of holding in my feelings for too long and then expressing them at really inopportune times.”
“It’s OK,” I told her, hoping that would be the end of the conversation; that we would pretend it never happened.
“You’re home,” she said, as if she’d just looked out her window to check. “I’m coming over.”
She knocked on my door five minutes later, barefoot, in threadbare sweats, a big gray hoodie around her shoulders, and carrying a pie.
“I bake when I’m anxious,” she said, handing it to me.
She’d used all of the extra piecrust to make little clouds and lighting bolts, which she’d placed around the top of the pie before she baked it. It looked like an edible storm.
“Thanks.”
“Blackberry. From the bushes in the yard. You should have some while it’s still hot.”
She followed me to the kitchen, and as I cut myself a piece of the pie, she eyed the frothy, mud-colored drink in the blender.
“I make cocktails when I’m anxious,” I explained.
“That looks disgusting.”
“Brown recluses are not disgusting.”
I grabbed a clean glass from my dish rack and poured her one. She slipped her arms into her sweatshirt, took the glass from my hand and held it at arm’s length, as if I’d given her shit, which, I admit, it did look like.
“I invented this cocktail,” I said with pride. “Tequila, chocolate milk, cinnamon, a pinch of cayenne pepper, and ice.”
“It sounds even worse than it looks.” She smelled the drink and made a face.
“There’s a word for that, you know.”
“A word for what?” she said.
“For a person who makes a disgusted face when they’re drinking liquor.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s the word?”
“‘Paper-belly.’ You’re a paper-belly.”
She tried to swat me with her hand, but her sweatshirt was too big and the sleeve kept sliding down so that not even the tips of her fingers were visible.
“Taste it,” I prodded.
The cocktail was thick and sludgy, and she had to tilt her head back and sort of pour it into her mouth, but she was nodding and smiling as she swallowed.
“Wow. This is way better than it looks. Like a spicy, boozy milkshake.”
“Exactly.”
Her hands were so small she had to hold the glass with both of them. She took another drink, and I took a bite of the pie. To be honest, it looked better than it tasted, but I didn’t tell her that.
“We should do a pie-making selfie,” I suggested.
She gave me a funny smirk.
“What?”
“You said we.”
“Sorry, I meant you.”
“No. I like that you said we.”
We stared at each other for a long, awkward instant. Then I refilled my glass and said, “I’m not good at this kind of thing. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”
“Neither do I.” October took a long, deep breath, held it in, and then let it out as if she’d been underwater and had just resurfaced. She played with the zipper on her sweatshirt, up and down, up and down, the sound a feedback-like buzz. “Well, I mean, there are a lot of things I want to say, but they’re not really appropriate. Because we work together. And I’m your boss. And—”
“—And you have a boyfriend.”
“I was getting to that. But you should know things are complicated with me and Chris. And we’re not exactly exclusive.”
“Not exactly?”
“He’s never here. And I don’t believe in giving people rules or asking them to say no to experiences they may want to have. So, when we’re apart, he can do what he wants, and I can too.” She fingered the strings of her hoodie, pulling them back and forth like she was flossing her neck. “Don’t get me wrong; Chris is an amazing person. But he’s the exact opposite of me. He’s social. Fun. Likes to be around people all the time. I think that was the reason I was originally drawn to him. I thought maybe he’d somehow break me out of my shell. But the longer we’re together, the more I realize how incompatible we really are.” She stopped, took another drink, thought before she spoke again. “The thing is, I don’t think all relationships are meant to last forever. That doesn’t mean they’ve failed; it just means we’ve learned all we can from them, they’ve run their course, and that’s OK.” She put her glass down, ran her finger around the rim. “Have you ever been in a relationship where, even though there’s nothing obviously wrong, you just have a sense it’s not where you’re supposed to be?”
I nodded and couldn’t remember the last time I’d been more