Page 28 of Exes and O's

A series of unfortunate events in my love life, obviously. And I’m about to tell him so, until my phone lights up with a text.

TREVOR:Don’t tell him about the ex search unless he already knows.

I had no intention of hiding the search from Brandon, considering it’s broadcasted all over my public social media account. But Trevor’s warning throws me off my game. Will Brandon think I’m nuts? Just like the others?

“Oh, uh, just thinking about college,” I stammer, groping for the nearest napkin to shred.

Brandon smiles, delving into a long-winded monologue about all our prospective adventures, including jetting over to Thailand to spend a week at an elephant sanctuary.

“So, after all the excitement of traveling, what’s next for you?” I ask at the first opportunity, convincing myself that I could stomach traveling if it means the two of us settling into a detached home with a sprawling lawn near my parents, or maybe across the street from Crystal and Scott’s future home. Brandon and Scott would get along swimmingly.

The crease between his brows deepens. “Do you mean where to after Indonesia? Probably Peru, or—”

My heart sinks like an anchor. “Oh? Are you not planning to settle back down in Boston?”

“Why would I stay in Boston?” He’s genuinely confused.

“Well, you’re thirty. Don’t you want to settle down soon? Have kids?”

Trevor is giving me his urgent horror-movie eyes again, as if I’ve just asked Brandon to divulge his Social Security number.

Brandon notices my pointed glare at Trevor and glances over his shoulder. Trevor abruptly averts his eyes, suddenly taking a supreme interest in the salt and pepper shakers.

Brandon swings back to me, confused and probably questioning his own sanity. “Uh... Probably not. You?”

“I mean, yeah. That’s always been the goal. Marriage and kids in my early thirties.”

I barely have time to register Brandon’s indifferent shrug, because Trevor coughs, half choking on his drink.

Brandon turns, concerned. “That guy is choking.”

“Nah, he’s fine,” I say, waving his worry away with my mangled napkin, which resembles a worn flag that’s been shredded in a gruesome medieval battle.

Brandon isn’t convinced, and I’m not shocked. He’s always had a Good Samaritan complex, which attracted me to him in the first place. One time, we missed our dinner reservation because he insisted on helping a stranded woman on the side of the freeway change her tire, despite not knowing how.

He peers over his shoulder once again. “You okay, buddy? We have a nurse over here.” He points at me, preemptively offering my services.

Trevor hits his chest with his fist like a macho marine. “All good, man. Thanks.”

Satisfied that the stranger in the booth behind us is not havinga medical emergency, Brandon turns his attention back to me. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

Before I can offer a response, a new text comes through.

TREVOR:Meet me in the bathroom NOW.

I let out a tortured sigh, scooting out of the booth. “Be right back. Just going to the restroom.”

“No worries. Take your time,” Brandon says cheerfully, clearly relieved that the topic of children has come to an abrupt end.

Trevor is pacing in the dingy narrow hallway outside the bathrooms, his fingers linked behind his head. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m just having a casual conversation. Why are you freaking out?”

He huffs. “You brought up children.”

I scoff, as if I haven’t already named our three unborn daughters. “Look, I hate small talk. It’s not my vibe. And it’s not like he’s a stranger. He’s an ex. When we broke up, he said maybe things could work out in the future. I’m trying to find out where he’s at.”

Trevor eyes me sideways. “No. It’s way too soon for that conversation. He’s about to hurl himself off the nearest ledge.”

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