The Ex

by Freida McFadden

  There’s already a bottle of wine on the table, ordered by Lydia prior to their arrival, and Cassie helps herself to a heaping glass. It’s the only way she’ll make it through this evening. She picks up the menu to study it and finds the prices are even higher than they were on the online menu. She gasps at the dollar figure next to the steak.

  “The foie gras mousse appetizer is supposed to be incredible here,” Lydia says as she eyes the menu with her sharp eyes. “We can get it for the table if you’d like.”

  Foie gras? That sounds familiar, but Cassie isn’t entirely sure what it is. But she likes mousse, and she wants to be agreeable. “That sounds fine,” she says.

  Lydia raises an eyebrow. “Do you like foie gras, Cassie?”

  Cassie squirms. “Yes…?”

  A smile plays on Lydia’s lips. “What is it?”

  A horrible silence descends on the table. Cassie has no clue what foie gras is. She can’t even begin to guess. It could be absolutely anything from a fruit to snails to some other mystery animal she’s never heard of that lives only in France. She eyes Joel, hoping he’ll save her by supplying the answer, but he’s looking at his own menu.

  Fortunately, Pete breaks the silence. “It’s duck liver,” he says. “And I think it’s disgusting.”

  “That’s because you have unrefined taste,” Lydia sniffs.

  “Be nice, Lydia.”

  Cassie is glad Lydia has redirected her snootiness in another direction, but it’s equally painful to listen to Lydia and Pete snipping at each other. They were going at it the whole time they were visiting Anna’s baby.

  Cassie’s phone chirps with a text message from within her purse. She dares to sneak a peek at it, and sees a sympathetic message from Zoe, who had gotten an earful about this impending dinner at work this afternoon.

  “It’s amazing,” Lydia comments, “how some people can’t go through even half a meal without looking at their cell phone.”

  Cassie’s cheeks burn as she lifts her eyes from her purse. “I—I wasn’t…”

  “Don’t mind me.” Lydia shrugs. “Attend to your business on your phone. Please.”

  Oh God.

  “By the way, Peter,” Lydia says. “Can you bring Violet to her lesson tomorrow? I’ve got to work late.”

  He groans. “That kid goes to too many lessons. She’s only five! What the hell has she got tomorrow?”

  “Violin.”

  Cassie stifles a laugh. “Violet plays the violin?”

  Lydia lays down her menu to glare across the table. “What’s funny about that?”

  “Well, because… her name kind of sounds like…” Cassie sputters.

  Joel cracks a smile though, and Pete lets out an appreciative belly laugh. “It is funny,” Pete agrees. “Violet. Violin. Violet violin.”

  Lydia whips her head around to glare at her husband this time. They haven’t even placed their orders yet, and this dinner has already become unbearably uncomfortable. Joel owes Cassie big time for dragging her here.

  “The violin was a gift when Violet was born,” Lydia says. “A gift from Francesca.”

  Francesca again. Is it possible to interact with Lydia without her bringing up Joel’s ex-girlfriend?

  “Who gives a newborn baby a complex musical instrument?” Pete mutters under his breath. Cassie notices his words have gotten slightly slurred. She squints at the wine bottle and notices for the first time how close it is to being empty.

  “It was the most thoughtful gift we received,” Lydia says, now addressing Cassie. “We got loads of onesies and toys, but this one was from the heart. You see, it used to be hers.”

  Cassie tries to catch Joel’s eye, but he’s staring down at the dark blue tablecloth. “Oh,” she says.

  “It was the violin that decided me,” Lydia says. “It’s because of that incredibly thoughtful present that we made Francesca Violet’s godmother.”

  Francesca is Violet’s… what?

  Chapter 35: The Ex

  The restaurant Dean has carried me to is a Greek diner. It’s not the dark, candlelit spot I’d imagined—the fluorescent lights on the ceiling are garish and the tables in the booths are too wide for an intimate discussion. But Dean seems to like it, and he has bonded with the host over their mutual Greek-ness within thirty seconds of walking in the door. They shake hands, exchanging a few words in a language I don’t understand (Greek?) and then the host leads us to a table in the back. He gives us one last look before walking away, winks at Dean, and says, “Omorfo korítsi.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask Dean.

