Chapter 23 #2
“It’s not that bad,” I lied as I winced and tried to stand.
And after Beau picked up our unicycles with one hand and slipped his free arm around my waist, we started toward my apartment.
“You think we’ll get our deposit back?” I asked as I leaned against him to steady my balance.
And even when I wasn’t stumbling anymore, I didn’t move away.
I stayed pressed to his side, knowing I was taking something I shouldn’t.
And I quietly thanked the sidewalk—and the blood dripping down my arm—for giving me an excuse to be held close to him for once. Just for a block.
His chest rose and fell on a soft laugh. “I’ll make some calls. It’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
By the time we reached my door, the blood had started to dry on my arms and clothes, and the biting pain was waning. Beau still treated me like I was fragile, though.
“Keys?” he asked, and when I handed them over, he unlocked the door for me.
Inside, I kicked off my sneakers and made a beeline for the kitchen sink and a roll of paper towels while Beau trailed behind, already scanning the apartment for what he might need.
“Do you have a first aid kit?”
“I have some expired Neosporin and a single Advil in my junk drawer. Does that count?”
He shook his head, catching up to me as I turned my back to him to flip on the faucet and wash my arms.
“What?” I asked. “Not all of us were Boy Scouts. My parents were professors, and they had some pretty specific ideas on Girl Scouts being a gateway to corporate servitude.”
“Were?”
“Car crash,” I said with practiced precision. The words tasted like chalk, dry from overuse. “I was sixteen. We don’t have to talk about it.”
With over a decade of orphan experience under my belt, I found that being direct helped temper the pity people liked to hurl at me.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Luckily, we have that gash on your arm to keep us entertained.”
I dabbed at my arm with a wad of damp paper towels, but the sting made my knees wobble.
Beau started nudging me out of the kitchen. “Come on. Sit down before you pass out.”
I let him steer me toward the sofa. My coffee table was cluttered with mail and receipts, and right there in the middle of it—like it had been waiting for this exact moment—sat Simon’s note card.
“That’s nothing!” I said too loudly, grabbing the card and flipping it upside down on the table with slick, shaking hands. “It’s—it’s nothing. Nothing.”
But Beau had already seen it. For a too-long second, I just stood there, dripping water and blood onto the floor, wishing I could disappear into one of the puddles at my feet.
“Is this the thing you’ve been trying not to tell me?” he asked. He wasn’t angry. Not yelling or hurt. But I knew what this was going to cost me. “Is this real? He fired you on personal stationery?” Beau picked up the card and studied it.
Here lie our dearly departed side quests.
My throat burned and my heart ached. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Este, everyone gets fired—it’s something of a rite of passage.” Beau glanced at me, amused. “And the way he did it is so tone-deaf. It’s going to make for a great story someday. Steve Jobs was fired and it became—”
I snatched the card out of his hand, cheeks burning red with embarrassment.
“I know the Steve Jobs story. Everyone in this industry knows that story. But it’s just a story.
Steve Jobs is just one guy. And thousands of ordinary people get fired every day.
You’re not reading all of their come-from-behind memoirs, are you? Because there are too many of them.”
“Maybe so, but you’re not ordinary.”
“See, that’s what I used to think, but then I got that note card.
And now, I know otherwise. All I am is another person who put their life onto the conveyor belt of some company and got chewed up and spit out.
Soon, someone else will be running Simon’s life, and it will be like I was never there at all.
And I’ll still be fired. On a note card.
Plain and simple. Not to mention entirely ordinary. ”
That card was a reminder of every mistake, every wrong choice.
His face fell, losing the hint of amusement from before and softening into something earnest. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I really don’t.”
If only he knew all the layers pressed into that expensive stationery.
“That’s a cop-out,” he said, and I could tell by the way he said it there wasn’t a doubt in his mind. He wasn’t angry, though. He was pleading. “I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s why you won’t let me take you to dinner. Why you panic a little every time we’re having a good time.”
“I don’t panic—”
“You do. And I don’t care. I like you. I think I’ve made that pretty clear. But if you need to hear it again, Este, I like every version of you.”
Not for long.
Humiliating, hot tears started to well in my eyes. Because our friendship was about to be over. And I deserved what I got.
Beau reached into his pocket and held out an old, worn coin.
“Here. My grandfather gave it to me when I was a kid. He lived down the street from us growing up. My mom had four kids, and our house could get noisy. In the third grade, I had a bully at school. I’d ride my bike to my grandfather’s house most afternoons.
We’d sit on his porch and talk. He taught me how right and easy weren’t always the same.
And he gave me this coin the day I stood up to my bully.
Said it would bring me good luck. Maybe you need it more than I do. ”
I blinked to keep the tears from falling. “You don’t have to stay, Beau,” I said, and my words came out shaky and pathetic. “I wouldn’t if I were you. But I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Take the coin, Este.” He stepped forward to press it into my hand.
“It’s a binding contract now—a Buffalo Nickel Clause.
Whatever you did or Simon did, I won’t tell anyone.
Whatever he’s trying to cover up, you don’t have to keep it from me.
But I think you need to tell someone. I can see that it’s destroying you.
So you can tell me, and I promise I won’t tell anyone. ”
The words ripped me in half, and I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He was the guy I should have waited for. But I had already ruined everything.
“Hey,” Beau soothed. “Whatever it is, the Buffalo Nickel Clause covers it.”
“So it’s a magical nickel?” I wiped my eyes, feeling defeated.
“I think it’s sacred, actually. Whatever you have to tell me, I won’t judge you.”
I knew he meant it. But after weeks of side quests, I knew him, too.
He was kind. He was also deeply optimistic.
He believed things worked out in the end, because people did the right thing.
And I got the sense that the experiences that had shaped him showed him people were inherently good.
The world was messy, but there was more good than evil.
Harlan was a braggart, but InfoSynth still won.
Beau had never been betrayed by a mentor.
Never seen the worst parts of me. Never had a reason to think trusting your gut and diving in could lead you astray.
I can’t close my eyes and jump. Not after Simon. Not this time.
“What the hell did Simon do to you?” he asked.
“Simon’s not the one who fucked up,” I said. “I am.”
I stared down at the coin in my palm. It was warm and heavy, and I was sure I didn’t deserve it.
Beau might not like me after I told him the truth, but he was here. Making grand gestures and taking me unicycling. I owed him the truth.
“I slept with him,” I said, and saying the words out loud made my ears ring a little. “For, like, months. Like an idiot.”
When Beau didn’t look shocked, my stomach dropped.
“You knew.” My voice cracked on the realization. “How?”
“I didn’t know, but after I saw the way he looked at you in the conference room, I had a hunch,” Beau said quietly. “Honestly, I think it’s why he was so off his game. He wasn’t focused on InfoSynth. He was too focused on you.”
“That’s not actually possible, because it was never romantic.
I told myself it was convenient. Maybe I thought it was a shortcut.
But I was good at my job. I loved it.” I swallowed.
“And then after the InfoSynth meeting, he dropped me. Didn’t even have the decency to tell me to my face.
” I looked down at the card stock, searching for the umpteenth time for some trace of absolution.
“Maybe you’re more of a distraction than you think.”