Page 15 of The Ex Effect (Meet Cute in Minnesota #1)

I placed the phone face up on the counter and rested my head on the cool countertop. “Because Pete and Patty would only agree to it if I oversaw the entire thing.”

“Shit.”

My sentiments exactly. A tiny part of me was almost excited about the idea.

Being stuck in Peaches’s house all day wasn’t doing a lot for my mental health.

I needed to be outside, moving, and in the sun, not inside packing boxes.

But being stuck with Morgan for the summer sounded nearly as suffocating.

“Doesn’t something like that take years?”

“You’d think, but Morgan is like Ms. Speederton and is already knee-deep in moving this along.

Ever since I offered to talk to Pete and Patty, I’m dodging calls, texts, and emails like a boxer in the ring.

” I wasn’t even exaggerating. In the last two days, I’d received dozens of messages.

Everything from her ideas on hiring a few folks from Morgan’s parents’ crew, bringing up an electrician from Brainerd, and, after making ten phone calls, finding a guy in Minneapolis who had an in-stock window to replace the broken one in the barn.

“Why not use a single mode of communication and send one update a day? I feel like I’m playing whack-a-mole on messages. ”

“Well, as a premier and highly sought-after executive assistant—who’s also seriously cute—I can tell you there are very specific reasons why you’d use different modes of communication.

” I could almost hear Quinn smiling over the phone.

“For someone who shuns nearly everything digital, like you, that sounds seriously overwhelming, though. For real. I feel for you.”

I stood, moved toward the coat closet and fiddled with the squeaky door handle. Of course, part of this was simply seeing Morgan’s name pop up over and over on my screen. Even though the shock dulled, I always tensed before pulling up the messages.

“So, what are you going to do?” she asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know. If I’m the reason that Tommy doesn’t get the wedding he and Olivia want, I’ll feel like shit,” I said. “But spending a summer with my ex is not how I envisioned this trip back home. I’m trying to put things to rest, not stir up any drama.”

Maybe I was the asshole here, though. Besides packing up Peaches’s house, I did have the time.

And it was pretty obvious that Pete and Patty’s place was the couple’s last option.

Working outside for the summer sounded pretty damn good, too.

But inside, I knew I was holding back because of this deep-seated anger towards Morgan.

When she broke up with me all those years ago, I held on to that grudge like a bulldog.

She crushed me, to the deepest part of my soul, and still had not apologized.

Doing her a massive favor like this felt like I was tipping the scales in her favor again.

Doing what she wanted to do, because she said. Just like when we were together.

“I think you’ll make the right decision,” Quinn said.

She didn’t need to say any more. I knew exactly what she meant. Dammit .

“All right, blue-whale-in-the-room question.”

I grinned. “You do know the phrase is elephant in the room, right? I’d hate for you to be in a boardroom and drop that little zinger.”

“Um, yes, but a blue whale is bigger than an elephant, so I’m starting a trend,” Quinn huffed. “Besides, the people at work are humorless, so I test things on you to see if they’ll land in the real world.”

“It didn’t land.”

“Good to know.” Quinn sipped again. “ Sooo , have you heard from the big dogs yet?”

The big dogs . AKA Birch & Willow . My dream.

My love . Even though it had only been a few weeks—and they said it would take at least a month or two—I had a delusion that my portfolio and interview chops blew everyone else out of the water, and the hiring manager had slammed her hands on the desk and loudly declared, “I don’t need to see any more. We found the one!”

I lowered myself to the ground and ran my hands through the shaggy carpet. “Not yet.”

Quinn paused. “It’s going to happen. Lunar year, moons aligned, stars everywhere, going to happen .”

“Oh no. You’ve been watching too many reels while I’m gone.”

“Well, what the hell else can I do at night when you’re not here to read me a bedtime story?”

I chuckled. “By bedtime story, you mean our true crime docuseries on Netflix.”

“ Obvi ,” Quinn said. “For real, though, you’re super gifted. It’ll happen, manifesting or not. You got this.”

God, I missed my little sister. When she moved in with me after everything that went down in New York, it had been a mutually beneficial financial decision. But now I couldn’t imagine a better roommate. “I really don’t hate you. ”

“I really don’t hate you, either,” Quinn said. “I gotta go.”

I treated myself to a few more moments of quiet before diving in to organizing. Okay, okay… where do I start? Closets, bathroom, kitchen, or garage. Oh! Linen closet.