  “He’s promising the waiter won’t spit in our food.”

  I roll my eyes. “Are you fluent in Greek?”

  He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Sort of. Not really. My mother says I speak Greek like a kindergartener. But I get by.”

  “Have you been to Greece?”

  He nods. “My grandparents used to live in Alexandroupoli.”

  “Alexand…?”

  “Alexandroupoli.” He flashes his white teeth at me. He has really nice teeth—the perfect size for his mouth, and clearly well-cared for but not artificially white. I’ve always respected a man who takes good care of his teeth. “It’s a small city, especially compared to… well, New York. But it’s right by the water. Used to be a fishing village. I loved it there.”

  “You don’t go anymore?”

  His dark eyes grow slightly distant. “My grandparents died when I was in college, so… no, not since then. I miss it.”

  I get a sudden image of a future with Dean in which he takes me to this tiny city in Greece and we gaze together out at the expanse of beautiful, shimmering blue water. It’s silly though. This is our first date. Why am I imagining trips to Greece?

  “How about you?” he asks as the waiter drops glasses of water on the table between them. “Are you fluent in Italian?”

  “Sí,” I say. “Nonna speaks better Italian than English, and I spent a lot of time with her growing up. She’s the one who taught me how to cook.”

  “Ah, yes,” Dean says. “The great chef. I have to admit, I’m curious to taste one of your creations.”

  A smile spreads across my lips. “That can be arranged.”

  “What’s your favorite thing to cook?”

  “My favorite?” I consider the question as I play with my napkin. Dean’s shoe touches mine under the table, but I’m not sure if he realizes it or not. An accidental or intentional touch? “Probably pasta e fagioli.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Pasta and beans.” I grin at him. “It’s a poor man’s dish—I mean, it doesn’t even have any meat—but the way my grandmother taught me to make it, it tastes better than anything in a restaurant. It’s my ultimate comfort food.” I hesitate. “I could make it for you… next time.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “So there will be a next time?”

  His foot is deliberately touching mine now. There’s no mistaking it. “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Good.” He flashes that great smile at me again and his dimple pops. “Also, you need to show me around the city. You’re a native New Yorker, aren’t you?”

  I nod. “You said you moved here from Chicago, right?”

  “That’s right—the Windy City,” he confirms. He sounds like he has more to say about that, but instead he says, “It was time for a change.”

  Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Bad breakup?”

  He blinks a few times, flustered for the first time since I showed up at his office. “Busted.”

  Of course, I’m curious to know every detail. Who is this mystery girl in Chicago who gave up a great guy like Dean? Or was he the one to pull the plug on the relationship? Does he ever think of her? Does he stare at her number on her cell phone screen, resisting the urge to place the call?

  But I can’t say any of that. Instead, I murmur, “I can relate.”

  Dean lifts his water glass in the air. “To something better?”

 
I clink my glass against his. “To something better.”

  Chapter 36: The New Girl

  After the revelation that Francesca is Violet’s godmother, the dinner goes from bad to worse. Pete and Lydia won’t stop bickering. On top of that, they order a second bottle of wine and Pete proceeds to get increasingly smashed. At one point, it gets so bad that Joel reaches for Cassie’s hand and gives her a squeeze under the table, because he can see how upsetting it is to her.

  Also, it turns out Cassie does not like foie gras mousse. It takes all her self-restraint not to spit it out into her napkin.

  Just as they’re finishing up their meals, Lydia gets a call on her phone. In spite of her snippy comment when Cassie took out her phone, it isn’t the least bit surprising when Lydia takes the call.

