“You’re welcome,” he says quietly, clearly not pushing his luck.
My phone buzzes on the table and I catch Keiko’s name across the screen.
Uh-oh, I hope it’s not bad news.
I unlock the screen and read the text message.
Keiko: As of six seventeen this evening, I am no longer in a committed rapport with Kelvin Thimble. I hold him in high regard and thanked him graciously for his loving devotion and taking on the duty of the male species by producing a viral, yet amiable service in the bedroom. Furthermore, I provided him with a recommendation letter for future accords, offering him high marks in coitus as well as outstanding conversational techniques. I shall require three days to mourn the termination of this union. Please provide me with ample space. After the third day, Blanche/Seymour and I will be requiring your companionship.
“Oh no,” I say out loud.
“Everything okay?” Pike asks as he comes back into the dining space.
I consider not telling him, but then realize he’ll probably find out when he gets to school tomorrow, so I say, “Keiko just broke up with Kelvin.”
His brow creases and he takes a seat next to me at the table. I’m expecting him to say something like “What?” or “Seriously?”， you know, a normal reaction to such news, but instead, he quietly asks, “Is she okay?”
Is she okay . . . IS SHE OKAY?
That’s—God, that’s such a considerate thing to ask.
There was no questioning her decision.
No “what happened?”
Just making sure she’s okay.
This isn’t good for the flimsy wall I’ve built to keep Pike at a safe distance, because I don’t need to know that he’s sensitive as well. Sensitive, sexy, British accent, sleeve tattoo . . . I’m barely holding on over here.
“I, uh, I’m not sure.”
I might have broken the news about their breakup, but I’m sure as hell not going to break the news about her pregnancy. That’s so not my information to talk about, especially since we don’t know how far along she is.
“Do you need to go to her place to make sure she’s okay?”
I shake my head. “No, she asked for space.”
He nods but then stays silent.
That’s it?
That’s all he’s going to ask?
Nothing else?
If he were Keenan, he’d be asking for all the details, and not because he was concerned, but because he always enjoyed gossip and truly appreciated someone else’s downfall. And more often than not, that malicious streak was aimed at me. God, he hurt me. Why did I stay with him?
Unsure what to do, I retrieve my laptop from the bed and take it to the dresser to plug it in.
“You know, I hate to admit it, but I’m not sure I know exactly what you do.”
I glance at him from over my shoulder. He’s pulling on the back of his neck, looking adorably sheepish.
“Kind of shitty, your husband not knowing the kind of job you have.”
And this is my opening.
I don’t think I could’ve made this play out any better.
He opened the conversation by checking in on my friend, which warmed me up, and now he’s going in for more information. I was waiting for the moment he’d do just this.
But play it cool . . .
“I work from home,” I say softly as I return to the bed to take a seat.
“I gathered that,” he says, “you know, since I go off to work and you tend to stay home. But what do you do?”
Here goes nothing. Let the lies begin!
With a serious face, I say, “Professional mourner.”
The odd expression that crosses his face nearly causes me to bust out in laughter. Adorably confused. He shifts in his seat and, with a crease in his brow, he asks, “Professional mourner? What exactly is that?”
“I’m hired to mourn with people all around the country. I have an online forum, people come online, and I cry with them.”
“Wait . . . what? You cry with them? You can cry on cue?”
I nod. “Yup. Not that hard, especially when someone is telling you about their loved one passing.”
“I—I’ve never heard of such a profession.”
I shrug. “Not for the faint of heart.”
“How did you, erm, how did you get into that?”
Good question.
Errr . . . think Cora, think.
Oh, I’ve got it.
“I’m not proud of it, but I was in line to feed an elephant at the zoo and when it came to my turn, they cut off the feedings and said they had to move on. Well, I broke out in heavy tears, tears so large that I was able to convince the zookeepers to not only let me feed the elephant, but also give me extra time. When I was done, a lady pulled me to the side and said she had never seen anything like it and asked if I was a professional crier. I told her I had my moments. She handed me her card and said she could use someone like me on her team. I learned the tricks of the trade from her, and a year ago, I started my own business.” I shrug as if it’s nothing. “I now specialize in mourning over pets. It’s quite a niche market, but also lucrative. Today, I mourned over a Bichon Frise, a snake named Slytherin, and a snail.”