GRACE
“Cygnature Blooms, this is Tuesday.”
“I swear, if your husband’s ex-girlfriend looked down her nose at me any harder, she’d have given herself vertigo.” I juggle my phone between my ear and shoulder while trying to unlock the apartment door, grocery bags biting into my fingers. Rain drips off my hair and down my back, my sandals squelching against the welcome mat.
“Oh, god,” Tuesday gasps. “Ainsley?”
“Yes. The very one. She stared at my cart like I’d personally offended her with my choice of off-brand soup.”
“Bless her heart,” Tuesday drawls. “I’ll pray for her poor, judgmental soul. There ain’t nothing cute about being rude.”
I giggle.
“You mark my words, that chick is going to show up onDatelineone day.”
I realign my phone on my shoulder as I try to push the keys in the lock. “What on earth are you talking about, crazy?”
“She kept hanging out with this guy when she dated Alex. He gave off a vibe that he had duct tape and rope in his trunk kind of energy.” She laughs. “And not the good kind.”
I snort. “You’re ridiculous. You’ve been watching too much true crime.”
“Plus, I brought my puppy to the rescue squad to let my friends play with him, and my dog didn’t like him. That was all I needed to know.”
“Oh my gosh, girl.”
The door swings open. Two apples tumble from one of my bags and roll across the floor.
“Shit fire,” I mutter.
Brad is sprawled on the couch, phone in hand,Top Gunblasting on the television in front of him.
Thanks for getting up to help.I mean, it’s not like it’s the tenth time you’ve seen this movie this month.
“Hey, babe,” he murmurs without looking away.
I step inside, toeing the door closed behind me.
“I miss you,” Tuesday says softly. “Do I need to come there to see you?”
“I’d love that,” I say automatically, unloading groceries onto the counter. “Mom’s just too sick for me to get away. Between you and me, the neighbor has been spending too much time there. And she’snota good influence.”
“Babe,” Brad’s voice is more curt now. Turning to look over my shoulder, I find him pressing a finger to his lips, shushing me.
This douchecanoe is shushing me!
Something ugly twists in my chest. I’ve worked all day at a job that treats me like crap. I stopped by Mom’s to make sure she had her medication and something for dinner. I sprinted through a downpour to buy groceries I could barely afford only to come home looking like a wet raccoon. And the man who swore he adored me can’t even pause his movie to help carry in the groceries?
“You still there?” Tuesday asks.
“Yeah.”
“Let me guess. Brad’s home.”
She’s never liked him. Tuesday, now happily married and living in North Carolina, has only met him a handful of times. Yet she clocked him fast. I’ve tried not to overshare. I don’t need every call turning intoTough Love with Tuesday. But it’s getting harder to hide the truth.
“He’s just watching a movie,” I lie, glancing at him. He’s barely watching. It’s likeTop Gunhas turned into permanent background noise in this apartment. And his hand is definitely down his pants.
Oh my god.
