The Ex Effect

by Karla Sorensen

  I leaned toward Ava and felt a tiny, selfish twinge of satisfaction that she leaned back from whatever she saw on my face. "It wouldn't have been unimportant to me. That's what you're missing. This isn't just about you, and what you feel and want and are ready for or feel like I need to be aware of."

  Ava tucked her lips between her teeth and watched me, her chest heaving on shallow breaths. Somehow, she kept the tears in her eyes, but they were there, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. It was like she knew that if I saw her cry, I'd soften, I'd reach out to her, and right now, I was too pissed and feeling too betrayed to let that happen.

  "Did you talk to Logan about this after that first time?"

  When she didn't answer, when her jade green eyes cut away from me, I lost my breath. Because that was my answer.

  "How many times?" I asked.

  She swallowed roughly. "Twice. After that first time."

  I nodded, looking down at my duffel bag. The one I'd packed thinking we could cocoon ourselves in the room when she wasn't needed with her family. It was stupid. Chartering a plane to beat her here was stupid. Bribing the front desk person with tickets so I could surprise my girlfriend in her room was stupid. Coming here to tell her that I was in love with her was the stupidest idea of all.

  Because I thought I could predict everything she'd do, say, and how she'd react. She was supposed to fly into my arms, rain kisses over my face, and thank me for being here with her. Even if I couldn't come to the ceremony, she'd tell me she loved me back.

  Instead, she walked into the room with another man.

  "I'm going to go," I said quietly. "I can't do this right now. Not here."

  "Matthew, please," she begged, finally closing the gap between us to lay her hands on my arms. "I get why you're mad, I do. But come on, you could have talked to me about wanting to come here."

  "Talk to you?" I said incredulously. "Talk to you."

  She blinked at the harsh tone of my voice.

  "That would assume you'd actually be willing to talk about your family with me. Do you have any idea how frustrated I've been, Ava? I've wanted to talk about this stuff with you for weeks, and you avoided it at every turn."

  Ava didn't argue, but I could see the rising frustration in the shift of her shoulders and the set of her jaw.

  "Can you blame me for not wanting to have this conversation?" she asked, gesturing between us.

  "No," I said honestly, and she drew back in obvious surprise. "I get it. I get that there are things in life that suck and are hard to talk about, hard to work through. I understand why you didn't want to talk about it. But I thought we had something between us that made it bearable to go through that stuff. That we had the kind of relationship where you'd let me shoulder some of that burden for you, Ava."

  "We do have that," she said on a rush, coming toward me again. "Matthew, we do, I just ..."

  I held up my hand, and she stopped. Maybe it wasn't fair. Maybe it was cruel. But at that moment, I couldn't handle any more convenient truths or reasonable explanations for why I felt so blindsided by her.

  "I can't do this right now, Ava," I said quietly, then leaned down to grab my bag and strode away from her.

  I yanked the door open and stopped short.

  With her hand raised in the air was Ava's mom and not far behind her, her dad staring at his phone with a bored expression on his face.

  We both froze, her eyes widened in her face as she realized who I was.

  "M-Matthew Hawkins?" she hissed. "Ava, what on earth is going on?

  My heart froze solid in my chest. Before anyone could react, Ava's mom shoved me back into the room and gave her husband a whispered command to get in the room and shut the door.

  "Hey," I said indignantly, half shocked she was able to move me back in the first place.

  "Mom, Dad," Ava stuttered. "What are you doing up here?"

  Dr. Baker glanced back and forth between his daughter and me, color high in his face. His wife was gawking at me, mouth hanging open like a fish.

  "You didn't show up for drinks, so we came to get you and ..." His voice trailed off when he caught the thunderous expression on my face. He cleared his throat.

  "What is he doing here?" Ava's mom said.

  "I have a name," I reminded her coolly.

  Her eyes flicked to me, then back to her daughter. I'd all but been dismissed. I slicked my tongue over my teeth and gripped the handle of my duffel bag more tightly.

  "Mom," Ava started, "there's been a huge misunderstanding."

