But Joey needed to confide in someone about Leo’s call. She should tell Grant. Of course she should. But she couldn’t yet fathom it. Not because she was about to embark on some affair or had lingering feelings for Leo—that was laughably off base. She adored Grant. Period, end of story. Only, Grant knew that Leo was her Big Ex, and Joey suspected he’d be more than a little wary at her agreeing to meet Leo right before their wedding.

It’s just, wouldn’t most people grab an ex-boyfriend’s attempt at closure, however long after the relationship it came? Everyone stalked their exes a little. That was basically the whole point of social media.

Joey thumbed to her Facebook app, typed in L, and immediately the search box filled him in. Leo Winn. God, Leo fucking Winn. Joey clicked on his latest picture, from three years prior. She stared at the picture as if for the first time, although it was not her first look over the years, or second, or if she was being honest, even hundredth.

It was Leo sitting on a boat with an easy smile, like the world was his, like a natural magnet for good things. His hair still hovered between blond and brown but it had that hipster vibe, the top middle flicked up, the sides shorn. His biceps were bulkier, and his face had more freckles these days. Joey peered closer, trying to deduce things in his eyes. Are you actually coming? Do I even want you to?

Oh, to hell with the lies she liked to tell herself.

I want you to come. I only wish that I didn’t.

*  *  *

“Okay, Joey, let’s trap the mouse!”

Joey followed G to her office, past cupboards teeming with old doilies and handkerchiefs, items that meant various things to various people seventy or eighty years ago. G was from the Holocaust equivalent of the Depression era; all overflow got boxed up and relegated to a closet overrun with a lifetime of forgotten semi-treasures. The office was no different, tchotchkes on all surfaces, with an antique secretary’s desk against the wall, framed by bay windows overlooking the neighboring condo. Tricycles and playhouses now littered its overgrown lawn, but once Joey’s father had lived next door. There he’d fallen in love with Joey’s then-teenage mother, who was always twirling in roller skates.

“See.” G indicated the mouse on its pad. “Where did the clickey thingie go?”

The screen was on Facebook. How had her grandmother figured out Facebook? And why? But Joey didn’t have the energy to pry. She jiggled the mouse. “The mouse is right here.”

“But I want to find something on the Facebook. And every time I go to that box, the clickamajig disappears.”

“You mean the arrow?” Joey hovered the arrow over the search box and clicked.

“That’s all? You did it?”