Exes and Ohs

by Beth Kendrick

  “Wait.” My gaze bounced from my current date to the woman who’d ruined my last foray into the romantic arena. “You two know each other?”

  “Hey.” Paul pointed one index finger at me, the other at Harmony. “You two know each other?”

  “Of course!” She readjusted the neckline of her dress, which had dipped dangerously low, and winked at me. “Paul and I hung out together a few months ago. Just, you know, casually. Before Alex C. came back into the picture.”

  Paul’s face fell upon hearing this description of their relationship.

  So my new rebound man was still hung up on the woman that my last rebound man had dumped me for. In about ten—make it twenty—years, I would be able to tell this story and laugh, but right now was more like primal scream time.

  She threw an arm around him and nodded at me. “And then Gwen and I met when I took Leo to—”

  “No need to go into details,” I said firmly. “Let’s just say I know Leo.”

  She gave me a conspiratorial look. “Yes. She knows Leo.”

  Paul gave up on trying to understand the social intricacies of the situation and fixated on his ex. “You look beautiful.”

  “Beautiful” was not the word. The woman could give Elizabeth Hurley an inferiority complex. Her gown was a masterpiece of gold sequins and strategic flashes of flesh.

  “How did you two meet?” I asked, deciding that if the answer to this question turned out to be “He pulled me over on a major thoroughfare and asked for my number,” I was going to rampage right here and now.

  “You don’t know? Paul used to be my costar on One Life to Live! That was years ago, but he had the biggest crush on me for, like, two seasons!” She swatted him with her beaded evening bag. “You didn’t tell her you’re a celebrity?”

  “You’re the celebrity,” he said, yanking at his shirt collar. “I never even liked acting that much. I don’t miss it at all. Besides. The guys at the station would never let me live it down if they knew.”

  “How is that going, anyway?” She breathed, batting her eyes.

  But I missed Paul’s response because Alex had appeared on the horizon. He caught my eye and started toward me. Snippets of our brief but intense relationship flashed through my mind.

  Then I shook my head and snapped out of the soft-focus fantasy.

  Because the bottom line was, whatever I’d thought we’d shared was just that: a fantasy. Something I wanted to believe so desperately that I’d ignored all the red flags. After you cut through all the excuses and extenuating circumstances, he’d turned out to be the same as Dennis—a man who could never love me the way I needed to be loved.

  “Gwen,” he said softly.

  I set my jaw and stared at the chandelier dripping with crystal. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Clinking glasses and frenetic chatter welled up around us, filling the long silence. And after about thirty seconds, I realized that Harmony and Paul were both staring at us.

  I cleared my throat. “Paul Brenneman, this is Alex Coughlin. Alex, this is Paul. He’s my…he’s…I was just leaving.”

  Alex nodded. “Paul. I see you’ve met Harmony.”

  “His fiancée,” she added, flashing a left-hand diamond ring of glacial proportions.

  “You two are getting married?” Paul’s expression was that of a little boy who has watched somebody run over his puppy, back up, and run over it again. “Congratulations.”

  Still staring at the chandelier, I excused myself from the conversation and took a few tentative steps toward the bar.

  So they were getting married. Big surprise. They were living together, they had a child, Harmony had been talking weddings since day one. What had I expected?

  Time for a very, very strong drink. I bellied up to the bar. “Vodka on the rocks, please. Make it a double. A triple.”

  The burgundy-jacketed bartender raised his eyebrows. “Why don’t you start with a single and work your way up?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Whatever.”

  He paused. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. Okay. Whatever.”

  “Gwen.” Alex materialized by my right elbow.

  I closed my eyes and gripped the cool brass rail bordering the bar area. “Go away.”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to talk to you.” I opened one eye. “Actually, I do have one question: you’re really, officially engaged to her?”

  He waited until I opened both eyes to answer. “Yes.”

  Fortunately, the bartender handed me my vodka just then.

  “Do you love her? Scratch that—do you even like her?”

  He held my gaze in silence.