  "Is this some sick joke?" she interrupted.

  Ava shook her head slowly. "What do you mean?"

  "Is this about ruining your sister's day?" she accused, hand clutching at her chest. "Ava Marie, if you brought him here to cause problems ..."

  "What?" Ava gasped.

  "Are you kidding me?" I bellowed, unable to watch it play out anymore. "Do you actually believe she's capable of something like that? You know nothing about her."

  Ava's face softened instantly, but I could still hardly look at her. Just because I was pissed as hell didn't mean I'd let them trash her in front of me.

  Dr. Baker held up his hands. "Now, let's just all calm down. Matthew, this is a family issue."

  "Don't you tell me what I believe, or what I know," his wife interjected. "She's my daughter, and where the hell do you get off thinking you belong in this conversation in the first place?"

  I rubbed at my forehead wearily. "You are unbelievable. Not everything is about Ashley, you know."

  Dr. Baker muttered something under his breath, and his wife gave him a quelling glare.

  She turned her cold eyes back to me. "You need to leave this room, Matthew, right now."

  I crossed my arms and gave her the look I only reserved for game day. I wasn't the kid she knew ten years ago, and I'd like to see her try to shove me out in the hallway now.

  "Abigail," Dr. Baker said quietly.

  "Do you think I won't call security?" she snapped at me.

  "Mom," Ava said. "Please, just stop yelling at him. He's ... he's—"

  "He's what?" she whispered dangerously.

  Ava inhaled slowly, exhaled a heavy breath. "Mom, it's just ... it's not what you think."

  Air rushed out of my lungs, hard and heavy. It took Ava a second to realize how that sounded. That during the one moment Ava could've grabbed my hand and claimed our relationship, she used the same line that was uttered when I found her with Logan.

  A mistake. A misunderstanding. That it was nothing. She gasped and moved toward me.

  "Matthew," she whispered frantically.

  Anything hot turned icy cold. I felt the gates slam down as frost climbed up them in spidery webs.

  I turned my head over my shoulder and gave her a last look. "She's right, Mrs. Baker. It's not what you think." I shouldered past them without another word, ignoring whatever commotion happened in my wake. "Not what I thought either, apparently."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ava

  I ran after him, ignoring my mom's attempt to grab my arm and my dad's protest at ... I didn't even know.

  "Matthew, wait. Please, just wait for a second," I called out just before he turned the corner. His frame was rigid, but he stopped.

  I approached him cautiously with my hands lifted.

  "That sounded so awful," I whispered, desperately wanting to lay my hands on his broad back. "I am so sorry that it sounded so awful. You know I didn't mean it that way."

  Finally, he turned. It was slow and steady with no rush to meet my eyes or see whatever look was frozen on my face.

  "Do I know that?" he said.

  My breath was shaking. My body was shaking. He was standing right in front of me, but I could see him slipping away. "Tell me what to do to make this better."

  His eyes searched my face as I lost the battle with my tears. His jaw clenched as each one slid silently down my cheeks.

  Matthew spoke quietly and deliberately. "Right no
w, you can't. Not while we're standing in the hallway with them back there waiting for you. Right now, I need time. Because even though I can understand how all these dominoes fell into place—including the ones you have no control over—it doesn't change the fact that I chartered a plane here so I could look you in the eyes when I told you I'd fallen in love with you. And instead, I found you in a room with another man, and then was treated like a dirty secret in front of your parents, who are the sole reason you’re so guarded, I couldn’t get you to talk to me in the first place."

  A sob escaped my lips, and I pressed a hand to my mouth so I could keep all the others down, the ones choking my throat and crowding my heart.

  "Matthew," I said in a wretched, tear-filled voice. I wanted to tell him that I'd fallen in love with him too, that I couldn't imagine my future without him, but I'd fucked up so badly, all I could do was stand in front of him and cry.

  He lifted his hand and used the pad of one thumb to swipe at the tears on my face. My fingers pressed harder against my lips so that I didn't clutch his hand to me and refuse to let go.

  I couldn't let him leave without saying something, somehow letting him know the incredible space he'd taken up inside my heart.

