10. Bree
Bree
“What the hell did you say to Gavin?”
Those were the very first words out of Wren’s mouth as she came storming into the deli.
“Good evening to you too, Wren,” I said, in my most overly cheery customer service voice.
She looked like an absolute wreck. Her hair, which was usually so perfectly styled you’d think a professional followed her around all day, was a total mess. Frizzy. Not a single trace of a blow-dry in sight. She barely had any makeup on, and her face looked ghostly white, almost sick.
Even our last customer had already left for the night. Wren looked around the empty deli, at all the flowers still sitting everywhere, and winced, like she was some kind of detective staring down a murder scene.
She looked genuinely shocked. “Gavin sent you these?”
“Yes, he did,” Mom answered before I could open my mouth. “There are fifty-nine of them. He also wrote fifty-nine notes for Bree. One for every single day you spent in their lives trying to ruin their marriage.”
“Mom, stop,” I whispered.
“This is exactly how you handle an Other Woman drama,” Mom whispered back, air-quoting Other Woman with both hands.
I rolled my eyes.
“So, what brings you here, Wren?” I asked, still cheery, because, you know, I’m just a friendly kind of person like that.
“I always knew you were trashy,” Wren said. “But you proved it today. Whatever garbage you told Gavin about me, it worked. It just proves what a nasty little bitch you actually are.”
“Mind your language, lady,” Dad said, stepping forward. “Nobody talks like that to my family. You want me calling the cops on you right now? Get out of my deli.”
“Dad, let me handle it,” I said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. “Please. Go.”
He was still staring Wren down, unmoving.
“I’ve got this,” I said. “Please.”
Dad finally went and stood behind the counter, and pulled out his butcher knife, and started sharpening it, slow and steady, eyes locked on Wren the entire time. Like the world’s most adorable deli bouncer.
I turned back to Wren, all sweetness. “Would you like to sit down and talk?”
I honestly could not believe how calm I felt, watching her stand there, all riled up. Just the fact that she’d driven three hours, hair a mess, no makeup, just to call me a bitch, felt like a small win already. It told me everything I needed to know about the state she was actually in.
I remembered, out of nowhere, some lines Mom had read out loud to me once from one of her Ree books.
There’d been a scene where the wife stayed completely calm while everyone around her lost it.
I used to think those books just added extra drama to people’s lives.
Turns out, apparently, they also come with genuinely useful advice on how to stay calm when your husband’s ex shows up screaming at you in your family’s deli.
Mom must have been thinking of the exact same book, because she instantly went full cheerful hostess mode. “We were just about to close,” she said. “But it’s good you came by. Can I get you a slice of our tahini pistachio cake?”
“No,” Wren said.
“Oh, come on,” Mom said. “One slice won’t kill you. You’ll love it.”
And with that, she disappeared into the kitchen, humming to herself.
Wren looked completely thrown by the two of us.
I could tell she’d come in expecting me to lose it, to scream, to cry, something.
Instead, I was just standing there, holding the whole conversation steady in my hands.
I could see her confidence draining, drop by drop, and I fully intended to take advantage of every single drop of it.
“So,” I said. “You were saying? Something about me being a bitch, was it?”
I asked it like I genuinely couldn’t remember.
“Yes. Yeah.” Wren fumbled a little. “What did you say to Gavin?”
“I’ve said a lot of things to Gavin,” I said. “We have been married for four years, you know.”
“You’re not funny,” Wren said. “If you think you can convince him to—“ She stopped, looking around at the bouquets. “What are these flowers even doing?—“
She sneezed.
She was allergic to flowers.
“Are these flowers bothering you?” I asked.
I asked that one on purpose, and I’m not even going to pretend I didn’t enjoy it a little.
“What? No, no,” Wren said, way too fast, way too proud to admit it.
“So you were saying?” I asked again.
I was genuinely having fun by this point.