  “Are you guys, you know, in the same bedroom now?”

  More silence.

  I drained my glass, tossed it back on the counter, and signaled to the bartender. “Now can I have a double?”

  The bartender, who had apparently overhead the tail end of our conversation, nodded. “Coming right up.”

  Alex rested a hand on my shoulder. “I know you’re upset. But we need to talk. I heard you gave Harmony some kind of relationship syllabus?”

  “And how did you hear that?”

  He sighed. “She told me.”

  I pulled away from his grasp. “Where the hell is that double?”

  “Here ya go.” The bartender took aim and slid the glass across the bar toward me, Old Western-style.

  But Alex intercepted the drink before I could grab it. He tossed it back like a dehydrated James Bond.

  “Hey!” I protested.

  “God, I needed that.” He raised an eyebrow at my outraged expression. “And you already had one.”

  I crossed my arms over my forty-dollar dress. “Mr. Coughlin. Perhaps you are not familiar with the Official Breakup Code of Greater Los Angeles, but it clearly states that the dumper must forfeit to the dumpee all joint property, anecdotes which depict the dumper in an unflattering light, and available alcoholic beverages.”

  “But I never dumped you.”

  I stared at him. “Are you new here? Leaving the woman you’re sleeping with to reunite with and marry your ex-girlfriend is the very definition of dumping.” I nodded crisply at the bartender. “Let’s try that double again.”

  “What should I have done, Gwen? Left my four-year-old son to grow up in the New Age equivalent of Moulin Rouge just because I thought you were hot?”

  The bartender had fled to the far end of the bar, which was fortunate, since any drink I’d had would have ended up in Alex’s face.

  He kept talking in a low, even tone. “That didn’t come out the way I intended. All I’m saying is, we had a few weeks. And they were—well, you know how they were, but how can I put that ahead of my son? Regardless of what I want, Leo has to come first. He has to.” In his eyes I saw the angry determination of a boy who had been abandoned by his own father.

  “It’s not that cut and dried, and you know it,” I shot back. “Haven’t you ever heard of joint custody?”

  “Joint custody? Where the child spends ninety percent of his time with his mother and the odd weekend and holiday pretending to bond with his father while he wishes he were back home playing with his friends? That is not a family. That is a legal stopgap.”

  “Whatever you say. But keep me out of it from now on.”

  “Listen. I never thought I could give Leo that—a family. Because of Harmony. You’ve seen the way we are together. We broke up for a good reason. Many good reasons, in fact. But ever since she talked to you in Vegas, things have been different. She’s changing. She’s been reading books on parenting and marriage. She’s been talking about consistency.” He grinned. “The words ‘delayed gratification’ actually came out of her mouth.”

  My smile was brittle.

  “And she says it’s all because of you.” I couldn’t identify the emotions sparking in his eyes. “I wanted to thank you. If it weren’t for you, this engagement never would have happened.”r />
  “You’re so welcome.” I spun on my heel and stalked back across the ballroom toward my date, who was exclaiming over Harmony’s wallet-size pictures of Leo.

  “…And here we are at the zoo in Santa Barbara,” Harmony gushed. “Isn’t he cute?”

  “He looks just like you.” Paul seemed oblivious to the rage radiating from my every pore. He turned to me. “Can you believe what a great mom Harmony is?”

  I just glowered at them.

  He shook his head. “Incredible. Well, tell him I said ‘hey.’ I miss the little guy.”

  “I’ll tell him.” Harmony crooked her index finger to motion us deeper into her jasmine-scented aura. “And, don’t tell anyone, but he’s going to have a brother or a sister pretty soon.”

  I backed out of the aura.

  “You’re planning to have more kids after you get married?” Paul asked.

  She winked. “Not exactly.”

  His eyes bugged out. “You mean you’re…”

  “Yep! I’m pregnant!” She hugged us both at once. “Isn’t that insane?”

  22

  Clearly, the only appropriate response to this announcement was to flee for the exit and call it a night. Little did I know that I was about to double down on the insanity.