  He dropped his hand and reached for his duffel.

  "Matthew, please, I'm falling in—"

  "Stop," he said instantly, harshly, his forehead lined and bent with discomfort. "Not like this, Ava, please."

  I sniffed noisily, and my head wobbled on a shaky nod. As he turned and walked away, I stood frozen in place until I heard the ding of the elevator.

  My parents were talking over each other when I walked back into my room, but I couldn't hear a word. My brain was muffled with cotton, all their syllables and irritation and confusion bleeding together in one long, discordant sound.

  All the words as they came out painted a picture so shallow, I could see through it. It certainly didn't give me anything to stand on.

  It was flimsy.

  Insubstantial.

  When I closed my eyes and imagined his face, my heart squeezed so painfully, I worried for a moment that I would pass out.

  "Ava Marie, are you even listening?" my mom hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me back into my room. I ripped it out of the grasp of her bony fingers, and she laid a hand on her chest in shock. "You better start talking, young lady."

  "This is insanity," my dad grumbled.

  "Just stop talking," I whispered. "Just for one second while I try to breathe."

  Their chattering had dried up my tears, but my whole body was shaking. I sat on the edge of the king-size bed, braced my elbows on my knees, and speared my fingers through my hair. It took me a second of deep, even breathing to realize they'd listened to me.

  When I raised my head, my parents were staring at me with a strange mix of annoyance, anger, and disbelief written on their faces.

  "Well," my dad said, waving a hand toward the door. "Care to explain why your sister's college boyfriend was in your hotel room? And where the hell your boyfriend is?"

  I stared at him, trying to form words that would make this make sense. And I couldn't do it. Where did I start? They wouldn't even care what the truth was.

  My mom's narrow-eyed gaze watched me carefully, sifting through what she'd seen and what she'd heard. After only a few seconds, I watched her make sense of all the pieces without me needing to say a thing. Her face smoothed out, and she exhaled slowly.

  "Let me handle this, Alan."

  Surprisingly, he did. He pursed his lips and shook his head.

  "Honestly, Ava, the particulars don't matter." She swept her hands down the front of her pantsuit, effectively ridding herself of what had happened. "I don't know what that man was doing in here, but it's obvious, in retrospect, that—"

  "That man?" I repeated quietly, gaping up at her. "That man? You guys loved Matthew. She cheated on him when they were supposed to get married, and now you're referring to him as that man?"

  My mom laughed under her breath, holding up a hand when my dad started to speak.

  "Ava"—she shook her head slowly—"if you have kids someday, you'll understand what it feels like, okay? Reality is a little different for us when we look at that situation than it is for you. Clearly." Her snide tone set the hair up on my arms, and my fingers curled into fists. "Your poor relationship with Ashley has never been a secret, but I swear to you right now, if you ruin this weekend for her because of whatever you're doing with him, whatever reason he was here, I'll never forgive you."

  Oh yeah, my tears were long gone. In their place was a strange numbness. I couldn't even find the strength to drudge up anger, any shred of righteous indignation, or a defense for myself. Apathy felt like a heavy blanket at that moment. The kind you burrowed under when you couldn't sleep and hoped that it lulled you with a false sense of security.

  “You’ll never forgive me,” I repeated in a hollow voice.

  "Not one word to her about this, Ava," she continued. "Do you understand me?"

  My dad was looking down at the floor, his arms crossed over his chest. My mom's face was flushed, just a little, and I tilted my head to study her. I didn't look anything like her. Not her hair, or eyes, or the way her nose had a cute upturn at the end.

  Any illusions I had about this weekend were snipped away. Like balloons freed into the big empty sky with precise snicks of a sharp pair of scissors.

  Snip.

  Snip.

  Snip.

  "I understand you perfectly," I said evenly. The double meaning of my words was lost on her.

  She straightened with a huff. "Good. Now, we're late for drinks. That's why we came to your room in the first place." She gave me a cursory glance. "Now wipe your face and straighten your shirt. And pinch your cheeks for a little color. You'll do."