The closet held ratty towels tumbling over themselves, bins of products and medicines, rags, a half dozen empty spray bottles. I popped my hands on my hips for a moment, then started dropping towels into a bin.

Wait . Towels would make a good insulator for glass. I slid the box against the wall and moved to the kitchen instead but pivoted. The kitchen had too many items with too many memories, and the linen closet had no emotional attachment. I could do everything else besides the towels.

Good plan . I snapped open a garbage bag and moved to dump the container of meds into it.

Wait. Can you just throw expired meds in the garbage, or would that seep into the landfills?

Is this something I should turn in to the local fire or police station?

The last thing I need is to mess with the pristine air around here and have karma pay me a visit.

I googled expired medication disposal. Christ, there was a ton of information. Articles on state rules and guidelines, prescription meds vs syrups vs pills, landfills, and poisoning the earth and…

Maybe I should just finish the kitchen. Or maybe I should take down all the paintings. Yes! Good idea. But would I want to keep any of them? Hmmm. I might want to, but we don’t have a ton of space in our two-bedroom apartment. Maybe I’ll ask ? —

Stop it . God damn my brain sometimes. I grabbed a notepad from the nightstand and scribbled.

Bedroom

Closet

Dresser

Wall

Kitchen

Cabinet

Right side drawers

Left side drawers

Linen closet

Towels

Linens

Medication

There. My brain finally decided to settle and I traipsed into Peaches’s closet.

The smell of mothballs, cedar blocks, and unwashed sweaters from the ’80s filled my nose.

Oof . I grabbed a large box for donations, tugged off the clothes from the hangers, and started piling up the garments.

I stretched all the way to the back and froze.

A plastic bag. Who knew what the hell might be in here.

All of this felt a little bit like going through someone’s underwear drawer.

Chances were if it was stuck in the back of a closet in the bag, I probably shouldn’t look inside. I took a breath and opened.

“Huh.”

Inside was a sombrero, black wig, mustache, wide tie, white shirt, and embroidered belt.

Oh Lord , I remembered this cringe-worthy outfit.

Peaches had worn it to hand out candy at Halloween the year I turned fifteen.

I’d gently told her it was bad to appropriate a culture like that and kind of racist.

Peaches had waved those words away. “Nonsense. You know how much I love Mexico.” She proceeded to talk about her favorite Mexican restaurant, her best friend, Maria Lopez, who she had coffee with every morning ( who was the one who gave her the outfit in the first place, she’d tsked ), and how she celebrated Cinco de Mayo every year.

In my heart of hearts, I knew Peaches was not trying to be hateful but was too old and stubborn to be taught anything else.

My lips trembled. I distinctly remembered being at a party that night, Morgan somewhere else, when someone offered me a fruit juice with rum.

If I closed my eyes, I could still remember the burn, then the elation, then the severe nausea and shame.

At midnight, I’d called Peaches begging her to pick me up and not tell my parents.

I’d been bawling while puking outside in the bushes, totally convinced I’d get a minor consumption arrest and Coach would kick me off the team for drinking.

Peaches had come tearing around the corner, threw me into the truck, and let me sleep it off. She gave me a one-time-only get-out-of-jail-free card. “I’d pick you up anytime, no questions. But I can’t be hiding shit from your parents.”

Thankfully, Peaches never had to repeat that moment. The sight of fruit-juice-and-Halloween-candy-laden vomit was enough for me to not drink again until I was legal.

A tightness gripped my chest. I missed Peaches.

So much . I slumped back on the faded yellow daisy comforter and put my head in my hands.

What I would give to talk Peaches one last time and get some no-bullshit advice on what I should do about this summer.

I came here to officially bury my past, settle Peaches’s affairs, and only return every few years for an obligatory weekend visit with my parents.

Not spend the summer dusting up terrible memories with an ex who changed the trajectory of my heart.

Staring at the yellowish stain on the popcorn ceiling that had been there since I was a kid, I imagined Peaches standing in the doorway with her faded blue nightgown, bonnet in her hair, some nightly cordial in her hand, waiting for me open up on whatever was bothering me.

“I don’t like to pry,” she’d always say, knowing damn well that was her way to pry.

I didn’t need to imagine too long what I’d say to her if she were here. And I knew what her exact response would be.