  “Gwen?” A familiar voice filled my ear as a hand brushed against my lower back. “You’re blond?”

  Just what I needed to make my night complete. The other fucking ex.

  I whipped around to glare at Dennis. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He looked rumpled and tired, like he’d just finished a thirty-six-hour call and thrown on a tux. Which he probably had.

  He couldn’t seem to look away from my newly blond bob. “Your hair. It’s…You look so…”

  I arched my back away from his touch. “I’m in no mood for this. What do you think you’re doing here?”

  “I know some of the psychiatric residents, and they invited me…” He broke off, shaking his head. “That’s a lie. The truth is, I was looking for you. I know this is your turf and I’m being a little ballsy right now…”

  I considered darting past him and making a break for the valet booth, but I could see Dr. Cortez hovering nearby, so I tried to pretend I was deeply mired in a pleasant, fund-raising sort of chat.

  “I know you hate me.” He hung his head. “And I deserve it. What happened between us was…it was bad.”

  “No. ‘Bad’ is a flooded basement or a severe allergic reaction. What happened between us was more along the lines of the ‘Totally Unforgiveable.’” I smiled big for Dr. Cortez and lowered my voice to a razor-sharp hiss. “So if this is about Cesca shaking you down for five thousand dollars—”

  “It isn’t.” He grimaced as if his appendix had just burst. “Cesca said you were engaged to a lawyer named Chet.”

  “You actually believed that?” I burst out laughing. “Hel-lo, she was obviously lying.”

  This puzzled him. “Why would she do that?”

  “Because she’s been my best friend for almost a decade and she can’t stand you. Chet. Good Lord. I can’t believe you bought that.” I crossed my arms and started tapping one foot. “I’m on my way out, so if there’s nothing else I can help you with…”

  “Lisa broke up with me.”

  This news did not elicit the surge of triumph I would have expected. All I felt was a slow, sinking disbelief—all that grief and fury, all those tears and broken catering contracts…for nothing?

  He cleared his throat. “Aren’t you going to say ‘I told you so’?”

  I sighed. “Apparently not.” When I scanned the crowd, I saw Dr. Cortez circling to the right, still eyeing us suspiciously. And Alex was fighting the tide of the crowd, making his way toward me. “I can’t deal with this right now. I’m out of here.”

  “Don’t go.” Suddenly, Dennis seized my shoulder and went in for a kiss on the lips, which I managed to deflect with my cheek. “I miss you, Gwen.”

  I froze. “What?”

  “Lisa was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking. I got scared, and I…” He shrugged helplessly. “Give me another chance. Let me explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain. I was there, I know what happened. So does everyone on our guest list,” I reminded him.

  “I know. I was an asshole.” He kissed my forehead, which I let him get away with because I was too stunned to protest. “But I need to talk to you. Just talk. Please. I can’t sleep, thinking about how I treated you.”

  I looked at his worn, pinched face and knew he was telling the truth. The heat of the ballroom and the buzzing in my ears overwhelmed me for a moment. “Okay, fine. We’ll talk.” I glanced nervously back at Alex, who had stopped his approach when I let Dennis kiss me. “But not tonight.”

  “Meet me at the Spanish Kitchen tomorrow at seven,” he instructed. “You won’t be sorry.”

  But as I caught Alex’s eye across the ballroom, I already was.

  “You’re telling me that Dennis just happened to show up at the benefit ball?” Cesca pushed up the sleeves of her huge Lakers sweatshirt. “That’s quite a coincidence.”

  “No coincidence. He talked to his friends who work with the clinic. Planned the whole thing.” I helped myself to another Oreo. Brunch at the Nicholsons’ had been rather hastily thrown together at 9 A.M. this morning when I called her to discuss the many new twists in my life.

  “So he admits he’s stalking you.” Carter, who was currently in training and thus banned from cookies, bit into an apple and slouched against the kitchen cabinets. “Don’t forget to work that into the police report.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He’s not stalking me. He doesn’t have time. The man’s a third-year resident.”