“If you think you can convince Gavin to terminate the documentary,” Wren said, “you’re doing him a huge disservice, Bree. He needs this documentary. I cannot believe you’d get so petty that you’d actually give him an ultimatum between the documentary and you.”
“Gavin fired you?” I asked.
“What? No. Nooooo, he didn’t fire me. He just—“ Another sneeze cut her off.
Her eyes were watering now too. She wasn’t acknowledging any of it, so I decided I wasn’t going to either.
“He didn’t fire me,” she said again, finally getting the whole sentence out.
“Then why are you here, Wren? I genuinely don’t understand.”
“I’m here because Gavin told me you gave him an ultimatum. The documentary, or you.”
I already knew she was lying. I could feel it.
“Gavin told you that I talked to him? That I asked him to fire you?”
She sneezed again, then blew her nose. For the first time since she’d walked in, she didn’t sound confident in her own lie.
“Yes. YES. What part of yes do you not understand?” she said. “Because of you, he told me he couldn’t keep working with me anymore. Said you were too paranoid to handle it. He told me he was sorry, but the documentary couldn’t continue.”
I’d known Wren long enough at that point to see straight through her, no effort required. I pulled my phone out of my apron pocket.
“So if I call him right now and ask him myself, he’s going to say the exact same thing you just said?”
Wren looked completely caught off guard. “I—I—“ Sneeze. Nose blow. “I don’t know. You don’t have to call him. He’s probably at practice.”
“They don’t practice the day before a game, Wren. I figured you’d have his whole schedule memorized by now.” I started pulling up his contact. “Let me just call him.”
My parents had clearly been listening to every word of this from the kitchen doorway.
“Yes, give him a call,” Mom said.
“Let’s hear it straight from the horse’s mouth,” Dad added.
I pretended to press the call button.
“STOP. STOP!” Wren shouted. “He might not admit it, because he’s scared of you, Bree.
He thinks you’re some kind of special little angel who fell out of the sky with your goodness, and your charm, and your stupid little drawings.
He needs someone more mature than that. You’re just a baby who needs constant attention, from her man, from her dad, from her mom.
Oh, look at poor Bree, she can’t do anything for herself.
Oh, look how vulnerable she is. Gavin needs a real partner. Someone like?—“
Sneeze.
“Someone like you?” I asked.
Wren wiped her nose. “You’re not winning this, Bree. Not even a little bit.”
“What I don’t understand,” I said, “is why you’re even here. If he needs you so badly, shouldn’t you be with him right now? What exactly are you hoping to get out of standing in my dad’s deli?”
“I need you to talk to Gavin,” she said. “Tell him to finish the documentary with me. If you ever actually loved him, if you care even a little about his future, his career, you’ll call him and tell him to let me finish it.”
“So Gavin did fire you.”
She went quiet.
He fired her, I thought. He actually fired her.
“So you got fired,” I said slowly, “and instead of talking to him about it like an adult, you drove three hours to manipulate me into getting your job back. Because you figured, since I’m not speaking to him right now, and he clearly wants me back, he’d do whatever I told him to.
And you thought I was stupid enough to play along? ”
I walked toward the door and held it open.
“Get out of my father’s deli, Wren. Whatever mess you want to make, go make it with him directly. If I see you in here again, you’ll be talking to the police instead of me.”
Wren stood up, sneezing again as she grabbed her bag.
“You cannot do this,” she shouted, sneeze cutting right through the middle of it.
“You cannot keep us apart. I’m the one there with him.
Not you. You’re not even going to be there for his game tomorrow.
He loves me, Bree. He just doesn’t know it yet.
” Another sneeze. “He called you baggage. He is so tired of you. Tired of his whole life with you. That’s exactly why he confides in me. ” Sneeze. Sneeze.
“Whatever,” I said. “Don’t forget to grab an Allegra. Pharmacy’s right around the corner.”
She stormed out, the bell jingling behind her.
I stood there for a second, staring at the closed door, and then at all fifty-nine bouquets still sitting around the room like nothing had happened at all.