Repeat(19)

“Clem, wait!” Ed runs after me, his expression tense. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He just looks at me.

“That was unfortunate, them thinking we were still together and meeting for dinner. I mean, what were the chances of me turning up here tonight?” I babble, staring at his shoes. Much easier than meeting his face.

“Random,” he says.

“It’s just that you told me to try this restaurant and I was in the area, so . . .”

“Yeah? What were you doing?”

“Taking a self-defense class.”

“Good. That’s good.”

I cross my arms over my chest. Only it feels defensive, best to just let them hang at my sides. He’s freshly shaved, the strong line of his jaw dramatic in the low lighting. All of the planes and angles of his face are so perfect. Also, he smells incredibly good. Probably some expensive cologne or just his general coolness leaking from his pores. I don’t know. But at such a close distance, I can almost believe the emotion in his eyes is something other than annoyance or pity.

“Anyway,” I say, taking a deep breath. “You should get back. I guess I’ll try the place another time. Make my own reservation next time.”

“It was always your favorite.”

That stops me. “You’re taking your date to my favorite restaurant?”

“I happen to like the place too.” Lines crease his brow. “What, we need to divvy up the town now?”

“No, just . . . my favorite? Really? Isn’t it weird, going somewhere we made memories?” I raise the corner of my lips in distaste. “Obviously not, or you wouldn’t be here with her and this wouldn’t have just happened. Never mind.”

Now the lines have spread to beside his beautiful eyes.

“Though maybe that’s the point, you want to overwrite everything we did together. Make newer and better memories.”

“You know, maybe I do.”

“Fantastic. Awesome. Best of luck with that.” My voice rises in volume. “I hope she’s everything for you that I never could be. A paragon of female worthiness. A lady on the streets, a wildcat between the sheets, and all that shit.”

A couple passes by, darting looks at us. Fair enough.

“And I’m yelling at you on street corners now like a deranged person. Great.”

“Please continue, Clem,” he bites out. “I for one am enjoying the hell out of all this honesty for once.”

“Oh, fuck off back to your date, Ed.”

His shoulders rise on an exceptionally heavy sigh and honest to God, I feel exactly the same way. Apparently this city isn’t big enough for both my ex and me. Not tonight, at least. I might have forgotten the initial breakup. But we were sure making up for the loss of those memories now. And I barely even know the guy. It shouldn’t have mattered where he went, let alone with whom. It shouldn’t hurt. Empty was so much safer.

“I don’t want to yell at you. I don’t want to be this person. Give my love to Gordon,” I say, sounding much calmer than I feel. “Hope you have a nice night.”

“Clem . . .”

I don’t stop walking and I don’t turn back.



*



Frances laughs so hard when I tell her about the showdown with Ed that she nearly falls off the kitchen chair. “It’s like you’re an evil twin of your former self or something.”

“So glad my trauma amuses you.”

“Oh come on, you’re not really upset about this, are you?”

I finish making our sandwiches, putting a bit of extra oomph into the knife work. Bright early afternoon sun shines in through the window, a lawnmower roars in the distance.

“God, you are.” She frowns. “I warned you not to get too close to him. It was bound to be confusing, given your history.”

“I didn’t get too close to him.”

“Don’t lie to me. You sat up crying last night after you got home, didn’t you?”

“No.”

She just waits.

“Maybe. A little.” I place our lunch on the table, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “But I was dealing with the death of Matthew Cuthbert as well. It was very sad.”

“Who is Matthew Cuthbert?”

“Anne of Green Gables.”

“One of your fictional friends. Right. Sorry for your loss.” My sister takes a bite and chews, talking all the while, because we’re classy like that. “You always put Ed on a pedestal and thought you weren’t good enough for him. Which is absolute bullshit. I don’t like that he’s hurting you again.”

“He’s not doing it on purpose. At least, I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose.” I turn it over inside my head. “No. Mostly he’s not doing it on purpose. It’s pretty much just me and the remnants of my messed-up mind.”

“How is he even upsetting you if you don’t remember him?”

“I don’t know. I guess I grew new feelings for him . . . sort of.”

She chews on, raising her eyebrows to display her disbelief.

“We probably won’t even see each other again, so this discussion isn’t required.”