Page 16 of Go Find Less
“Whoo-wee, look what we have here.”
I watch as Piper’s entire body stiffens at the voice coming from behind us, and when I turn, very, very slowly, I pray silently it’s not the person I think it is standing in the doorway. But it is.
It’s Andy, toothpick hanging out of his mouth, framed by a smattering of dark facial hair, a huge, black cowboy hat on his head. He holds a dry cleaning bag over one shoulder, and he wipes his camo boots on the carpet before making his way over to me. Piper, I notice, stays turned around, but her hands are clenched into white-knuckled fists on the bartop.
“Andy,” I say, not able to help the tone of surprise in my voice. He crosses the distance between us, reaching his hand out for a shake, which I give coldly.
“What’s it been, Fitzy, five years?” I cringe at his use of my childhood nickname, at the familiarity.
“Six,” I correct.
“That’s right.” He takes the toothpick out of his mouth, flicking it lazily toward a trashcan in the corner, missing. “What are you doing here?”
“WHG bought The Pine,” I answer quietly, my gaze shifting back to Piper, where she’s pretending to be interested in something on her screen.
“Right,” Andy says in a drawn-out drawl, and waves over my shoulder at the group of men huddled at the table. “I work for TanTex,” he adds in explanation, lifting the suit on his shoulder slightly. “Have to give some bogus award or something.” His eyes scan across the room, taking it in, before settling on Piper’s back. “Did I interrupt?”
“No,” I reply quickly, but Piper chooses that moment to turn, slowly. Her blue eyes are steely, and I look between the two of them. Andy’s face searches hers, confused, but then recognition flashes and his eyes widen.
“P-Piper?” He stumbles on his word, and takes a step toward her. She steps back into the bar, and panic floods her eyes for a moment, clearly feeling cornered.
“Andy,” she says, giving a curt nod. “We were just finishing up. I can leave you two-"
“No,” I repeat my earlier answer, again, all too quickly. “We have some items we need to finish.” I turn back to Andy. “Good seeing you, man.” I tack on the end, trying to add some familiarity back to the conversation - like I’d seen him since my awful wedding to Olivia all those years ago, where he’d been so hammered by the time we cut the cake that my sister had to call him an Uber.
“You too.” He nods, apparently understanding that it’s the end of the conversation, and I reach out to Piper, putting a hand on her elbow. She stares down at the contact, and then up at my face. Just for a miniscule moment. And then she turns around, grabbing her tablet wordlessly. I lead her back toward the office.
“Piper?” We both turn at Andy’s voice, a question in his tone, and he takes a few steps toward us, his face now more sincere. “For what it’s worth,” he starts, his mouth twisting in what’s clearly an uncomfortable expression, “I’m sorry for your loss.” We both stare at him.
Jesus. Did everyone know but me? Had I been living under a rock that our entire graduating class knew that Piper Delmonico had loved and lost, but I didn’t?
Not a rock, I realize. Just a miserable marriage and a career that’s probably going to give me high blood pressure in the coming years.
“Uh,” she stammers, and her grip on her tablet tightens. “Thanks.” And without another word, she turns back around, hurrying toward the office in her wide-heeled boots while I try to keep up. I follow her past Tif’s desk, and close the door to the office behind me as she practically collapses in the chair in front of the desk, sinking low. She slaps her tablet on the desktop, and her hands cover her face. I slide into the chair across from her, leaning back and crossing my arms. I hear her take a deep, shallow breath.
“Do you need anything?” I ask quietly. She freezes, as if realizing for the first time I'm in the room with her, and lowers her hands to look at me. “Water? Coke?” I gesture to the small bar cart in the corner. “A shot?” A small smile plays at her lips, and I notice her hands are shaking a little bit.
“Did you just make a joke?”
“It’s been known to happen,” I protest, pulling off my jacket and draping it over the chair back behind me. “But it wasn’t entirely a joke.” She lowers her hands completely, shaking her head in answer. “Was that the first time you’ve seen Andy since…?”
“Graduation, yeah.” Piper closes eyes and takes another deep breath. When she opens them again, she looks at me. “Has it really been six years since you’ve seen each other?”
“It has.” I absently log into the computer in front of me, opening up my email. “Since my wedding.” Her eyes shoot down to my hand on the keyboard in front of me. “Olivia and I are divorced,” I answer without making her voice the question.
“I’m sorry,” she says in a small voice, the smallest it’s been since she stepped into the office earlier, and I give a small shrug.
“Shit happens.” There’s a pregnant pause as she looks over me. “I’m sorry, too.” She grimaces. “What?”
“I hate it when people say that.” She looks down at her hands, splayed across her legs. “It makes me feel…fragile.”
“I don’t think you’re fragile.”
Fuck. I said it out loud.
“You don’t know me,” she responds almost immediately. It’s true. I don’t. I barely knew her ten years ago, and I feel like I know her even less now. “This is the most you’ve spoken to me in one day in the twenty-plus years I’ve known you.” Also true. “And you have no idea what I’ve been through-
“I know a little,” I interrupt, and I realize it’s the absolute wrong move. Her eyes, which had been sad and big, narrowed, and steeled again. “I read some after the meeting last weekend.”