  “Hi, Lucy,” Lydia says into her phone. “Is everything okay with Violet?” She listens for a moment. “What about her bedtime story?” Another pause as Lydia clucks her tongue. “No. Violet is supposed to read her own bedtime story. She knows how to read!”

  Lydia rolls her eyes dramatically at the table. “Put her on. I’ll talk to her.”

  With those words, Lydia hops out of her seat and goes to the front of the restaurant to talk to her daughter without the three of us staring at her. It’s a relief to have Lydia gone, even temporarily. The tension noticeably lifts.

  “It’s impressive that Violet can read already,” Cassie says brightly.

  Pete seems to sober up slightly at Cassie’s comment. “Yes, well… Lydia taught her. She worked really hard at it.”

  Lydia is a big shot lawyer and impressive in her own right, but she never talks about her own career. It seems to Cassie that the biggest source of pride in Lydia’s life is her little daughter.

  “Anyway,” Pete says, “I’m sorry Lydia was such a bitch tonight.”

  “Pete!” Joel glances at Cassie. “Christ. It’s fine. She was fine.”

  “Not really.” Pete rubs his eyes with the balls of his hands. “My parents had a brutal divorce, and I never wanted that for my kids. But…”

  Cassie realizes at that moment what he’s saying. He’s been trying to make it work for Violet’s sake, but he’s clearly reached the end of his rope. Easygoing, fun-loving Pete will not stay married to a woman like Lydia. Their marriage will dissolve and they’ll share Violet. She feels sorry for Pete, even if it means she won’t have to endure another awkward dinner like this one.

  Later that night, Joel escorts Cassie back to her apartment. It’s a long walk back to her place from the French restaurant, but the meal was heavy and it’s nice to walk it off. The night is cold, but not frigid, and Cassie’s leather boots crunch in the soft snow with each step.

  “How do two people like Lydia and Pete end up together?” Cassie wonders aloud.

  “I never thought they were right for each other,” Joel says. “But he was so infatuated with her. I mean, there are a lot of great things about Lydia. She’s smart as hell, successful, and gorgeous. But their personalities just clash.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “I feel sorry for Violet,” he sighs. “It’s going to be a messy divorce, and they both love that girl to pieces. I hope they can figure out a way to work it out.”

  Cassie looks at Joel, in his black coat and green hat with the scarf wrapped around his neck. Most of the time, she wonders if they have a future together in terms of marriage and children. But for the first time, she wonders what a breakup with Joel would be like. Would he be cruel? She can’t imagine it, but people are different when they’re angry. She’s never seen Joel very angry.

  She wonders if she will in the near future. She wonders how he’ll react when and if he learns her secrets. She remembers what Anna said about Joel’s motivations for breaking up with Francesca.

  Things she hid from him. That really bothered him.

  No, Joel can’t know the truth.

  Chapter 37: The Ex

  “I’m sorry, but we close in ten minutes.”

  The host sounds regretful as he comes to our table to break the news. I startle and look at my watch. Oh my God, it’s nearly midnight. How did we spend so much time talking? I can’t even remember what we’ve been talking about.

  And when we weren’t talking, we were staring at each other.

  “I didn’t realize how late it is,” I murmur. “I should get home.”

  “I’ll take you home,” he says.

  “That’s okay. It’s a straight shot on the D train.”

  “The train?” His mouth falls open. “At this hour? No way. I’ll drive you home.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  “Of course I do.” He snorts. “What am I doing paying five hundred dollars a month in garage fees if not to have a car to drive my date home late at night?”

  I didn’t want to say it, but I wasn’t thrilled about taking the subway at this hour. But I can’t spare the cost of an Uber back to Bensonhurst. So now that I’ve politely protested once, I’m going to let him drive me home.

  Dean pays the check without letting me look at it, then we head back to his sensible green Toyota Camry, which is still parked by the dance studio. I’m glad he doesn’t have a Porsche or Ferrari or some other vanity car, even though I’m sure he could afford it. My feet are feeling better now, and I walk close to him, our shoulders nearly touching. The street is dark and deserted, but I feel absolutely safe with Dean next to me.

