Page 54 of Just My Ex

If this had been before, when we were married, that question from her about me seeming tired would have probably been accompanied by a slow walk toward me, where she’d slide her hands around my middle and pull me to her. Or she’d put her hand on my forehead, her eyes concerned.

I imagine it, and it hurts.

Gotta stop imagining. Gotta stop remembering.

“Yeah. You know me. I don’t ever sleep enough,” I say.

She slides her hands down the front of her jeans, like she’s trying to shake the tired off. “Yes, I do know you. It’s funny. I don’t know why. But I still feel like I know you better than anyone in your life. Ever.” She screws her face up, like that doesn’t make sense.

“You do,” I say to her. “No one’s ever known me on the level you do.”

“But there’s still so much of you I don’t know.” Her gaze skitters to the floor, her teeth trapping her lip.

“I think I need to start figuring out how to be more known.” I grunt a laugh. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Oh yes, it does.” She shakes her head. “You’ve been in the Army. Even now, you defend people’s lives on a daily basis. You’re brave, Henry. And I think letting someone know you … everything about you, even—” she stops herself and starts again. “—especiallythe parts of you that you hate, or that you want to hide from everyone. If you show someone that side of you, that’s brave, too.”

“You’re right.” I swallow hard.

Her head drops back, and she looks at the ceiling, shooting out a breath. “I wish I could hug you, but I can’t.”

“I wish we could hug … but it’s best if we don’t.”

I would not want to stop at just hugging.

Her gaze searches my eyes before she looks down to study her nails.

Before I can respond, she nods, whispering, “Good night, Henry,” before disappearing into the bathroom.

“Want to wade in the water?” Quinn asks the next morning as we’re jogging on the beach.

This isn’t a clean, sandy beach, by the way.

Sticks litter the ground. Large rocks dot it, homes for crawdads I’m not sure Quinn would appreciate seeing. There are stalks of rushes everywhere, not to mention driftwood, rounded pebbles, and the occasional crushed, weathered, old can.

“Uh, no.”

“But you used to love this lake.”

“Just because I loved it as a kid, doesn’t mean I want to wade in it now.”

“What’s wrong, Henry?”

I clear my throat. “Nothing. I don’t feel like getting wet, that’s all.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, walking to the water’s edge as she pulls her shoes and socks off—one pink, the other with cats. Her mismatched socks are strewn exactly where she peels them off. They’re like a neon “Quinn was here” sign. I’m having flashbacks of being married to her.

Enjoyable flashbacks.

She pauses at the edge.

“Wait. You’re getting in now?”

“My feet are hot.” She winces in an exaggerated way. “You do not want to get near my feet.”

She curls them up and hobbles along the roughened surface of the beach, making a face. I’d thought she’d at least test the water first. Her expression changes once again as she sloshes in. “It’s like ice!”

I can’t keep up with her changing expressions. I’m completely lost … and I like it.

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