We were eating burritos out in the courtyard.

My second week at the new job, and I had managed to forget to pack a lunch every single day so far. Rick and I had taken the golf cart to the opposite end of the studio for the “Pretend It’s Friday” luncheon. The email announcing the event boasted live music, burritos, and ice cream. The music, which I had imagined would be latin, was more of a sad ragtime than anything else. But the food was fantastic.

Our cups of soft serve grew milky in the warm afternoon sun as we ate and discussed office affairs. I mentioned the Vegas Star Trek Convention that one of our team members would be attending this weekend.

Rick brightened. “Didn’t you say your boyfriend was really into that show? You guys should go to that Star Trek experience thing out there.”

“Oh? I’ll check it out. But he’s not my boyfriend anymore. He’s my Asshole Ex-boyfriend now. I use the ‘Asshole’ part to differentiate him from my other ex-boyfriend. The one that I still respect.”

I took another bite of my carne asada and guacamole indulgence. It felt good having an appetite back after almost a week of being disgusted by everything. Although I did manage to lose four pounds.

When I looked at Rick, he had a sort of surprised expression on his face. And a little dab of sour cream. Right in the corner of his mouth. I started, “Geez, I’m sorry--”

“No, no, it’s cool. I just didn’t know…uh, what happened?” I knew he didn’t really want to hear all about this love affair, how it ended, or how I felt. He looked like someone was talking to him about his parents having sex. I often forget that most people don’t like to go spilling their guts (and cursing a blue streak while they’re at it) to co-workers and practical strangers over lunch. I decided to spare him.

“It’s a long story. But the short version is that he was still in love with his ex, and he thought he could have us both.”

In the same tone of voice he used when I told him our boss was going to be out sick today, and when we found out that woman from finance went into the hospital late last week, he said, “Oh, that’s too bad. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault!” We fell silent a moment. He plowed through the last half of his lunch, I put mine back into the styrofoam container. I was willing him to wipe his mouth. I was beaming thoughts to him, Sour Cream, Left Corner, Sour Cream. But he didn’t seem to receive my signal. I cleared my throat and dabbed at my lip with a napkin.

Leaning back, he put a hand on his stomach. “Boy! That’s one serious lunch!”

“Yeah.” I was obviously not going to be able to talk to this guy about anything besides office supplies and reality television. “You’ve got a little…” I gestured to the corner of my mouth.

“Huh? Oh! Ha!” He wiped away the white spot and thanked me. “You know something?”

I’ll bite. “What?”

“There’s someone for everyone.”

I told him, “I’ll cross my fingers, but I won’t hold my breath.”

Then we ate our runny ice cream and drove back to the office again.