Chapter 12: The Ex
God help me, I’ve been following her.
I deleted the WhereAmI app. I swear I did. But it turns out that stupid app is harder to get rid of than I thought. I downloaded it again, figuring it would have deleted all the information about Joel, but it hadn’t. As soon as I opened the app, there was his avatar. The tiny picture of him floating on the screen, telling me his exact coordinates on a map of the city.
So I went there.
And he was with that girl again. The one with the olive skin, who he’d kissed that night. Lydia told me Joel has been dating, but apparently, it’s just that one girl.
By now, I would say he thinks of her as his girlfriend.
I’ve nicknamed her Olive because I haven’t yet figured out her name, but I’ve found out many other things about her. She owns a business that, based on the number of customers I see coming in and out, isn’t doing very well. She likes to wear skinny jeans, and she’s got the legs to pull it off. She leaves every day at about two, goes into the deli down the block, and buys herself a coffee.
I have followed her more than once onto the subway during her journey home. She has no idea I’m there. I don’t dare get too close, because there’s a reasonable chance she might have seen a photo of me on social media, and I don’t want her reporting to Joel that I’ve been stalking her. Olive looks like the sort of girl who wouldn’t confront me, but would certainly tell on me.
I’m glad Lydia has refused to spend time with me anymore, because I almost certainly would have broken down and told her I’ve been following Joel’s new girlfriend around. And then she would have told Pete, who would have told Joel.
I recognize how bad it is that I’m doing this. I should be focusing on my own career. Meeting new men. Anything but following my ex and his new girlfriend around.
I can’t though. It’s become a crazy addiction. Following Olive.
Well, not just following her.
“It smells wonderful, patatina.” Nonna wanders into the kitchen, where I have two burners going on the stove. The more upset I am, the more elaborate my meals become. “What is it you are making?”
“Chicken cacciatore,” I tell her. The meat is simmering in a pan, and I’ve got a pot of water on the brink of boiling. The linguine is waiting to be thrown into the pot. Did I mention it’s homemade linguine? Nonna has a pasta machine and I find it therapeutic.
Chicken cacciatore was one of Joel’s favorites. When he was having a rough week, sometimes I’d make up a little menu for the week, and let him choose the dishes he wanted each day. You’re my favorite restaurant, he’d say with a grin.
“Such a good cook,” Nonna muses. Her brow crinkles. “But you should not be here! You should be out… with a man!”
“I’m fine.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not fine. I have a perfect man for you. My friend Gloria’s youngest grandson.”
Youngest grandson? My eyebrows shoot up. “How old is he?”
“Don’t worry—he’s eighteen! That is legal age.”
“Nonna, I’m not dating an eighteen-year-old!”
“I did not say ‘date’！ Just for a little fun. You know what I mean.”
My jaw drops open. My ninety-year-old grandmother, born and raised in Sicily to a strict Catholic mother, did not just say that to me. “Nonna! How could you say that?”
“Because it is a fact of life, patatina.” She shrugs. “If you do not want this boy, then go on the internet. They have websites where you can meet men now. They are everywhere!”
“Nonna…”