Page 12 of The Ex Effect
“Jerk.” Not that I loved soccer,at all. But sitting in a comfy chair in the fresh spring air, and watching kids tear around thefield was not the worst way to spend a Saturday. I waved at a beaming Henry, who was yelling “Auntie!” from the sidelines. “Where’s the middle child? With Grandma?”
“Nah, he’s at home with Lisa, too.” Sam grabbed a water bottle from the chair cup holder. “The likelihood of Mom babysitting is right up with you mud-wrestling.”
“Rude.” I snatched the water bottle from him and gulped. “She’s babysat before.”
He snatched the bottle back. “Really? When?”
“Thanksgiving, right?” The whistle blew and the kids scrambled into a circle. I clapped for the kids, who high-fived each other, then ran up to the painted lines on the field.
“You mean when I ran to the store with Lisa for more wine and she had the kids,with you, for like twenty minutes?” he asked.
“I’ll have you know I left the room to take a call, and I completely abandoned her.” I grinned. “Seriously, how did she raise us? I really don’t remember her being so skittish around kids. Didn’t she even volunteer at the school sometimes?”
Sam’s head swerved to look around a group of kids blocking his view of Henry. “I don’t remember, but honestly, I think you ruined her. She’s been scared of kids ever since she pushed you out.”
I flashed him my most irritated glare. “First of all, I’m older than you. Second, I’m the easy one.” I crossed my legs and dusted the side of my pants.Crap.Fresh dirt stains from the bike ride smeared across my calf, and my Tide stick was in my car. I moistened my thumb and tried to wipe them off before I gave up. Nothing screams professional like mud stains. “Ah, look at Henry out there. So cute. You know he’s my favorite, right?”
Sam shook his head. “You know you’re not supposed to have favorites, right? And for Christ’s sake, when you do, you should never tell the parent.”
“Can’t help it. Henry’s tough. Your other kids cry too much.”
“They’rebabies.” Sam took off his hat and lightly smacked me in the leg. He knew damn well that I adored my niece and nephews, but also that I had no desire to have my own. I might be a superhero-cape-wearing aunt, but I was convinced if I had my own children, I’d royally screw something up, and they’d need a lifetime of chocolate and therapy to erase the memory of my severe lack of motherly instincts.
God, I missed hanging out with my brother. Work always took more time than either of us had, but this little reprieve lifted my spirits. Sitting here, listening to him cheer for the kiddos, I wondered what my twelve-year-old self would think of Sam and me now. Growing up, we had as many screaming matches as we did hours of building forts in the living room. He was one year younger, annoying, and loud, but deep down even as an angsty teen, I still loved him. Sam was the only person who understood the pressure our parents put on us to succeed. Working to the bone was godly. Something to be proud of, to brag about to the neighbors. Our parents meant well, but growing up it seemed the vast majority of the family conversations surrounded praising someone who “never took a week off of work” to chastising the unfortunate souls who lost their business because “they must not have put in all the effort.”
If Olivia’s wedding didn’t work, and I lost my business, I could just see my parents reacting to the news. They’d hug me, my mom would cry, and my dad would give me some awkward bro slap on the back and tell me to look on the bright side of things. But deep down, I knew they’d think I didn’t put in enough effort, and that’d kill me.
Sam roared for Henry, then tapped his knee against me. “So, for real, who was the dude on the bike? You switchin’ teams now?”
“So much homophobia wrapped up in one little sentence.Truly remarkable.” Oh, how my brother loved to push my buttons even with his pure heart. “It was… Katey. Who goes by Frankie now. I’m trying to honor the name change, even though I’m still getting used to it.”
His jaw dropped. “Katey? You mean Katey Lee? Your ex-girlfriend from high school?” He leaned forward so quickly that his chair nearly tipped over. “Shut the fu?—”
“Language.” I shook my finger at him. “We’re at a kids’ game.”
“No way.” He leaned back, his eyes grazing the field. “What’s she doing back in town? Didn’t she move out east or something like a hundred years ago?”
She sure did. Discarded our plans to build a better life, to look for something more than me. Frankie was always obsessed with photography. When we were younger, she’d carry around a Polaroid and snap me doing random things. The amount of ink wasted on scowls or open mouths of protests would worry me, but Frankie always convinced me it was never a waste. Then she saved up for a Canon, and everything changed. When other kids got digital cameras or were lucky enough to buy the newly invented smartphones, Frankie refused anything but film. She had that thing strapped to her like an extra limb, filling it with yearbook photos, nature photos, sports photos. If she wasn’t on the field herself, she was snapping photos of the field.
Back then, so many people told me it was young love,kidlove, the kind of love that the moment I stepped into my freshman dorm room I’d forget. But I didn’t forget—not for years. Not ever, actually. Every woman I was with was tainted with the ghost of mine and Frankie’s relationship.
I avoided my brother’s gaze and instead watched the kids chase a ball. “Yes. New York.”
“Gross.”
I laughed. “Right?”
Of course, the city itself wasn’t gross. Not that I’d beenthere, but I could understand the appeal. But being raised in Spring Harbors, with enormous yards and minimal traffic and quiet summer nights where the frogs sang symphonies and people caught fireflies in mason jars, New York was a different world. New Yorkers couldn’t possibly understand the joy of the local restaurants that carried the best cream pie, or the ability on a bad day to drive to the old Blatnik Bridge to watch boats and fishers hauling in pounds of walleye, or stopping at a flea market to eat the best cheese curds of your life. Minneapolis was not nearly as busy as NYC, and after a weekend, I was exhausted and claustrophobic from the people, traffic, and tall buildings.
Sam cheered on the kids and settled back in the chair. “So why did you need a lift? Where’s your car?”
I tried not to let the harness inside my chest tighten, but anything car related restricted my breathing. “Something’s wrong with it. I have to take it in, but it’s going to cost a gazillion dollars and take a week, and I don’t have that kind of time.”Or money. But I left that part out to avoid any chivalrous acts from my brother, who’d most definitely want to slip me some cash.
“I’d say you can bring it by, but I’m as useless as you are with cars,” he said. “Ask Dad. He could probably help.”
Nope.I loved my parents. But my golden rule was never to ask my parents for anything. Asking for help would lead into one of two things. One, they’d ask for help back with something that took twice as long, or two, it’d lead into some tired and thinly veiled “we’re worried about you” or “you’re not getting any younger… when are you going to settle down” type of conversations. Right now, I couldn’t stomach either of those scenarios, even if it meant free car help.
I refocused on the game. “Come on, Henry!” I clapped as my nephew ran like a baby goat getting its walking legs, before he tripped and fell. My shoulders tensed until he hopped right back up and gave me the two-thumbs-up sign. I settled back intothe chair and glanced at my brother. “Ah, look at him. He takes right after you.”
