Page 45 of The Ex Effect
Morgan’s eyes glistened as she plopped her elbows on the table and leaned forward like she didn’t want to miss a single word. The plates hadn’t been touched, the coffee left un-sipped. After God knows how long, I glanced up, emotionally raw. In the middle of rotating customers and the ringing bell, and half-eaten plates of cake samples, I shared more with Morgan than I had with Savannah.
But also, it was more than Savannah ever asked. No one had ever shown this much interest. Watching Morgan’s eyes grow wide, her hanging on my every word was doing something to my insides. I wanted to grab her hand and kiss it and thank her for being so genuinely interested in me, the person.
And now I was completely spent. I didn’t want to talk anymore about this. I was taxed and sleepy. But switching the subject back to Morgan felt disingenuous.
As if she could sense me dropping, Morgan pushed herself away from the table. “I can’t eat any more sugar. I’m out.”
“Wimp.” I laughed then groaned, thankful for the reprieve. “My stomach hurts so bad. I seriously feel like I’m drunk.”
After Zoey swung by, and Morgan gave her the top three choices she’d recommend to Olivia, she scooted back from the table and grabbed her purse. “Ready?” Outside, before we got into the truck, Morgan stared at me for a moment.
In the sun, Morgan’s purple shirt—which was my favorite color on her—highlighted the round cheeks which turned rosy from the sugar. Her eyelids sagged, and I was almost sure that Morgan would fall asleep before we even reached her house.
She paused on my side of the truck and reached for my hand.
What is she doing?My pulse quickened, unsure how to read Morgan’s reaction. There was a softness to Morgan, an unsureness, as she softly nibbled on her lower lip.Holy shit, she’s gonna kiss me. And perhaps it was the sugar talking, but I was ready. So unbelievably ready.
“For whatever it’s worth,” Morgan started as she gripped my hand, “even with all the good memories of the Katey I once knew, I really like Frankie.”
The words warmed me, more than I could have imagined. But when Morgan dropped my hand without a kiss and moved to the other side of the truck, my heart dropped.
TWENTY
MORGAN
“All right, we’ve got turkey club, or…turkey club.” I held out a sandwich to Frankie, who passed back a sparkling raspberry soda. “Oh, raspberry. I feel like you’re spoiling me.”
“Anything for my girl,” Frankie said with a wink and tucked herself deep underneath the shade of the cedar tree.
She was kidding. She wasso obviously kidding, but that message refused to translate to my heart. Much like every message, every mannerism, every look that Frankie had flashed me since we started taking over this project. Now, with less than four weeks left until the wedding, our time together was coming to an end. And then Frankie would go back to New York, and it would allreallycome to an end. So, damn my heart misunderstanding when Frankie was kidding.
“I’m sweating my tits off.” Frankie fanned her face with a flimsy napkin. “Hope to God this heat wave breaks before the wedding.”
“I have sweat dripping in places that I didn’t even know contained pores. It’s disgusting.” The lack of air-conditioning was an issue. So far, my only solution for the wedding was to buy a portable air conditioner and create a barrier at the headtable to trap the cool air. But at this rate, Tommy and Olivia would absolutely melt into the floor even if I had the portable air conditioner.
“So…did I freak you out last week at Zoey’s when I word vomited all over you?” Frankie asked before sinking her teeth into the bread.
I held the cold sparkling can against my moistened neck. Freak me out? No. Make me fall harder, yes. Hearing everything about Frankie, her journey, her time in New York, even learning more about Savannah, filled in so many holes. “Not at all. I loved the story about you finding you in New York. I thought it was gutsy, you know, to share all of that.”
Frankie flicked the top of the can. “There’s things I want to know about you, too, during that time.” Frankie gulped back the raspberry soda and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Like did you end up living in the dorms, or failing chemistry, or…finding a special someone.”
I didn’t know what to think of this question. Frankie’s eyes lowered to the ground as she asked. Was she curious? Shy? Sheepish? It was hard for me to tell. “No. No dorms. After the plans…fell through, I just lived at home and saved money.”
After the plans fell through. The humid air turned heavier with the unsaid words. I didn’t need to say it.The planswere that Frankie and I were going to share a dorm.The planswere that Frankie and I were going to go to football games and concerts and study at night.The planswere that Frankie would not leave me.
I needed to call it out. This conversation had been lingering in the air for the last two months, but we were both so obviously avoiding it. I took a breath. “Back then…why did you ever say you were going to college with me?”
“Morgan.” Frankie’s chest lifted and lowered with a heavy exhale, her voice soft. “I didn’t say that I was going with you.”
What?Of course Frankie said she was going with me.That’s all we talked about our senior year. After Frankie’s games, on weekends, I would sit with Frankie at Peaches’s house and plan our future. I even bought us matching UMD sweatshirts and took pictures and framed one in a homemade maroon and gold bedazzled 8x10. “What do you mean you never said you were going? You applied. You got accepted. We literally talked about it all the time.”
Frankie shifted toward me, taking slow, easy breaths. “I did apply, yeah. But I… youmademe apply. I never wanted to, but I caved under the pressure. Didn’t you even fill the application out for me?” Frankie kicked a twig out of the way. “I told you a million times that I wanted to go to New York. You just never listened.”
My chest heated. Was Frankie really putting this on me? “Ididlisten to you. But…people say so many things, you know? Sam was going to get drafted into the NFL. That girl in our class was going to Hollywood. What was that kid’s name…Jordan something or other…was going to get a record deal. People say things like that all the time. You saying you were going to New York was just a dream.”
“Itwasa dream. My dream. It had always been my dream. And you totally refused to honor it.” Frankie’s word speed increased. “I swear to God the only person who ever supported me was Quinn. My parents laughed at it. You never believed it. Peaches was in denial, told me I was going to end up living with the rats and freaks on the train. I told you a hundred times, and you refused to respect what I wanted for the future.”
Frankie was completely rewriting history to make herself feel better, and I had no interest in playing this little game with her. From the outside, I’d imagine that to people looking at us—two thirty-three-year-old professional women—rehashing the high school days, we probably seemed a little pathetic. Like, how were westilltalking about this, all these years later?
