Page 24 of Texts From My Exes
His wife, Maya—beautiful, grounded, far too good for him—was perched on the counter in leggings and an oversized sweater, scrolling her phone. She was the kind of woman whocould silence a room with a look and also knew the best way to unclog your sink.
“We’ve been watching,” she said without looking up.
“Watching what?” I asked warily.
“The dates,” she said, finally meeting my eyes. “Like it’s our version ofSingle’s Inferno. Whole group chat. Kids aren’t allowed, obviously.”
My brother grinned like a man about to start trouble. “What’s the plan, Ez? Because this is better than premium cable.”
I dropped into a chair. “The plan is—I’m going to be Vex.”
Maya’s head jerked back. “Vex?”
“Because Vex doesn’t exist,” I said. “And because she deserves a Vex. And I want her.”
Maya let out a sound somewhere between a screech and a clap. “Yes. Oh my God. Makeover?”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
My brother burst out laughing. “She already likes you. Why change?”
“You know I’m better looking than you,” I said flatly, “and you know I hate attention. Ever since?—”
“Going dark, disappearing, turning your back on all the fan—.” he started smirking.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Scrubbed the internet hard for those videos.”
True. I’d been kinda famous for my face, of all things. Perfect lighting, perfect angles, and suddenly no one cared I could string a sentence together. It was all: be in my video, be my boyfriend, be my trophy. One YouTube channel and a few life changing decisions later, I vanished.
And then there was Harper.
She’d met meafterI’d disappeared. No clue I was the same guy she’d followed as a tween. To this day, she’d never said a word. We met in college, after I transferred from Yaleand decided to start over, and became fast friends. She was bummed my channel had gone dark—a conversation that had me questioning if she knew, but by then I’d grown my hair out, added the glasses, and blended into the background. She never recognized me.
Or if she did, she never said.
And I sure as hell wasn’t telling her.
Until now.
Now I was coming out of hiding. Twelve years later. Different man. Different game.
What could possibly go wrong?
My brother handed me a flask of whiskey.
Then shoved another into my other pocket.
Then slapped me on the ass like he was sending me onto the field in the Super Bowl.
“Boys,” he said gravely to his sons, “you don’t need to see this.”
“Where’s Uncle Ez going?” the older one asked.
“This,” my brother said, “is the day your mom makes Uncle Ez into a man.”
“Ewww!” both boys shouted in unison.
“Don’t do it, Uncle Ez!” the younger one wailed. “She’ll make you put on deodorant!”
