Page 75 of Just My Ex

Saying the nickname I used to have for her opens up the floodgates and then I can’t stop talking. “I love your orphan socks, all in a drawer without matches, thrown in there like it’s the bargain bin at Goodwill. And when you sing lullabies to Navie and hold her and stroke her back, I feel like … I don’t know, like it’s the most significant thing I’ve ever seen. The only thing that means anything. And the way you spill on your shirt and then get it soaking wet trying to clean it off? That’s gold right there.”

“I hate doing laundry!” She wails, covering her eyes with her hand.

I pull her hand down, so I can see her. “I know. It’s a totally practical response.” I laugh again. “And you get all uptight about writing people thank you notes. Remember how you made me write a thank you note to the carpet cleaner guy?”

“He got cherry juice out of our carpet! The guy deserved a gold medal!”

I can’t stop laughing at that. “You make me laugh.” Tears start to pool in my eyes, but I can’t bring myself to care. “I don’t laugh. After being deployed, I couldn’t laugh, not really. I’m sure you noticed. And the security job didn’t help, either. The Ostlins are great, and it’s an honor to protect them, but there’s been a heaviness since being in the Army that I couldn’t shake. There’s been a heaviness my whole life. And you weren’t the cure. You couldn’t be, not exactly.” I tuck a strand of hair that’s escaped her braid behind her ear. “But you made mewantto find the cure for myself. And losing you? Losing the billiards genius, loyal, funny, college advisor extraordinaire, mother of my child, perfectly imperfect woman of my dreams? Well, I woke up. And I’m so grateful I woke up.”

She presses her lips together and we sit, the silence stretching between us. Finally, she eases into a small smile, her hazel eyes piercing mine. “Youdoseem more … alive. And I feel it, too, within myself.” She waves me away and drags in a deep breath. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about the possibilities of … us again.” Her lips twitch. “This is random, and I wasn’t going to ask you this, but …”

I hold my breath, wondering what she’s going to say.

“The tattoos. The new ones. Tell me about them?”

I lift my arms and rotate them around. “You remember the dragon and the hawk.” I take in either forearm. I love my ink. “But then, a year ago, I got this one.” I tap the black, curved beak and full wingspan that winds around my arm to my elbow.

“A phoenix?” she whispers as she reaches out a finger to trace the lines.

Her touch is soft, and my breathing isn’t quite right because of it.

“It’s cliché to use a phoenix to symbolize a rebirth,” I say. “But losing you really did feel like I was either going to die or find a way to be born again. And the day I chose to change, to live again, I went and got the ink—to make a promise to myself.”

The hazel of her eyes glows in the light as she looks at me. “Sometimes you really surprise me, Henry.”

“Let’s see if you can guess what this is.” In one swift movement, I pull my shirt off over my head and swing around so she can see my left shoulder.

She gasps, so quietly I’m not sure it’s even real. “It looks like a … twisted semi-truck? Maybe?” She chuckles, brushing a finger along my skin. “Are you actually a truck driver on the side?”

I shake my head. “It’s a tree.”

“A tree? Maybe you should ask for a refund, Henry.”

“It’s meant to be obscure. It’s more just for me. It’s a tree on its side, bent and gnarled. It’s been through a lot.”

She dips her head. “I get it now. Well, it’s beautiful.”

I pull my shirt back on. Less clothing for either of us is a dangerous game.

I don’t know what gets into me, but I open my mouth and blurt out the words that I’ve been needing to say for months. It’s so out of the blue, it’s a shock. But I can’t seem to stop myself.

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, Quinn. The only woman I want to love.”

She stares at me, her eyes widening before blinking several times. “Same.” She breathes out a laugh. “I mean, you’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”

She climbs into my lap, like old times, and kisses me. Far too soon, she stops, hopping off my lap and the love seat.

“I’m good. It’s good.” She gusts out a breath, hands at her waist, and starts to pace. “I just … we have to keep things in check.”

I’m trying to steady my breathing. It’s not going so well. Finally, I feel like I can pull it together enough to speak.

“In the interest of being completely open and honest with you, I have to say, I … wish we could start over. Being friends. Taking it slow. Being open to the possibilities …”

“Henry—” There’s a hesitation in her voice, but she’s not saying no to the idea.

“We can never be just friends,” she says, one side of her mouth lifting into a smile. “Not anymore. And we won’t even be living in the same country.”

Blast all the protocols I have to follow. I wish I could tell her how temporarily we’ll be apart.

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