Page 78 of Texts From My Exes
“I’ll be back,” she muttered whizzing through the kitchen, hair half-tamed, keys jangling. “Try not to start another bar fight while I’m gone.”
I scoffed.
“Can’t make promises I can’t keep.” I smiled until the door closed behind her and then I let my smile fall and allowed myself to give into the tiny ache in my chest where my heart was doing it’s best not to twist all over itself. Shit, this sucked.
I barely had a second to pace before the front door opened again.
“Oh, thank God,” I said, half-laughing, half-relieved. “You forgot your?—”
Not Harper.
Grandma Blue.
In the flesh. Purse swinging, lipstick on point, eyes sharper than any pencil I’ve ever had, a stare down during elementary school sharpening wars. Dark times, really dark times. Always good to have a reminder in human form though.
“What the—how—” I stammered pointing from the door to her and back again. What did she do Spiderman her way in here? Was she on the ceiling only to drop in front of the door right when Harper left?
She breezed past me, dropped her bag on the counter like she still owned the place—which, technically, she did—and squinted.
She leaned in, her nose wrinkled as she took in a deep inhale and squinted. “You smell like a deviant of the sexual manner. As in, you’ve been participating in activities of the bedroom sort.”
Was it possible to choke guiltily? “Excuse me?”
“Don’t excuse yourself,” she snapped, tossing me a look that could peel paint. “You’ve finally got the girl in your bed andyou think I’m going to clap for you like some giddy TikTok fan? Please. I’ve been waiting a decade for you idiots to figure it out.”
“Then maybe—thank you?” I tried, rubbing a hand over my jaw.
She narrowed her eyes, softer this time. “Don’t thank me. Don’t screw it up.”
The weight of it landed heavier than any threat.
I cleared my throat, trying to sound like a man in control and not a kid who’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Or, you know…Harper.
“Why are you here exactly?” I asked, eyeing her like she might sprout fangs. “And why did you think you needed something this huge?—”
Whack.
A dish towel cracked across my arm.
“Ow! That hurts!”
Her eyes gleamed, wicked. “Do you even realize how many sicknesses I’ve faked? How many brunches I’ve spiked your drink?”
I froze. “That was you?”
She waved me off like I was the slowest student in remedial math. “The real winner should’ve been the ammonium. But I got the dosage wrong, and let me tell you—nothing’s sexy about a man camping out in the powder room. No matter how attractive the throne of lies, Ezra, a throne of lies is still a throne of lies.”
I blinked at her. “You drugged me.”
She sniffed. “Don’t be dramatic. It was just enough to keep you home and near Harper. A nudge. A push. You think either of you was going to figure this out on your own? Please. I’m old, not patient.”
“So,” I asked, cautious. “What? Do I just…sit here and wait?”
She blinked, then let out the most offended scoff I’d ever heard. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you also need a detailed, color-coded map? I swear, you lead a horse to water and the horse just drowns itself, doesn’t it? Or it stands there whining—‘oh no, what if the water’s too hot, too cold, too deep, I’m allergic.’ Damn Gen Z.”
I cleared my throat. “I think I’m a super-young millennial, math-wise.”
Her glare could’ve peeled wallpaper.
