Chapter 9

Later that night, I pulled up my phone's message string labeled ‘Skater Boy.' I considered changing the contact to ‘Mason,' but something about the vague no-name description suited him better.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, but I deleted each sentence I wrote as soon as it appeared. I knew he wouldn't care either way, yet I felt compelled to express my gratitude. It was for my own sake, to feel like the transaction between us was complete.

Finally, I decided to keep it simple and sweet.

Me:I never got a chance to thank you today. So, thank you.

I didn't expect to hear back from him, so I was surprised when my phone vibrated a few minutes later.

Skater Boy:NP.

That's it? An abbreviation for ‘no problem'? I assumed two words were two too many for him to type out.

My gut told me to stop there, but my fingers continued to type another message anyway.

Me:I hope you know I was totally joking about you being a drug dealer. I'm sorry if I offended you.

Skater Boy:Cool.

Neither of us said anything else, and I felt okay with leaving it at that.

I said my piece.

∞∞∞

Noah handed me a cappuccino and a muffin the second I walked into the office on Monday.

"Oh no," I said. "Take out from a coffee shop is never a good sign. What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" Noah innocently sipped his coffee.

"You only get us special coffee on days when I have a shitty client on the calendar or back-to-back meetings."

"Well, you do kind of have a shitty client on the calendar."

I swiped through my phone's calendar.

"No, I don't," I argued. "I have a virtual meeting with the Moores. But that's all that"s on my calendar."

"You already forgot?" Noah sighed.

"What?" I asked.

"Brett," he reminded me.

"Fuck," I replied. "Shit, I'm so sorry."

"You just said ‘shit' while apologizing for saying ‘fuck.'"

"I think that's the least dramatic reaction I could have right now," I told him.

"I'll be here for you every step of the way," he promised.

"Why couldn't he just talk to you, work directly with you?" I whined.

"Because I'm not the real estate agent," he explained. "That's you. Remember?"

"Any chance you want to pretend to be one for the day?"

"Kenna," Noah said, leaning on the corner of my desk. "You're just calling him to hear him out. To hear what he is looking for."

"I know. I just haven't spoken to him since the breakup. I don't know how it'll affect me, and I don't want to spiral."

The last time I heard his voice was the night I said goodbye.

Would old memories flood back in and turn me into an emotional mess?

I didn't want to find out. It was just safer not to.

"You are one thousand percent over Brett," Noah reminded me. "You might miss a few aspects of the relationship, but we both know you don't miss him."

"You're right," I said. "Okay, I'll do it. I'll call him."

"Hell, yes!" Noah cheered me on.

"Right after I finish this coffee," I continued.

Noah rolled his eyes, "Okay, but I'm staying on top of you about it. I'll nag you all day long if I have to."

∞∞∞

My heart pounded as I stared at the screen of my phone. Brett's name and number mocked me from the bright display, daring me to press the call button. With a heavy sigh, I forced myself to push it. The sound of ringing made my stomach churn.

I was calling the last person I wanted to speak to.

"Yello," Brett said through the phone.

"Hey, Brett," I replied.

I managed to sound calm and collected. Actually, I was calm and collected. Hearing his voice didn't make my heart flutter, or my insides turn to mush.

I didn't feel anything.

His voice was more like nails on a chalkboard.

"It's so good to hear from you, Ken," he said.

He knew I hated the nickname but refused to listen to my preferences. He liked it, and that was all that mattered.

"I wish I could say the same," I sighed. "What do you need, Brett?"

"I thought we were beyond this, Ken," he cooed. "Can't we be friends?"

"I have enough friends," I told him.

And I wasn't friends with people who belittled others. Brett put down other people as if it were his job, and he excelled at it.

"I'll get right to it then," Brett said. "I'm interested in buying a house in Mount Pleasant."

"Okay. What does that have to do with me?" I asked.

"I have no idea what I need or want," he explained. "I thought no one would be better suited to pick out a house for me than my ex-girlfriend."

"How delightful," I said through clenched teeth.

The thing about our relationship was, I knew everything about him while he knew jack shit about me. So, sure, I could pick out a house for him. I could pick the perfect house for him.

But did that mean I wanted to?

Hell no.

"So, what do you say?" he asked. "I'm a very hands-off client, so I won't bug you or require many showings. If possible, I would like you to pick one or two houses that you think would be the best options for me, and I'll see those."

"You trust me that much?" I asked.

Not that he shouldn't. With my expertise, I could find him the perfect house in a week, two tops.

"Don't get all squeaky and emotional or whatever." I could hear the disgust in his voice. "You know I hate when you do that."

"I can promise you that I am not the least bit emotional," I said in an even tone. "I'm just surprised you'd trust me not to find you a house with toxic black mold hidden deep in the walls."

"That's what the inspection is for," he said condescendingly.

"Oh, those guys are easy to pay off," I told him.

"Kenna," he whined. "Work has been hectic as hell, and my lease is ending."

"Quite the sob story you've got there," I said. "Meanwhile, there are people in the world dealing with real problems."

"Are you going to do this for me?" he asked.

I momentarily considered the pros and cons of helping my ex-boyfriend. The main pro was, well, the money. The biggest con was having to see Brett. Selling him a house without showing him one first would be impossible, and the likelihood of talking Noah into going in my place was slim to none.

"Hello? Kenna?" Brett shouted into the phone.

"Yeah, I'm here," I said. "I was thinking."

"Well, think faster. I'm about to walk into a meeting."

I sighed, "I'll do it."

"I knew you wouldn't disappoint me! I'll be in touch later in the week."

"Can't wait," I said, my words dripping with sarcasm.

He hung up before I could ask him about any preferences he had. I didn't know the size of the house he was looking for or the number of bedrooms. I knew nothing—zip, zero, nada, nothing.

"I'm beyond proud of you," Noah said from his desk.

"Why did I just agree to this?" I asked.

"Because you're a good person," he shrugged.

"You know what the weirdest part is?" I asked.

"What?"

"I thought Brett and I would be shopping for our dream house together," I admitted. "That we would buy one together."

"Oh, Kenna," Noah started to console me.

"No, I'm totally fine," I promised him. "I just think it's funny how things work out. Can you imagine how miserable my life would be if I had stayed with him?"

"Girl, he wouldn't let you wear pink!" Noah's nose wrinkled in disgust. "The fact that I have to use the term ‘let you'— Ew!"

I winced as I remembered Brett's harsh words when I wore a pink dress to his parents' house for dinner. His disapproving gaze and biting comments made me feel so unworthy.

I let him dictate my choices for years, against all logic and reason. His dismissive attitude towards my preferences and opinions became the norm.

"He didn't like it when I wore any bright colors," I laughed. "He thought it was my way of seeking attention. Neutrals were preferred. I think he wanted me to blend in with the wallpaper."

"Knowing him," Noah said, "you're probably right. Didn't he used to shame you if you laughed in public?"

I nodded, "He said my laugh was ‘loud, embarrassing, and disrespectful to others.'"

"Who says that kind of shit?" he asked.

"I laugh extra loud now out of spite," I told him.

"As you should," Noah said.