Page 34 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

Why am I thinking about access to my bottom half?

Our phones beep and buzz at the same time. He slides his from his pocket and I check my wrist, reading the rules quickly.

“It’s a scavenger hunt,” I say urgently, still skimming the message.

They’ve dumped a certain number of floating rubber duckies all around the lake. I’ve seen a couple up until this point, but I assumed they were some sort of cutesy decoration, because they were wearing little business suits. There is an inflatable pool floatie version lurking near the bar, and another near the place where the night’s entertainment is set up. Now I wish I had paid more attention.

“The team with the most ducks wins,” Quentin says, already scanning the lake. “You ready?”

I slide into action mode, everything before this gratefully forgotten. I don’t care that I sound like I’m auditioning for a high-stakes-but-heartwarming kids’ sports movie when I reply.

“Let’s win this.”

***

We spot the first rubber duckie about fifteen feet away and make a clumsy path towards it. The closer we get, the more our wake gently pushes it away. After a few failed attempts, we finally get close enough that I can scoop it out of the water and toss it into the bottom of the boat.

Quentin spots the next one, and we quickly strategize the coordinated motions it will take to turn in that direction. Eventually we make the save, narrowly missing another boat who was trying for the same one.

The growing collection in the belly of our canoe fills me with renewed energy. The clumsy paddling of the first few minutes gives way to a coordinated effort. I take Quentin’s technical corrections in stride, and in exchange he lets me call the shots. If I argue that another duckie is more accessible than the one he points out, he yields with quick agreement. His focus is more on form, coaching from behind me with a steady, authoritative tone until our movements match. We’re totally in sync. We’re focused.

We’re effortless.

Over the course of ten minutes, we zigzag across the lake, strategically scooping up every chance of winning we can find. Quentin has just pulled another duck out of the water when the fog horn echoes across the water.

The sound of applause quickly follows from the crowd on the boardwalk. A few cheers rise up from other canoes. We finally look at each other, faces flushed, chests heaving, and survey the collection of ducks between us. Our chase has taken us further than I anticipated. We both seem to realize there’s a long, daunting stretch of lake between us and the dock. We let the boat bob in the current for a moment, drifting closer towards a set of actual real life ducks, who cruise past us at an enviable pace.

Quentin raises his hand in the air, offering me a high five.

“Not bad, PBG.”

I can’t contain my excitement, and I meet his high five with enthusiastic force. He smiles, victorious. I’m soaring. I’m exuberant. I feel so free.

Too free, actually.

A horrifying realization crashes over me. One of the cups of my adhesive bra has detached. That high five apparently used its last bit of sticking power. It has fallen down into the waistband of my romper.

“Oh fuck,” I murmur.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, um.” How to explain? “I’m experiencing a bit of a wardrobe malfunction.”

“Which means…?”

It means I cannot paddle up to a dock full of colleagues with a rogue boob.

“Just, um, give me a second?” I say, eyeing my chest and trying to figure out how to manage this delicately. Eventually I realize I can’t. There’s no way around this.

Quentin’s mouth falls ajar as I dip a hand into my top.

“Don’t look!” I shriek.

He dutifully shields his eyes as I cup a hand around my right breast and squeeze, hoping to re-adhere it. The faint sheen of sweat that previously made me feel accomplished and glowing is now working against me.

“Do you need…” I can almost hear him swallow. “Help?”

After a few more failed attempts at reattachment, I pluck the cup from my top and drop it into my lap. This is fine. I turn to face him. “How obvious is this?”

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