. It’s Friday night—there will be plenty of people on the subway. I’ll be fine.” She tugs at the hood of her sweatshirt. “I’ve even got my warm hoodie.”