Page 12 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer

AMY: Should we organize a food drop-off? Or is that… weird?

JEN: Yeah, let’s bring casseroles to the house with a severed head in the freezer. Great plan.

SANDY: IS NO ONE GOING TO TALK ABOUT THE HEAD ON DAISY- MOTHER-FUCKING-CHAIN LANE????????

MOLLY: If we bring it warm, they won’t freeze it!

AMY: Everyone loves Elle’s lasagna.

JEN: Anyone else check their own freezers?

MOLLY: Mine’s clear. Found cocktail slushies tho.

ELLE: Are they even still good?

JEN: Alcohol + freezer = still good. I’m coming over.

SANDY: I SWEAR TO GOD, PEOPLE. A REAL HUMAN HEAD. WITH HAIR. IN A FREEZER.

JEN: So… not bald?

SANDY: I hate you all.

ELLE: And with that, I’m signing off. Night ladies!

AMY: Night!

MOLLY: Bye!

SANDY:

JEN:

seven

. . .

Elle

My phone buzzeson the counter, screen lighting up with a name that sends my stomach straight through the floor.

Noah.

Because of course. The man has the audacity to pop back into town and then text me like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t shatter me into a million jagged pieces and then walk away whistling.

Okay, yes, I’m exaggerating.

Because seeing him in the grocery store earlier wasn’t humiliating enough—me in leggings, andhis shirt, like I’m some pining adolescent with a crush on a celebrity while trying not to ogle his forearms.

NOAH: On my way over. Cool? Kids home?

I nearly drop the phone into the sink.

On his way over? No warning? What is he, the UPS man? No polite “hey, can I swing by later?” Just a declaration of intent like we’re still married and my house is still his. I’m still his.

Aren’t you though?

My thumbs hover over the keyboard.