I woke up flat on my back with a pillow over my face. I shoved the pillow aside and sat up, glancing at the clock.
5:44 pm.
I groaned out loud. My head still hurt. I'd slept the day away. If I was late for dinner, my mother would claim the food was ruined. I did some mental knuckle cracking. If I went to dinner, there was a good chance Joe would show up. I didn't want to see Joe, but I had promised to haul Grandma Mazur to the viewing tonight.
I grabbed my phone off the side table and texted my mother.
Got tied up with something. Sorry I won't make dinner. I'll pick up grandma at seven.
I stuck the phone in my pocket and padded barefoot into the kitchen. I made myself a peanut butter & olive sandwich and washed it down with a beer. I gave Rex two baby carrots from the fridge, then headed to my closet to find funeral home appropriate attire.
I emerged fifteen minutes later in a black pencil skirt, a white button down blouse, black kitten heels, and a blue sweater. I applied a second coat of mascara, reapplied my lip gloss, and tamed my curls with lots of hair products. I heard my phone go off, so I swiped at the screen.
Joe: Chicken.
I ignored the message, walking into the living room to collect my purse. I did a quick inventory of its contents: wallet, pepper spray, cuffs, hair spray, mini hair brush, chapstick, hair elastics, tampons, dozens of crushed receipts, car keys, lipstick, Snickers bar, stun gun. I pulled out the stun gun to check the battery. Good to go.
I hoisted the purse onto my shoulder and headed for the kitchen. I ate a Butterscotch Krimpet Tastykake standing over the sink and brushed the crumbs off my face. Calories don't count if you eat standing up, right?
I was halfway out my door when I heard my phone go off again.
Joe: This coconut cake is to die for. Too bad you're missing it, Cupcake.
Okay, so the first message from Joe pissed me off. Evidently no one ever taught Joe the difference between "chicken" and "avoiding assholes for more important activities-like colonoscopies and root canals." The second text message, though, had me in a white hot rage. I was being run out of my own family gatherings by my ex. Who the hell does he think he is?
My phone buzzed again, and I growled as I flicked open the screen. I nearly shrieked.
Joe had sent me a picture message of his perfectly sliced, beautifully layered, expertly frosted coconut cake.
He had gone too far.
Okay, so there was a time in my past when I really did love Joe. He's not a bad guy, but his gene pool isn't anything to brag about. All the men in Morelli's family are worthless, womanizing drunks. Morelli's mother spends more time enabling his immaturity and bad behavior than she spends breathing oxygen, and his Grandma Bella is certifiably nuts. Bella believes she has the supernatural ability to put curses on other. I don't believe in that crap, but I came close when she claimed to have given me the Vordo.
Somehow in the past, Joe seemed to rise above his piss poor gene pool. He managed to hold a job as a cop, and he got promoted to detective. He owned his own home, and he had a dog named Bob that he almost always remembered to walk and feed. Maybe calling Bob a dog was a bit of a stretch, since he ate everything within fifteen feet of his body, including but not limited to table scraps, furniture, mail, my underwear, and lost body parts. (Don't ask about the lost body parts.) Morelli paid his own bills, got his annual physical, and had stopped letting his mother purchase his underwear.
Joe and I had been seeing one another for years. We were able to fall into a casual but comfortable on-again, off again routine, but both our emotional immaturity and uncertainty about what our future selves would want seemed to prevent us from moving forward.
Lately, I was tired of the on-again, off again routine. It was exhausting. I loved my job as a bounty hunter, because it brought adventure into my life. Somewhere between getting shot in the ass and fighting brain-hunting drug zombies, I'd become a thrill junkie. I'd also become fairly respectable at my job, and I was known as a reliable bounty hunter in Trenton. I wasn't willing to negotiate cohabitation or nuptial terms that terminated my employment with Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. No matter how hard I pushed back, this seemed to be the one thing Joe couldn't stomach. Problem was, Joe couldn't separate his disappointment in my career choices from me as a person. A girl can only be told she's a disaster so many times before she starts to buy into the hype. I found the more time I spent away from Morelli, the easier it was for me to find happiness. I needed these past months to myself to reexamine my life and to find myself once again. Before our final break up, I had told Joe we should see a relationship counselor to work on our issues to find a way forward. I honestly thought it would help. Unfortunately Joe was so put off at the suggestion that we argued, which resulted in me packing a laundry basket full of my personal belongings and moving back to my apartment, effectively making Rex and Bob children of divorced parents.
