Page 21 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
Blanche:But let’s shorten it to TM for convenience's sake.
“Hey.” Pete waves a hand in front of my face. “Anyone in there?”
Right. I sometimes zone out when Blanche and I are in mid-conversation.
I give Pete a small smile. “I’m here.”
It was a huge mistake to date him. Seeing him now only reminds me of that. But he kept asking, and I wanted to get over, uh, TM—
Blanche:Good job!
—so, I caved.
Pete and I dated for a couple of months. For me, it wasn’t serious at all. To hear him tell it, we were madly in love and practically married. After I ended it, he told anyone who would listen I was the one who got away. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years.
“Wow, B, you look fantastic.” He looks me up and down appreciatively. “What’s it been? Two? Three years?”
“I think so,” I say, not bothering to clarify. “How are you? What are you doing here?”
“I’m good. My wife is bridesmaid number seven.” He chuckles. “I came along for the ride.”
He shrugs. “It’s really good to see you.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Man, I was a fool to let you get away.”
There he goes again like he had a choice in the matter.
“So, you’re married.” I can’t think of anything else to say. “That’s great.” I won’t tell him it’s good to see him because I’m not sure it is. Pete was so needy and clingy at the end of our ‘relationship,’ I had difficulty cutting him loose. He wasn’t stalker-like, nothing that extreme. He just didn’t want to take no for an answer.
Blanche:Uh, that is the very definition of stalker-like.
But he was always so nice about it. It wasn’t like I was in danger.
Blanche:That you know of.
“I should have realized Blake is your brother,” he says. “You have the same last name and live in the same town, and he’s friends with my wife. I didn’t even think about it.”
“Yeah.” I nod, looking around for someone else to talk to. “I can’t believe he’s getting married.” Pete’s hand is still on my shoulder.
Blanche:Shrug it off.
I will. Give me a second.
My head jerks up as I hear—
That laugh.
Like the ominous music that precedes murder in a slasher film, I hear the very sound that has haunted my dreams for four years. The cackling personification of nails on a chalkboard if the nails were a dentist’s drill and the sound was broadcast over loudspeakers everywhere.
My eyes flit back and forth, trying to find the source. I know she’s here somewhere.
Amy.
I don’t even know her last name. She has a one-name identity in my personal hall of horrors.
I find Wyatt first. His back is to me, so he’s blocking whomever he’s talking to, but I can tell by his posture that he’s not happy about it.
Maybe if I rescue him, he’ll rescue me. Because when I think of the wound that is Amy, Wyatt is the only bandage strong enough to cover it.
“I’ll be right back.” Pete’s hand falls from me as I stand, and I head in Wyatt’s direction.
