Page 18 of My Almost Ex

Mom throws her hands in the air. “I’m so over this place. Let’s go, Lucy.”

“I’m not going,” I say to her retreating back. She stops at the inn’s door and turns around. “I have to stay here and figure this out.”

“Suit yourself,” she says and storms into the inn.

Everyone is quiet for a moment, and the realization of what I just decided hits me.

“Ethel, Dori, Hank, the restaurant is trying out a new cinnamon roll recipe. Want to give me your opinion?” Mandi asks.

“Yeah,” Hank says.

“I do love my sweets,” Ethel says.

“Try and keep me away from those cinnamon rolls,” Dori says.

They disappear inside the restaurant attached to the inn.

“Thank you,” I say, unable to look Adam directly in the eye.

“Don’t thank me.”

“But you made me realize she wasn’t looking out for me.” I step closer.

He turns his body so we’re not facing one another. “I guess I still like to piss your mom off.”

So what just happened used to be a normal occurrence? I nod, not remembering any of their previous spats.

“Plus, I can’t find closure if you don’t remember why you walked out on me.”

“I wish I had answers for you,” I say, still amazed that I walked out on him. Why would I ever leave him when everything inside me says I love him, that we were happy? “Do you have photos? Of us that I could have?”

His gaze rises and he sighs but nods.

“Could I see them?”

“Sure. I can bring them here for you.”

I shuffle my feet, unable to believe how uncomfortable and awkward it is between us. All I want to do is jump into his arms and hold him tight. “Where did we live?”

He’s silent for so long, I’m unsure if he’s going to respond. “I rent it out on one of those home-sharing websites. I can’t take you there.”

“Oh, I hoped it might help. Maybe I could drive by the outside?”

“Ask one of my siblings. They can…” He inhales deeply and squeezes his eyes closed. “I’ll take you there Saturday. I’m off and I can get you in before the next renter comes.”

“That would be great,” I say, unsure what else to say. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me.” His phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket, looking at the screen. “I might want your memory to come back more than you. I gotta go.” His thumb slides over the screen as he walks away. “Hey, baby,” he answers and climbs into his truck.

I act distracted and not fazed at all that he uses some generic term of endearment for the new girl in his life as a memory resurfaces. He was more original at the age of sixteen.

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