Page 13 of The Ex Effect
“God, you’re an asshole.”
“Language.” I lifted my finger to my mouth with a smirk. “Mom and Dad coming?”
“Nah.” He clapped and hooted as some kid on the team kicked the ball farther than three feet. “Mom said they were gonna try, but you know them.”
He didn’t need to say more. Disappointment laced his voice, though he tried to sound nonchalant. Being raised by two German Midwesterners, the pecking order was work first, then church, then family. Watching a grandkid play soccer was considered a luxury, never to be indulged in until they completed all chores.
“They’re going to run themselves into the damn ground,” I said.
He nodded. “If you’d ever come project manage for them, they wouldn’t do this.”
“Oh, hell no. You’re not laying this guilt trip on me.” Fourth in the family pecking order—frugality. They could easily hire someone else to do the project management, but our parents lived by the motto of why pay someone for something when they could do it themselves. Every day while our father was out with the crew, Mom stayed at the store, answering emails and coordinating contractors.
Even though Sam had worked there since he was a teenager, he had a very Superman-like ability to draw clear boundary lines. When Lisa got her breast cancer diagnosis, and went through the radiation and double mastectomy surgery, everything changed. His life was no longer about work and supporting our family business. It was Lisa. Even after she went into remission, and by all accounts was fully recovered, he remained steadfast on his priorities. Then when they hadHenry, he told our parents his schedule was nine-to-five and no weekends, and they could take it or leave it.
They took it.
But I knew myself well enough to know I’d never draw that line. Once sucked into the family business, I’d never leave. Yes, my current schedule was punishing, but at least I was building and maintainingmybusiness,mydream. Not theirs.
Sam cupped his mouth. “Yeah, Henry! Look tough out there!” He gripped the edge of his chair handles and swore under his breath at the referee. “So, what’s Katey doing here?”
“Frankie,” I said. “Her grandma passed, so she’s settling her estate.”
“That’s too bad.” The sun peeked through the clouds, and he tugged his hat lower. “Stuff like that’s a beast. Her parents aren’t doing it?”
I shook my head. When Frankie said her parents weren’t helping, it wasn’t a shock. Sure, I hadn’t talked to them in fifteen years, but the town was small enough to hear through the grapevine if anything had changed—like consistent employment. They were nice-enough people, but flaky as hell. The type of parents with their lack of structure and rules thatseemedcool growing up, but deep down I knew was a little icky. They skipped town a lot, threw back one too many at the local watering hole, and gave Frankie and Quinn Pop-Tarts for dinner.
Seeing the kids run around the field was pretty entertaining, more fun than I thought it would be, and the spring sun warmed my skin. During the winter, I dove full into hibernation mode, only poking my head out to hang out with Sam and the kids. Being holed up in my small townhouse for the last six months wasn’t great for my soul.
I hated dating, butreallyhated it during the winter. The idea of getting all dolled up, then putting on scarves and hats and stepping into frozen tundra was terrible. And business wastypically slow during that time, with only a handful of weddings around Christmas, New Year’s, or Valentine’s.
At halftime, as the kids sucked down orange slices, a blue pickup truck pulled into the parking lot and Frankie hopped out holding the cupcake boxes.Whew. I scurried over to her, meeting her halfway. “Thank you so much for doing this.” As I reached for the cupcakes, the relief flooding me was probably not rational. Maybe unfair, and I didn’t know the “adult” Frankie much, but I’d assumed Frankie would’ve totally flaked out and not shown up on time. Or ever, honestly.
Back in the day, Frankie was the worst for missing everything except her games. Date nights, study times, appointments, homework. Yes, I loved keeping a task list and schedule for myself, but when Frankie and I were together, I had this overwhelming anxiety to keep hers as well. My life revolved around reminders—reminding Frankie about her math homework, or that she had to babysit her sister, or that we promised to help Peaches clean her yard. Honestly, I wondered how adult Frankie made it on her own all these years without me being her personal assistant.
“It’s all good, I’ve got them.” Frankie waved away my hands. “Where we going?”
I pointed to the empty lawn chair. “Over by Sam.”
As we crossed the grass to the field, Frankie’s grin turned wide at my brother. “Sam Rose. Man, the last time I saw you, you were just getting your driver’s license.”
He grabbed the cupcakes from her with a thank-you nod. “Katey—sorry, Frankie. Last time I saw you, you were making out with my sister.”
I landed a hard slap on his chest.
“What?” He shrugged. “Would it have been better to say you were snot-crying on the curb?”
I felt the blood rise in my chest. But if the comment affected Frankie at all, she didn’t show it.
“See you still have that impeccable timing with humor, huh?” Frankie gripped the back of the empty lawn chair and watched the kids. “Which one of these little shits is yours?”
Sam pointed to the left field. “Number seven. Henry.”
“Ah, he’s cute.” Frankie crossed her arms. “Must look like your wife.”
Sam huffed. “Oldest joke in the world.”
“I’m not joking, though.” Frankie grinned.
