Ex Doesn’t Mark the Spot
EX DOESN’T MARK THE SPOT
RACHEL
There’s always this weird space after a wedding ends. Leading up to the day is such a blur, a frenzy of planning, the mailing of expensive paper, dress shopping, the family feuding over the types of chicken and fish, and then, in a flash …
It’s over.
Months and months of anticipation and then it’s done. The couple sails off into the sunset on their honeymoon, and I have to return to work on Monday.
A heavy sigh rumbled through my body as I pulled into the parking lot. The family name shimmered where it hung over the front of the store as I prepared myself for another workday with my mother. I was thankful for some of the traits that I got from my mother: her outgoing personality, her good skin, good health, and bright eyes. At fifty-six, my mother could pass for forty. She was blessed with lips and cheekbones other women would pay good money for. She also passed on her dark hair and curves to me, meaning when we are together, we are often mistaken for sisters.
The only thing I know about my father is his name and the fact that he had a one-night stand with my mother after they met in a Phoenix bar. Three weeks later, my mother realized she was twenty-two and pregnant with me. Thankfully, her parents had already built this interior design empire, so my mother and I were supported as I grew up.
Then came a string of husbands who never stayed very long. Henry was her current husband. He was a once-assertive man who had been worn down to mostly smiling and nodding when my mother was speaking.
If I didn’t love what I do—assist clients with designing their perfect spaces, decorate the store, help others pick out gifts for loved ones—I would have left our family business long ago. But my grandparents meant the world to me, and I know they’d be proud that I’m the number one salesperson helping to keep their joy in the business alive.
The fragrance of freesia and jasmine from diffusers wafted around me as I floated through the furniture showroom. The store was split into three levels, but that didn’t stop my mother from knowing the second I walked through the door, even if she was in bed and bath on the top floor.
“RiRi!”
My pet name. I didn’t know where it had come from, I didn’t know why it had stuck, but my mother had coined it and that was how she addressed me. It wasn’t a bad name, but since it came from my mother, it sent nausea rolling through my body every time I heard it. It was ‘RiRi’ when she was being nice or wanted something, ‘Rachel Renee’ when she was angry, and ‘Rachel Renee Kicklighter’ when she went nuclear. All of which could occur during a single hour.
I scooted into the break room, pretending not to hear her calls. I set my purse down at my desk, put my thick-rimmed readers on, and pretended to bury myself in my inbox.
“RiRi? Sweetie,” my mother said, pushing through the heavy wooden door. “How are you? How was the wedding?”
Cam’s eyes flashed in front of me. His firm hand around my waist, guiding me around the dance floor.
“Ri?”
I shook my head and gulped. “Uh, I’m fine and the wedding was wonderful. How were things here?”
“Busy, we have a big order going to a new home build in Cave Creek. Lots of lookers, hoping for some return customers before the season ends. RiRi, I need to talk to you.”
I peeked over the rims of my readers. “What’s the seriousness level of the conversation?”
“Level ten.”
I said nothing and responded to an inquiry about changing the fabric color of a sofa that was purchased Friday. “You’ve saved a level ten conversation for Monday morning while we’re at work?”
“This situation just … came about,” she lied. Whenever my mother is fibbing, she blinks three times rapidly. “I got a very important call this morning.”
My eyes remained focused on my screen. “From whom?”
“Now, dear, I want you to keep your mind open.”
“I don’t like this buildup.” I spun my chair around and reached for the Titan stain-resistant fabric options from our Remington sofa line. “Please say what you want to say.”
“Andrew is coming to have coffee with us this morning.”
A feeling similar to freefalling in an elevator washed over me. My fingers froze and lifted off my keyboard. “There are so many things violently wrong with that statement, Mother.”
“We had a long conversation.”
“No.”
“And we realize the mistakes he’s made.”
“ Mother .”
“He’s so deeply sorry, and we think it’s time you two talk.”
“Stop!” I shot up from my chair. Every one of those statements felt like a kick in the stomach.
“Rachel, please. You should at least hear him out.”
“Okay, since you don’t see how wrong this is, let me enlighten you.” I had to clench my hands to get them to stop shaking. “Andrew didn’t call to ask me for coffee, he called you ? No. Then, you two conspire and decide on said coffee outing. Double no. Then , you speak using we instead of he like you two are a unit. Do I need to go on?”
“What’s the harm in a cup of coffee?”
“I have nothing to say to Andrew.”
My mother stood and placed both hands on my desk. “You’re being so stubborn about this. Everyone deserves a second chance.”
“Andrew had a second chance, and he chose to squander it when I came home and found him in our bed with Celeste.”
“I already told him we could go.” She checked her watch. “He should be here any minute.”
“Mother, this is beyond … I mean, how can you side with that man over me?”
She smoothed a stray piece of hair that dared to break free from her hairspray. “I’m not siding with him, but you’re not getting any younger …”
White-hot heat bubbled up from my toes and filled my cheeks. For a moment, my vision blurred, and I had to take a deep breath before I said something I would deeply regret.
I had to get out of there.
“Where are you going? You just got here!” my mother shrieked.
“I don’t know. I’m taking a really early lunch.”
“What about all these customer follow-ups?”
I wanted to ask my mother if that’s all she cared about, but I didn’t need to. “Maybe you should do them for once.”
I snatched my coat and headed for the door.