“But you know what is true and right?” I asked, spinning her and enjoying the way it made her laugh.
“What?”
“Me stepping in as the future Douchey Ex Number Four. Because now you’re not thinking about your Douchey Ex Number Three breaking the rules of common decency by inviting you to his wedding, are you?”
Her smile lit up the entire dance floor. It was all the twinkling lights in the reception hall. It was the stars in the night sky. “Not at all.” She took a beat, as if stripping away the sass and teasing that were the hallmarks of our friendship. “Thank you, Oliver.”
“It was my pleasure, Summer.” And it was. The night had been fantastic. “Just like it was with the guy from the bar. Remember that night at the Lucky Spot?”
“I do. You pulled me onto your lap and played with my hair, really selling it to the jury.”
“It worked. He sulked off,” I said, but I wasn’t thinking of the ex. I was thinking of her hair, grateful she wore it up tonight, so I wouldn’t be tempted.
Summer glanced around, as if surveying the success of the wedding ruse. “And on that note, has anyone told you you’re the best fake boyfriend around?”
“Why, yes. It’s going on my business card.”
“Oh, good. Now I feel special.”
“You should always feel special,” I said, conveying that in my tone. I wanted her to know that. Wanted her to feel it. Because her role in my life and the immeasurable levels of special she brought to it were the reasons I didn’t want to get any closer to her.
“I should?” Her question came out a little tentative, a little surprised.
I met her gaze, making sure she saw that I was being honest. “You are special, Summer.”
She’d been one of my closest friends since I was old enough to need someone to turn to.
She’d been there for me the entire time my sister was sick when I was in high school, and when Phoebe died, she’d been there for me too.
Always.
And I always wanted her in my life, and to be in hers, not on a list of mistakes.
That was why I laughed it off when Jason or Logan hinted about us becoming more than friends.
We were an us because we didn’t ever let us become anything else.
10
Summer
Present day
Stella answers on the first ring. “Let me guess. You’re in jail, and you need me to bail you out.”
“As if I’d call you first,” I say indignantly.
“Who would you call?”
I consider this from bed, staring at the ceiling. “Logan probably. He can talk his way out of anything.”
“Sweetie, it’s money you need for bail. Not talk.”
“But maybe he could talk his way out of the bail,” I suggest.
Stella yawns so savagely you could drive a semitruck through it. “Anyway, why are you calling at ten at night if you’re not in jail?”
“How old are you? Ten is not late.”
“Two years older than you, which means I need my sleep.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Sort of. Anyway, I’m calling because I wrote the letter, and I’m about to hit submit. But want to hear it first?”
“Oooh! I am wide awake and ready.”
I clear my throat and read the letter out loud.
Dear Sexy Ex-Boyfriend,
I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again.
Exes are exes for a reason.
But not always for a bad reason.
Usually, they’re in the past because you didn’t see eye to eye.
Or because you didn’t love each other enough.
Or maybe circumstances pulled you apart.
That happens, and it’s just part of life, part of learning.
Sometimes, though, an ex is history because one of you, or both of you, are absolute douches.
After all, exes can be jerks. They can wander into bars, saunter over to you when you’re with your friends, and act like nothing happened.
Or invite you to their wedding when you have zero interest in their nuptials and even less in their swaggy wedding favors. (Seriously. Commemorative pens? Pens with your face on them?)
But I’ve never believed that all the ex-boyfriends are the worst.
I don’t believe that about you.
You stepped in when I needed you the most, with your charm, and your wit, and your “I’ve got this” spirit.
You lifted me up when I needed you to. And you saved me when I needed saving. I saved you too.
And I know you—from the way you look when you get out of the pool to the way you like your English breakfast tea (not at all, thank you very much).
But in spite of this knowledge, you told me that someday I’d call you a douchey ex too.
And you’d deserve it, you said.
You’d deserve it because we don’t always see eye to eye. Because we don’t agree on everything. Because we see the world differently.
But you know what? I’ve learned something about who I am from you.
Just like our choice of a last meal is insight into the life we led, right? Exes say something about a person. When I look back on mine, they tell the story of my heart and my goals and my dreams. They say I’m not ready yet to give my all to a relationship. I’m not ready to move into that phase of my life.