  A hush fell over the kitchen as Cesca and her husband considered this. Carter’s sprawling stucco mansion contained many professionally decorated dining nooks and parlors, along with a den equipped with the best entertainment system money could buy, but old habits die hard—Cesca and I preferred to talk in various states of disarray in the kitchen.

  “What did he have to say for himself, anyway?” Cesca demanded, then turned to Carter. “This guy is such a jackass.”

  “He dumped you the night before your wedding, right?” Carter asked.

  I nodded.

  “Want me to administer a good, old-fashioned ass kicking?”

  “Not with your sore wrist, sweetie,” Cesca admonished. “But I’m sure that any of my brothers would be happy to take care of it.”

  “Nobody’s kicking anybody’s ass. He wasn’t being obnoxious, really. He just seemed sad. He said he’s been feeling bad about the whole thing.”

  “Aw.” She pulled a face. “Somebody call the whaaambulance.”

  “You didn’t see him, Ces. He looked awful. And I guess Lisa broke up with him—”

  My attempts to continue that sentence were drowned out by Cesca’s cackling. “That is so perfect. Roadkill from the karma bus. I love it.” She cocked her head. “So why aren’t you laughing?”

  “I was, at first,” I said. “But now I’m just confused. He’s begging me to get together tonight to talk about stuff.”

  “No way you’re doing that,” Carter said.

  “No way.” Cesca narrowed her eyes. “You’re not.”

  I sighed.

  “Uh-oh.” Carter took a sip of coffee.

  Cesca gasped in outrage. “Gwendolyn Traynor, what the hell? Do you remember nothing from the last year? How can you even consider—”

  “Ease up,” I said quietly. “I once loved this man enough to marry him.”

  “Yeah, and look what he did to you. If you think that he’s going to change his ways just because—”

  “I’m not expecting him to change his ways,” I insisted. “I’m a psychologist too, remember? I know the score. But he left me high and dry, with no warning, and I deserve some answers. If it had been you, Ces, wouldn’t you want to do an exit interview?”

  “I might,” s
he conceded. “But one thing’s for sure. If I was looking for closure with the guy who dumped me in front of all my friends and family, I’d be packing a little heat.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Carter decided.

  “I think the Spanish Kitchen frowns upon gunplay,” I said.

  “I know the manager there,” Carter volunteered. “Want me to request an extra-sharp knife for you?”

  “Or just a rusty spoon?” Cesca smiled sweetly.

  “I’ve got it under control,” I assured them. “Anyway, that’s not my real news.”

  “I don’t think I even want to hear the real news.” She shuddered.

  “I ran into Alex and Harmony at the ball. They’re engaged. Officially.”

  “Time-out.” Carter refilled his coffee mug and glanced out the window at the sparkling blue ocean. “Weren’t they engaged before? When they were first dating?”

  “Not according to Harmony.” Cesca’s voice dripped with venom.

  “Who, as it turns out, also used to go out with Officer Paul,” I added.

  “Get out!” Cesca whirled to face down her husband. “Paul used to date Harmony? Did you know about this?”

  “No. How would I know who the man dates?”

  “Because you’re friends.” Cesca, who could list the middle name, car model, and sexual eccentricities of every boyfriend I’d ever had, raised her eyes heavenward.

  I forged ahead to the point. “Well. Apparently, she and Paul will never get a chance to reconcile, since she’s wearing an emerald-cut Rock of Gibraltar on her left hand. She and Alex are really going to get married.”

  Cesca shook her head. “This is outrageous.”

  “And she’s pregnant.”

  Everyone took a moment to digest this bit of information.

  “That would explain a lot,” Carter said.

  Cesca shook her fists. “That bastard! How dare he hand you that family values bullshit while he was whoring around with his fiancée!”

  The housekeeper peeked in the doorway, took one look at Cesca’s face, and kept on walking.

  “The audacity! Pretending that moving in with her was some huge sacrifice when all the time he was getting his lying, cheating, double-dealing rocks off!”