Page 28 of Battle of the Exes

Fifteen minutes after being banished by my ex-wife, I’m sitting in the back of Joe’s Bar and Grill, perusing the menu when I hear rustling followed by Rue’s voice from the booth behind me.

“I believe him, Ivy,” she says, mid-conversation. “He’s done nothing but help since I called him.”

They’re talking about me.

The high-backed cushions form a wall between booths, making it easy to overhear without being seen. The sound of water being poured from pitcher to glass does nothing to muffle their voices.

I’m about to make my presence known when Ivy speaks.

“You’re taking his side.”

A waitress appears, and I signal for more time, though I’ve lost my appetite.

“We’re all on the same side,” Rue replies gently.

Ivy lowers her voice, but I still hear the raw vulnerability. “He left me.”

The words land like an anvil to the chest. I feel the weight of it everywhere.

I’m eavesdropping and honestly, I can’t bear to hear anymore. Embarrassed, I slide out of the booth, trying not to draw attention. The waitress watches me, puzzled, as I head for the door and slink back outside

I drive home in silence, the hollow in my gut having nothing to do with hunger.

It’s nearly midnight. Two empty beer bottles sit on the nightstand, my laptop beside me on the covers. I’m halfway down a rabbit hole, rereading today’sDear Ivycolumn.

She’s good. Thoughtful, sharp, funny. The kind of voice people trust.

He left me.

What I overheard her say at Joe’s threw me for a loop.

Does she really believe that?

It would explain a lot.

I scroll through the archive, skimming old columns, telling myself it’s just curiosity. But I know better. I’m tipsy and obsessing over my ex. Basically, I’m a walking country song.

Still, today crystallized something for me. The sparks between us are still there, no matter how much she pretends otherwise.

On impulse and an elevated blood alcohol level, I reach for my phone and text my ex-wife.

Dear Dr. Ivy, what’s the official relationship advice on enemies who are wildly attracted to each other?

I get an immediate reply.

Depends. Does one of them happen to be a walking ego with an infuriating smirk?

I prefer ‘devilishly charming with an award-winning jawline,’ but sure, let’s go with that.

In that case, my advice is simple: Run.

I let the jibe go, smiling like an idiot.

You wrote an entire column about toxic men, and not one example was me? I’m almost offended.

You weren’t included because you’re not a red flag, Beau.

I knew you secretly liked me.

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