Page 10 of Texting My Moms Ex

“Are you okay?” Natasha whispers, looking at me over the library desk.

We’re sitting on opposite sides after our Victorian literature class. Natasha has long black, straightened hair and often wears about a dozen bracelets and bangles. She has a natural hippy-writer look and always smiles when I say that.

“Yes,” I reply, ignoring the tight ball in my belly.

It’s been there for three days—the length of time since Jaxson sent me the text saying any man would be lucky to have me. Giddy feelings fluttered through me when I read his message. It was the closest he’s come to saying he’s attracted to me, but there was nothing in response when I sent him the text-bait of “really?”

I keep waiting, wondering if he’s going to text back. I even sent him some of my chapters, which was extremely nerve-wracking, but he hasn’t emailed either.

“Hmm,” Natasha says.

“Hmm? What’shmmabout that?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You’ve read that page about ten times. I’ve been watching you, and you keep moving your sticky notes. You seem off.”

Natasha’s my closest friend. We went to high school together and stayed in the city for college, doing the same course. We take a few different modules, but much of our education overlaps. I don’t want to lie to her, but how can I tell the truth?

“You’re good at keeping secrets,” I state as a fact, not a question.

Natasha’s the only one who knows about my theory of Mom and Jaxson.

She nods slowly. “Yeah…”

“If I tell you something, you have to promise never tosay anything.”

It’s just us in this corner of the library, but I keep my voice low. It’s not that I’m worried about the librarian telling us to shut up, thoughthislibrarian is fierce.

No, it’s the idea of somebody overhearing, of learning…

About what? A few texts and then getting blanked?

“Anything you say goes to the grave with me,” Natasha says.

“Jeez, that’s a bit extreme.”

She grins. “I don’t like half measures. So, what is it? Lay it on me.”

I grip the desk and lean back. “Do you think we can get some fresh air?”

* * *

“Whoa,” Natasha says as we walk through a nearby park together.

The sun is shining, sprinklers are firing on the green, and other students are walking by with stacks of books and heavy bags.

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“I thought you killed your crush?” she asks.

She’s very death-heavy today.

“I did,” I reply. “I stopped googling him years ago. Sure, I thought about him occasionally, but that’s it.”

“From what you’ve told me, this definitely sounds like flirting.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Talking about your ages, him telling you any man would be lucky to have you, talking aboutkissing…”

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