  I laughed, and the sound brought my dad's head up for the first time in minutes. "I'm not going down for drinks."

  "Oh yes, you are."

  "Abigail," my dad said quietly but firmly.

  I stood from the bed and took a deep breath. "No, Mother, I won't. I'll be at the ceremony. I'll keep a smile on my face because I'm not like Ashley. I will suck it up and not make a scene as she would have done if the roles were reversed. The kind that you would condone because it's her. The kind you'd justify because it's her."

  My mom's mouth flopped open like she was a fish caught on a hook, and my dad grimaced.

  "But tonight," I continued, "I'm ordering at least one bottle of obscenely priced wine from room service, probably some chocolate cake that I can cry into because I fucked up so badly tonight with someone very important to me, I'll be charging all of it to this room you're paying for, and you won't fight me on a single bit of it."

  There was a saying that a smart soldier knew when to retreat. And my parents were not stupid. One prolonged look at my face, which probably resembled a cracked-out raccoon from the streaked mascara, and they started filing out of my room.

  My dad turned before leaving and opened his mouth to say something, but I held up a hand. "Not tonight, Dad. Just ... not tonight."

  My father, I looked like him. I had the same blade straight nose. The same eyes. The same smile when he chose to use it. Looking at him in the doorway, I wasn't sure I could pinpoint what I saw in his face, but I refused to name it as anything close to pity because I'd lose the tenuous hold on my weird, seesawing emotions.

  Shame.

  Embarrassment.

  Despair.

  Pain.

  Love.

  Disappointment.

  Anger.

  And nothing. Just nothing.

  I could barely process all the things I'd felt in the past hour, the past week, or month, let alone try to name them and be mentally healthy about it.

  Hence the wine and chocolate cake.

  I slipped into my pajamas to await my delivery. I signed the bill with a blank smile. I crawled into my big empty bed, drank straight from the bottle, and ate the cake with my fingers l
ike only the brokenhearted can.

  After one bottle, I stared at my text thread with Matthew and tried to not sob ugly, fat tears. In my drunk state, I fancied that my tears were beautiful glistening trails going down my face. I told myself calling him was a horrible idea. I didn't even know if he'd made it off the island. He could've walked five minutes and found a different hotel to stay at. He could've chartered a plane or a helicopter to take him back to Seattle (Oh, the joys of being obscenely wealthy).

  I rolled on my back, phone above me, and I settled for a text. Just one. Just one little text for him to wake up to.

  That was when I almost lost it. Because if he had made it back to Seattle, I knew he was in his bed. I knew how he was lying—on his back with his hands crossed over his stomach because that was the best for his back—and I knew what time he laid his head down on those amazing, expensive pillows of his. And my entire body throbbed with missing him. With the reality of what had happened in just one short evening of my life.

  Me: I miss you. I'm sorry. I'm horrible, and I hate all this, and yes, maybe I'm drunk, but it still makes all of the above true.

  Me: I hate being in this place without you. Anywhere without you, really.

  Me: Shit. I told myself I'd only send one text and now I'm on number 3, and I sound like a selfish bitch. Ironic, huh? I get if you need to be mad at me for a while. But we're not done, Matthew. Nobody feels the way we feel about each and can just be DONE. Not like this.

  Me: Did I mention I'm horrible and sorry? And drunk? And that I miss you?

  "Well," I mumbled, tossing my phone onto the empty side of the bed. "That escalated quickly."

  For a moment, I stared at the second bottle of wine, the one that cost my parents somewhere in the sixty-dollar range, and decided to take pity on future me, so I got up and chugged some water, then fell face first back in bed.

  The sheets were cold. So was my pillow. But with a heavy sigh, I was able to curl in on myself and fall asleep.

  The next morning, I did an excellent impression of an Ava-bot. I hugged my sister as she flitted from one place to the next, successfully slipping away before she could engage me in conversation. I helped the event coordinator tie ivory ribbons around the bright white chairs on the emerald-green grass overlooking the sapphire water of the bay, backed by the gray and brown and white of the mountains.