The Ex

by Freida McFadden

How do you get the meatballs to taste so good? (The secret ingredient is buttermilk—a tip from my Italian grandma. I never told him that though.)

They say there’s a thin line between love and hate. In those few seconds between when Joel stood up and when the door to the restaurant slammed behind him, my love for Joel Broder started to morph into hatred.

I debate over which one to buy for far too long, but then realize it doesn’t matter. If she’s hungry, she won’t care if it’s white or wheat. It’s not like she’ll throw the wrong sandwich in my face.

honestly some people are that delusional that they would

“Actually,” she says, “what about Giotto’s? That Italian place two blocks uptown?” His eyes darken, almost imperceptibly. “I don’t like Italian food.” “Oh.” Cassie wants to be agreeable, but in her head, a red flag goes up. Who doesn’t like Italian food? American cuisine is so entangled with Italian that he may as well say he doesn’t like food.

🚩

“I love the concept of conveyer belt food,” she says. “I agree,” Joel says. “All food should be available this way.”

“So like I said, get whatever you want. Order their best wine.” Without meaning to, she giggles. “Conveyer belt wine?” He laughs. “Now that is a great idea.”

Francesca. Who the hell is Francesca?

And she can’t risk a cop getting a look at what’s in her apartment. That would potentially be… bad. Very bad.

There’s blood all over the door. All over the door and all over the glass windows. The entire entrance to her store is soaked in dried crimson. She takes a step back, her entire body shaking. Who would do something like that? And why? It’s not like she has any enemies. Unless… No. Not that. Nobody knows about that.

Of course, that’s a rhetorical question. She knows exactly when she grew wary of the people who could potentially throw her in jail. But she doesn’t have a choice. She needs to call them. It will be fine.

Zoe doesn’t know the truth. There’s only one reason the bookstore hasn’t gone under, and it’s something Cassie can never tell her about.

Everyone ages, so the only way to keep from getting old is to die young.

And if they come inside, they might find what Grandpa Marv left behind.

Why is clothing so expensive anyway? One could easily spend a month’s rent at one of these stores without blinking an eye. Especially if you throw in shoes. And it’s not like you can buy a dress without buying shoes too.

“The Angry Raisin? Is that a book?” Cassie’s eyes light up. “Grapes of Wrath?” “That’s it!”

“It was the violin that decided me,” Lydia says. “It’s because of that incredibly thoughtful present that we made Francesca Violet’s godmother.” Francesca is Violet’s… what?

“Better?” she asks. Lydia touches the muffin with her fingertip. “Yes.” “I’m sorry about that.” Lydia shrugs. “That’s why you’re the one wearing the apron, isn’t it?” The girl’s mouth drops open. At first, Cassie is certain she’s just going to take it, but it seems like the girl’s had a rough morning with one too many picky customers, because she pulls the muffin off the counter, throws it on the floor, and says to Lydia, “Get out.” Lydia stares at her. “Excuse me?”

Francesca, aka Olive, stares at me, her eyes unkind. She doesn’t smile. She never smiles, as far as I’ve seen. When I look at her, she radiates evil. I know that sounds crazy, but she does.

Francesca. If I’ve ever had a mortal enemy, it’s her. I step inside the apartment and she regards me coolly. She folds her arms across her chest and stands up an inch straighter, as if she didn’t already tower over me. “Hello, Anna,” she says.

After we were together for less than a year, I became the wife of Dr. Constantine Pourakis, called Con by his friends and Dean by the people he’s closest to.

I’ve become friends with Joel again in the last year. I’ve been rooting for him and Cassie. I want him to be as deliriously in love as I am with Dean. I want that so much. Cassie doesn’t seem like the paranoid type—if she believes someone is trying to kill her, she’s probably right. And I know who that person is.

Each time she made a transaction, she would tell herself it was the last one. But what choice did she have? Without that extra money, her business was gone. She couldn’t lose her grandparents’ store. But she hated it. Every day, she was terrified of the police banging on her door.