Page 33 of The Ex Effect
I hate that Frankie was right. That these last few years, the toll of losing everything I worked so hard for had worn me down to a fraction of who I used to be. After Frankie left, I did recover. Sure, I never met another love of my life, but I did become a fully functioning human again. Watching Sam and Lisa struggle through her breast cancer and coming out the other side gave me a new lease of my own life. I took nothing for granted, I filled myself in the love of my niece and nephews, I buried myself in my other love—work. But seeing that love being ripped away from me chipped away at who I am.
I set my empty bowl to the side and crossed my ankles. “This discount wedding and event center, Dreams, opened up a few years ago. They have cheaper prices than me, and their showroom’s beautiful, but there’s nothing personal about the coordinating experience. You’ll maybe talk to five different people. You might start with one coordinator and get switched to another. The turnover is pretty high, but still, I can’t compete. And…my business is tanking.”
Well, shit. There it was, out in the open. Not even my family knew of my struggles, even though it didn’t take a genius to figure out why I was free during the spring weekends to babysit, when that used to be a rarity.
Frankie’s eyes crinkled sympathetically, while kindly sparing me the full-on pity look.
“That sucks. I can’t even imagine how hard it is when you put your heart into something and watch it fizzle,” Frankie said. “But you’re really talented. Maybe this is just a rough patch.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged, but it wasn’t a rough patch. The fee from this wedding was the only thing keeping me afloat right now, until I figured out a new business model or decided to completely close up the shop. God, I was just so freaking tired. Not from today, although that, too. But from the fight in me, the drivethat had pushed me to succeed. The fire that had always been there was flickering out and I couldn’t stop it. All I wanted was to slip into a twelve-hour coma where I slept without waking up with a palpitating heart. “Honestly, it doesn’t even matter.”
“Of courseit matters.” Frankie crisscrossed her legs and leaned towards me. “I’m really sorry if I ever gave you the impression that I don’t value what you do. That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”
The words filled me in a way that I needed more than I knew. I took off my handkerchief, smoothed back my hair, and reattached it. “Frankie, can I say something?”
“Yeah, of course,” she said. “What’s up?”
I rested my head against the bark for just a moment. “I know you and I have some differing thoughts about being on time and things…” Frankie’s jaw flexed, and I almost stopped myself. But if we were going to work together this summer, I needed to call it out. “But if you are not a few minutes early, my anxiety flies through the roof. And I know it’s not your problem, it’s mine, and I totally get that. And out here on the farm, it’s not the biggest deal in the world. But if we have a meeting somewhere, or there are clients involved, if you could be there like five minutes early, it would mean a lot. Just so I’m not worried, or thinking maybe you forgot or something happened…”
Frankie’s jaw relaxed and she nodded. “That’s totally fair, and I’ll definitely make a point to be early when meeting with clients.”
And I’ve officially exhausted all my emotions for today.I stood and dusted off the seat of my pants. “Ready to get back at it?”
Frankie nodded, lifted herself from the ground, and followed me back into the barn.
“Where did you go this afternoon?” I asked, picking back up the broom.
Something clouded Frankie’s face, a look that I couldn’t put my finger on. But the light in her eyes dimmed, and Frankie gazed at the floor. She didn’t say anything for so long that I almost apologized for being nosy, when she sighed.
“There was something I had to take care of.” Frankie grabbed a box and carried it outside without another word.
THIRTEEN
FRANKIE
The Blatnik Bridge never seemed to disappoint. Seeing sunrays bounce off the glassy water while anxiously waiting for a cargo boat to open the bridge was a chef’s kiss. I took a deep breath, the freshwater-infused air prickling my nose, and dangled my legs off the tailgate.
I couldn’t believe I’d been back in town for almost four weeks now, and after the blowup with Morgan last week at the farm was the first time I’d gone to the bridge since I was a teen. This place was damn near heavenly. The white noise of traffic above, the lack of horn honking (unlike New York), the tall grass waving in the breeze, provided a perfect serene background. Which meant this place also provided the perfect opportunity to clear my mind and think.
And that was exactly what I did for hours that day. Sitting under the bridge, it felt like I contemplated every life decision I’d ever made. I revisited what made me leave this town, why I loved New York so much, why I didn’t just hire someone to take care of Peaches’s house, and why the hell I was spending the summer with my ex-girlfriend who tugged at my heart while simultaneously driving me up a wall.
That afternoon, after being seriously—andfairly, I might add—annoyed as hell at how Morgan snapped at me, I’d called Quinn. She cut me off from my rambles about not understanding the big freaking deal about getting invitations out by an arbitrary deadline and point-blank asked me, “How wouldyoufeel if someone who wasn’t a photographer said, ‘Who cares if the lighting isn’t great? It’s just a picture.’” I both loved and hated my sister for calling me on my bullshit. I didn’t like not being right, and I definitely didn’t appreciate Quinn’s refusal to coddle me.
But it was the phone call I madeaftermy conversation with Quinnthat really sealed the deal in my decision to return to the barn and help Morgan finish what we started. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I really didn’t want to think about that conversation, nor about how different my life in New York would feel when I returned. I was here with Morgan, and right now, that’s what mattered. Not the drama back home.
The low horn of a cargo ship passing through the waters sounded, and a little jolt went through me. Who knew watching a boat trudge under a bridge would be so interesting? In New York, I loved the action, the hustle, the energy. The city was invigorating, had its own personality, and had a strong pull that made you believe if you moved fast enough, you could achieve your dreams. In the city, I could eat anything I wanted, from dim sum to sushi to the best steak in the world. I could go to Broadway, sit in a whiskey and cigar bar, or dance and scream under the flashing strobe lights and with the best EDM DJs in the world. Not that I’d done that since my mid-twenties, but I could if I wanted to. Spring Harbors had none of this for me, at least not at the scale I’d become accustomed to.
But, in New York, I never took the time to do anything like this—sit and watch bridges. Or stare at squirrels running up trees in Peaches’s backyard, or learn the name of the barista at alocal coffee shop. The pace here was different. Not better, not worse, just fundamentally different.
And I kind of loved it.
I rolled my head, trying to remove the tension from my shoulders. Morgan and I had busted our asses these last nine days andfinallymade a dent in the space. But I was making next to zero progress on Peaches’s house, which was the whole point of me taking this time off and coming here. After lifting heavy tools and junk all day long, when I returned to Peaches’s house at the end of the night to tackle the mound of shit waiting for me, I was too exhausted. I usually ended up spending the evenings icing my knee and watching as time slipped by at a furious rate.
When I tore my ACL during a “friendly” co-ed soccer game by plowing into some assholes on the opposing team who needed to be taught a lesson, I knew my days on the field were done. But rarely did my knee act up how it had this week. At this point, I might need to hire someone to help me clear the house, which would be totally financially counterintuitive to helping Morgan clean out the barn.
So maybe I should just stop helping Morgan? She could hire someone else with what she was paying me, I could swing by a few nights a week and look through the potential salvageable items, and I could finish what I came to Minnesota to do. Although that was by far the most logical plan, I didn’t like it. But I didn’t want to contemplatewhyI didn’t like it.
My phone rang and I dug it from my pocket. “Hey.”
