Page 120 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

His eyes spark with a smile. He pulls me into a warm, searching kiss that promises everything and more. “We can fix that.”

“Lead the way.”

31.

My heels click across the black and white tile of the entryway as I sweep into Maestoso, bringing with me a whoosh of brisk spring air as the ornate doors close behind me. I push my sunglasses into my hair and flash the host a smile, never slowing down.

“I’m meeting someone,” I tell him.

I weave past the crowd of suits holding down the bar for happy hour and make my way to the balcony stairs, which are closed for a private party. I let myself in through the rope and wonder if I’m underdressed. I just came from work, which these past few months have meant fewer power suits and more dark jeans and blazers, as if my wardrobe has shifted right along with the rest of my life. When I make it to the large space at the top of the stairs, the crowd bursts into an off-key chorus of “happy birthday”, accompanied by Kamille on the violin.

I scrunch my nose as I laugh, coming to an uncertain stop as I blush. I didn’t expect to see an entire room full of people, all smiling at me, nor did I expect to be serenaded with strings. Kamille’s playing is so confident and beautiful that it seems to pull the cacophony of voices together into something delicately poetic. It’s one of those moments that expands in my chest like there’s no room for air, and I love it. I take a little bow when the song has ended, accepting a glass of champagne from Auntie Lena as she pulls me into a hug, and everyone applauds.

“I thought this was supposed to be small,” I argue. “There are dozens of people here.”

“I can’t help it that so many people know how special you are,” she says, brushing a lock of hair over my shoulder in that easy way she does, like she’s arranging the little details of my appearance the same way she reorganizes shelves. “Happy birthday, Dee.”

Kamille approaches me now, already a half a head taller than she was six months ago. I greet her with enthusiastic praise.

“Is this your first paid gig?” I tease.

“I did it pro bono,” she says with a smirky, nonchalant shrug. I laugh, knowing how just a few weeks ago we discussed the Latin meaning of that phrase over pizza at our favorite weekly place.

“Well, the public is certainly better for it,” I smile.

I spot the towering birthday cake that is far too ornate for my simply turning thirty-three and know Meg can’t be far, probably wearing a retro dress and looking like an entrepreneurial bakeshop pin-up girl. My sweet tooth immediately aches, and I hope it’s the amazing strawberry lemon shortcake recipe that she’s been selling out of everyday for the past three weeks. I may have even grabbed a slice for breakfast a time or two, when I stopped in for my usual cold brew.

I greet a couple of old colleagues from Freeman Maxwell, a few friends from my volunteer work, and some of my post-run pint pals. But I break into an outright grin when I spot a pair of beat up Vans and a sport coat leaning against the balcony railing.

“Teddy Glass,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“Crashing your party,” he laughs.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I was hanging at the bar, and I asked the server who the private shindig was for. It felt like too much of a coincidence for me not to come up and say hey.”

“I’m glad you did. How’ve you been? I saw the article.”

It had run a couple of weeks earlier in The Memphian, and Jeanine had really outdone herself. It was a story about Avid, or maybe about Teddy, though the two of them are kind of one in the same, aren’t they? It was the ultimate tale of a comeback kid, complete with rock stars, and personal obstacles, and a very smug-looking Farkas, perched on Teddy’s shoulder like some sort of pirate’s parrot.

“Yeah, it was a great piece. Business is booming. I really couldn’t have done it without you two.”

I give him a wistful smile and nod. “I’m glad everything worked out.”

“Me too,” he says. “Hey, I’ll have to tell Zel I saw you. She’s going to be jealous.”

“I don’t know that I was ever her favorite,” I laugh.

“Aw, that’s just Zel,” he says. “Tough on the outside. Big ol’ gummy bear underneath. How’s your new gig going?”

“It’s great.” I give him a genuine smile, not in the least because I can’t remember the last time I worked through lunch. “I’m working with a lot of local organizations, combining a lot of my previous experience with stuff I'm passionate about. I love it.”

“I’m glad to hear it. If anyone deserves it, I know it’s you,” he nods. “Hey, if you don’t mind my asking, who’s the woman with the dark hair over there?”

I follow where he points with his martini glass to where Auntie Lena is laughing. I give him a measured look. “That’s my aunt, Helena.”

“She single?”

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