Pregnant Pause [H.S]

Chapter 29

And 

By mid-October, Vic and I had sunk into our old routine of breaking at the same time each day. Shortly after one, we'd meet in the break room with our lunches, usually the only ones there. And it was nice. It was nice not to feel alone for thirty minutes of the day.

But it wasn't the same as before. Things had shifted between us. For a long time, I blamed it on myself, telling myself I'd ruined everything with that one split second kiss. After a while, I began to realize it was something else. Something deeper.

Plain and simple, we didn't have much to talk about now that Beckett was gone.

Irritatingly enough, he was the thread that united us.

We talked about our personal lives, too – but personal life had become a tender subject. I was afraid to ask about her social life because I knew it inevitably reverted to her single status, and she didn't ask about mine because she knew it was difficult for me to talk about – and simultaneously, to avoid talking about – Fitz.

Altogether, our conversations wove a sad tapestry of bitterly overworked, fresh-outof-uni-and-quickly-jaded young adults.

"Did Alison give you a project today?" I asked her as I polished my apple on the front of my shirt and then bit into it.

"What, you mean like envelope stuffing or file reorganizing or useless research? No, I've escaped unscathed today."

"Oh, good."

"Why?" she asked.

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully as I chewed. "What if I had a... thrilling proposition for you?"

Her brows quirked in excitement. "Like ditching the afternoon to spend all the money I don't make in the shops?"

"Or..." I trailed off, scrunching my features in apology, "you could help me with data entry."

Her face fell. "Such a bore."

"I know. But if you have the time, I'd really appreciate it."

She sighed dramatically. "They're giving you too much again, aren't they?"

I nodded. "There's a spillover from Sales because they haven't rehired for Beckett's position yet. The other analysts are handling it, which means whatever they can't do gets dropped on my plate."

"I say find another restaurant or eat at home," Vic grumbled.

"Yeah," I snorted. "Anyway, Alison's on my case for an updated report on the new product, but I've barely had time to enter the stats. I know it's all going to be skewed, anyway." "Beckett's fault."

"Yep."

"Well, all right," she said with a sigh, gathering her things and standing up. "Guess since I have even less to look forward to at my desk, I'd better get back."

"S'not all bad," I said with a chuckle, following her out of the break room. "Imagine every key on your keyboard is Beckett's face. You get to smash it in at a rate of seventy-five words per minute."

"Excuse me, Captain Fail," Vic said, holding up an index finger in offense, "that would be one hundred and ten words per minute."

My jaw dropped in mock surprise, and I muttered under my breath as I followed her, certain that she could hear, "Keener."

"Idiot," she threw back. And for a second, I paused my step in midair. It was just a word. An insult, actually.

And it was only said in jest. "What is it?" she asked over her shoulder, sensing that my presence had faded.