Page 41 of The Ex Effect
Morgan squinted and slowed her chewing. “Huh?”
I pulled my legs up to my chest and linked my arms around my shin. “I should’ve told you I was married.”
“Ah.” Morgan flicked her gaze to the ground. A solid moment passed before she shrugged. “Like you said, you don’t owe me anything.”
God, why did I say such a shitty thing? At the time, I didn’t mean to snap, but my emotions were all over the place. I took a long drink from the water bottle and used the neck of my T-shirt to wipe my lip. “Anyway, we’re no longer married.”
Morgan lifted a brow. “That was fast.”
I chortled through my nose. “It was a long time coming. And I really mean that. We separated two years ago and lived apart the last year. Honestly, it kind of surprised me that she called.”
Morgan flicked at the cap of her water bottle. “Was it…something important?”
The words were lobbed over casually, without Morgan’s facial expression changing. But there was something…a pause, a drop in the voice. Something that carried the energy of more intention, and maybe later I’d let myself think about it deeper.
“I guess? Maybe?” I split the last remaining doughnut and held out half to Morgan. “She was letting me know the divorce was final.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Morgan’s eyebrows scrunched. “Was it awful? Is she a terrible human?”
“Nah, nothing like that,” I said. “We just grew apart. I met her a few years after I moved to New York, probably like twenty-two, twenty-three? We got married too fast.”
Morgan dusted the sugar and cinnamon from her fingers. “Tell me about her.”
Does she really want to hear this?I wasn’t sure who or how much Morgan dated since we last knew each other, and I had absolutely no desire to find out. Maybe Morgan left whatever was between us back on the high school parking lot that day, and I still held a piece. “She was fun, really nice, ambitious. She worked in fashion.”
“You hate fashion.”
“I’m the most fashionable human you’ve ever met.” I waved to my standard white T-shirt. “She worked as an assistant editor for a high-end magazine, then editor. For a short period there, we traveled to all sorts of runway shows, even Milan.”
“Like real runways with the angry models?” Morgan dugout another Cheeto and popped it in her mouth. “Why don’t they smile, by the way?”
I picked up a twig from the ground and picked at the bark. “Not sure if this is true, but I asked Savannah the same thing. She said it’d look unnatural if they smiled the whole time on the runway and it wouldn’t sell the clothes the right way. Whatever that means. Honestly, I think it’s ’cause they’re hangry.”
Morgan grinned. “How were the runway shows?”
Oh, those shows. For everything Savannah and I had in common, like music before film, photography before painting, sleeping in before hiking, there were a million other things we didn’t—these shows, high-end purses, dancing on tables, calamari (gross), the list goes on.
“The runway shows were boring as hell. Truly. Clothes no one would actually wear, most people were stuffy and fake, and really not my scene. Lots of air kisses and talk about getting together.” I snapped the twig in half and reached for another one. “Not to me, of course. I was basically invisible, which suited me just fine.”
Maybe the runway shows should’ve indicated that Savannah and I were not meant to be. Sure, a free trip to Italy was nice, but Savannahlivedfor those shows. It made sense for Savannah in her profession, but I started zoning out whenever Savannah talked about the fall fashion lineup.
“So, can I ask what happened with you and…Savannah?” Morgan asked.
My foot tapped against the ground as my cells turned restless. I grabbed two rocks and rolled them in my palm and, after a moment of silence, unleashed. Morgan sat still, as I rambled about how sometimes love wasn’t enough and that I let politeness take over. How Savannah had a sister who hated me, a mother who thought she’d settled, and during a hefty argument a few Thanksgivings ago between me and Savannah’s mom, Savannah didn’t stand up for me and it crushed me.
More time passed, and I talked about the work schedules, and how we made excuses to stay apart, how I started to morph into being more excited to see my sister than my wife. The sun set, and the sky darkened. Morgan asked more questions, and I unloaded about us never addressing our issues, finally going to couples therapy, but when we were too polite to actually address anything, it was like the nail in the coffin.
“Neither of us wanted to fight for us, and it was obvious sitting in those sessions that we had nothing to save,” I said, tossing rocks against the earth. “In hindsight, the divorce would’ve been inevitable, no matter what we did.”
The bottom line was, Savannah and I were never soulmates, and I knew that in my heart. There had only been one time in my life I felt like someone was my soulmate. Only one time when I was so deeply in love, I felt the physical pain of my heart breaking when things ended. And only one time where I spent a year wondering if I made the right choice.
I kept this part to myself, however.
My limbs seriously needed to move. Even though I’d been doing physical labor all day, my hands, legs, feet,everythingneeded some circulation. And unless Morgan wanted to offer up her arms as a human fidget toy, I had to get back to work. I stood and dusted off the seat of my pants. “We should head out. The last thing we need is to hit a deer on these pitch-black country roads.”
“Good call.” Morgan lifted herself and grabbed the Cheetos bag. She looked at me for a moment and paused. “Thank you for sharing your story with me. It’s really nice getting to know this side of you.”
I moved in and hugged Morgan. Without hesitation, she hugged back. A deep hug, a sturdy hug, one that said so many things without saying anything at all. Morgan’s body pushed into me, her chest pressed against mine, and I swore I felt Morgan’s heartbeat thud against mine. Even through the sweatand dust, that signature vanilla rose scent filled the air, and I dipped my head to inhale.