One thing that had become clear was that Joe would have to be supportive of me if we were going to establish a more permanent relationship. He couldn't pick the parts of me he liked and leave behind the parts he didn't. I was a package deal, the best parts sold hand-in-hand with the worst. I truly believe I had come to love and respect Joe for his entire self, but he was not capable of doing the same for me. A part of me would always love Joe, and a part of me still hoped for a future with Joe. My brain had finally jumped ship though, determining being alone and satisfied with myself was better than becoming someone I was not. I didn't fit into the Burg mold, and that was my personal cross to bear. I couldn't spend the rest of my days on earth living in a brick row house in the Burg, baking coffee cakes and trading gossip while grocery shopping at the Shop-n-Bag. I refused to settle for anything less than happy.
Rather than reply to Morelli's messages, I threw my phone in my purse and re-entered my apartment. I retrieved a white garbage sack from my kitchen and began shoving items that belonged to Joe in it. I was determined to rid my apartment—and life—of Joe Morelli.
Fifteen minutes later, I parked the Corolla in front of my parents' house. Joe's SUV was parked curbside. I dug around in my purse until I found my stun gun, and I shoved it deep in my sweater pocket. I swung my ass out of the driver's seat, and I hauled the trash bag over my shoulder. I crossed the lot quickly and entered the house without knocking.
"Well I'll be," said Grandma Mazur as I entered the dining room. "We were just talking about you."
Everyone but my father was sitting at the table with the final crumbs of dessert on their plates. My father had retreated to the solace of his TV in the living room, having no practical room in his life for small talk. Morelli was seated wearing worn jeans, a button down grey shirt, and running shoes. My grandma sat across from him dressed in a powder blue polyester pants suit with a white turtleneck and white tennis shoes. Her hair was tinted a very light lavender. My mother was wearing a tan cotton dress and leather sandals.
"I hope you were saying good things," I said, dumping the white trash bag at Joe's feet.
"Well, your mother suggested we get you to apply for that opening at the personal products plant, but Joe suggested maybe you could take a job as a secretary somewhere in town," admitted grandma. "Personally, I think you should become a cop! It's the next logical step for you, what with your experiences as a bounty hunter and all. I can see it now! Stephanie Plum—Trenton Cop and crime fighter! Maybe you could find a female partner and you could be like those two ladies in the movie 'The Heat'! Or maybe you could join the FBI and go undercover in beauty pageants like Sandra Bullock."
"What is in the bag?" my mother asked, stacking dirty plates.
"Stuff that belongs to Joe."
Joe studied me questioningly, loosening the drawstring on the bag. He glanced in the bag, then his eyes met mine. As much as I wanted to hate him, I swear his eyes looked sad. My mother looked horrified.
"Cupcake…" he started, but I cut him off.
"I wanted you to have back your things. I thought you might be missing some of your clothes, since quite a few of them have accumulated at my place over time." I was shocked at how broken my heart felt after this one simple action, but I refused to acknowledge those feelings now. Those feelings could wait until I was in the comfort of my own bed where no one could witness my weakness.
"Stephanie must be in a spring-cleaning phase," my grandmother said, clearly trying to pacify my mother. "It is that time of year! Good for you, Stephanie."
"Are you ready to go, grandma?" I asked, wanting to escape this car crash immediately.
"I just gotta grab my bag from my room. I'll be down in two minutes," declared grandma.
The unspoken words in grandma's admission were that she had to go upstairs to put her forty-five long barrel gun in her purse. I excused myself into the kitchen, where I cut myself a slice of my mother's cake. Cake would most certainly erase the broken-hearted feeling I was experiencing and replace them with a sugar-induced stupor. I held the wedge of cake in the palm of my hand and took a massive bite. I exited the kitchen and ran for the front door, avoiding eye contact with my pacing mother and my dumbstruck ex-lover.
I was sitting in my running car waiting for my grandmother when Joe exited the house and jogged to my car. I sighed with resignation, locking my doors and lowering the passenger window a crack.
"Steph," Joe stated simply.
I stared at him, attempting to erase all emotion from my face.
"Can we please talk about this?"
"Not now," I replied. "Maybe later."
"Steph, we can't avoid this forever."
"Joe, I…"
I was cut off by my grandma who wrenched the passenger door open and slid in shotgun.
I shrugged apologetically at Joe, shifted the car into drive, and pulled onto the street. I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Joe, standing on the curb looking dejected. I steeled myself, taking a deep breath and turning on the radio to drown out the thoughts in my head.