  “Are you going to take any more dance lessons?” I ask him.

  “No,” he says thoughtfully. “I think I’ve humiliated myself enough, haven’t I?”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Liar.”

  “You just need a little practice, that’s all.”

  He stops short on the street, and I stop too. He’s standing very close to me—as close as he was when we were dancing together. “So now that you’ve seen what I’m bad at…” He raises an eyebrow. “Can I show you what I’m good at?”

  I lift my head toward him. “Confident, aren’t you?”

  “About things I’m good at? Yes.” He takes a step closer to me. “I’m a damn good doctor. And I’m a damn good kisser. And a shitty dancer.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  I hesitate for a split-second, then nod and tilt my lips up toward his. It’s almost imperceptible, but he takes the cue, lowering his own lips nearly only mine, stopping a hairbreadth short. And then I lift my head to bridge the gap.

  I had thought Dean must have oversold himself, but he has not. He puts one hand on my back to draw me closer, his other laces into my hair, and his lips and tongue do fantastic things to me. It is the best kiss I’ve ever had. No, that doesn’t express it strongly enough. It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had or could imagine ever having again for the rest of eternity. It’s the sort of kiss that makes me wonder what all those other things I’ve been having until now were, because they weren’t kisses. This is a kiss.

  When our lips finally part, I’m shaking. My knees are rubber underneath me, but when I look at Dean’s face, it’s a mirror of my own. “Wow,” he breathes.

  “Yeah,” I manage.

  “That was…”

  “Yeah.”

  He brings his lips over to my ear and whispers, “There’s one other thing I’m really good at. I’d love to show you sometime.”

  I’d love to see. Although if the kiss is any gauge, I’m afraid it might kill us.

  _____

  I could have woken up the next morning with Dean in my bed, but he was absolutely a gentleman and didn’t even suggest it. But before I left his car, I got one more incredible kiss. It took all my self-restraint not to drag him upstairs by his collar. Nonna would have cheered me on.

  “I’ll text you tomorrow,” he promised.

  “You better,” I said.

  Now last night is a just a lovely memory as I rub the sleep from my eyes and stretch my arms over my head. I look over at the empty space in the bed ne
xt to me, wishing Dean were there. I imagine him with his dark hair mussed from sleep, his muscular chest barely concealed by a thin sheet. And that tattoo, wherever it is…

  Oh my, I need a cold shower.

  I sit up in bed and grab my phone off the nightstand. Even though it’s still early, I’m hoping Dean has sent me a text already. He told me last night that he doesn’t play games. If I like a girl, I’m not waiting three days to call. You kidding me? I loved that about him.

  Of course, that means if he doesn’t text me like he said he would, he’s not interested.

  The thought of not going on another date with Dean gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. But no. He’ll text me. He said he would, and there was no mistaking the way he looked at me last night. That kiss wasn’t one-sided.

  Before I have a chance to stress about it any further, my phone buzzes. It’s a message from Dean:

  When can I see you again?

  It’s not even nine o’clock in the morning. He must be as excited to see me again as I am to see him. My lips tingle at the thought of it.

  I hesitate, unsure if I should text him back right away. I don’t want to seem overeager. Even though Dean said he doesn’t play games, it’s hard not to feel the obligation to play them.

  Maybe I’ll shower and get dressed, then I’ll text him.

  I’m buttoning up my blouse when my phone starts ringing. My heart leaps, assuming it’s Dean. But when I pick up the phone, the name Nick Mascolo pops up on the screen.

  Why is my cousin calling me?

  I tap on the green button to take the call. “Nick?”

  “Hey! Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Uh…” I look down at my watch. “No, it’s okay. What’s up?”

  “Sorry to bother you so early,” he says. “But it’s about that girl. Your ex’s new girlfriend?”

  “What about her?”

  “You gotta listen to this,” he says. “You won’t believe it.”

  Chapter 38: The New Girl