Page 44 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

“I really don’t need to know,” I say.

“Understood,” she smiles, seemingly satisfied with this response. “You don’t ask about my love life, and I won’t ask about yours. Quid pro quo.”

She pantomimes zipping her lips and tossing away the key.

I cough out a laugh. “That’s very kind of you. Although mine’s pretty nonexistent at the moment, so, ya know.”

She gives me an incredulous look before turning her attention to the water-stained drink menu. She’s running her finger down the list like she’s entirely preoccupied, but then I hear her say, “I see things, too, ya know.”

My gaze drifts back to her, curious. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, giving me a sideways glance and another little shrug. “But don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”

I see her signal William before ordering them both the craft cocktail of the month (tequila and ginger beer, which is about as craft as you get at a dive bar) and handing over her card to start the tab.

“I’m sorry,” I can’t help saying, “you won’t say anything about what, exactly?”

Her dark eyes slide over to mine. She gives me a nervous laugh, glancing both ways before offering in a low voice, “You and… you know.”

I raise my eyebrows at her, because I clearly don’t know.

She whispers now. “Quentin Maxwell.”

I blink once. Twice. My face feels suddenly hot beneath the stretched tight feeling of dried sweat, and I wonder if it’s redder now than it was when I ended my run and stepped in here.

“I, um…”

Yolanda gives me a wide-eyed, well-meaning smile. “Hey. Like you said. I really don’t need to know.”

“No,” I insist, perhaps a bit too vehemently. “I’m not…” With Quentin. I can’t even say it. A mirthless laugh escapes me. “Is that what people are saying?”

“People say a lot of things.” She shrugs apologetically. “I’m not a gossip, it’s just that cubicles don’t leave much to the imagination. They’re like the speedo of the professional realm. They give only the vaguest illusion of privacy.”

I laugh in earnest now. I know how true it is. Most recently, half the time when I walk through the cube farm full of interns and paralegals, I hear murmurs about a “Dr. Pepper Thief”. Apparently one of the associate’s personal cans of soda have been disappearing from the break room fridge, and it was rumored he has offered a cash reward for the intern who rats out the culprit. Bets have been waged. An investigation was launched. You can’t make this shit up.

“God. Yeah, I remember those days. You’d think they’d have something better to talk about, though.”

“I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s all anyone’s talked about. Showing up all mysteriously. Taking over Mr. Maxwell’s office. And… well, you know. All the other stuff.”

I smush my mouth into an expectant line that tells her I also don’t know anything about any other stuff. If cubicles are the speedo, my office is one of those whole-body swim dresses from the nineteenth century that comes lined with full length pants.

“What other stuff?” I say.

She leans on her elbows, glancing over her shoulder again before replying. She’s just loud enough to be heard over the laughter of a few guys from my group making their way through the door.

“God, okay. So, I don’t know if any of this is true. I feel like an asshole even repeating it. But William’s oldest brother or cousin or something went to high school with Quentin. Apparently he got kicked out for stealing a car?”

Everything about my face right now has to say, I’m sorry, what?

When she sees the way my eyes widen, she immediately backtracks.

“I mean, I don’t think he was arrested or anything. Maybe it’s one of those stories that got blown way out of proportion. I dunno. I just heard he was… you know, one of those out of control private school kids. Partied too much. Dropped out of college. Got completely cut off by his family. But obviously he went back. I mean, law school and everything. And he seems fine now, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. It comes out as an unconvincing croak. I take a big gulp of beer, hoping to wash it down. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

Of course, everything she’s just told me sounds the very opposite of fine.

“And I mean, you know what they say,” she says. “Everybody loves a comeback kid.”

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