Chapter 9: Hypothetical

Tristan's POV

At four a.m. on Friday I was standing in my kitchen, holding a Post-it I knew by heart.

It was folded in my wallet.

It had been there since April, and the paper had gone soft at the creases.

I did not unfold it.

I only touched it with my thumb, and put it back.

Then I looked at the fridge.

Vivian's five new rules hung over the old yellow squares. Her handwriting is small and square and very fast.

Behind me, in the bedroom, she was asleep with one arm flung off the bed.

She hadn't done that in months. She used to sleep curled toward the wall.

I took a shower in the dark and left a note on the counter.

It said: Early meeting. Back tonight.

It was a coward's note. It could not be wrong.

I'm told I speak in short sentences.

I know that when I'm afraid I stop talking.

For six months I had been afraid.

The HR partner arrived at six-fifteen.

She found the director of client operations sitting in her visitor chair with the lights off.

"Hypothetical," I said.

"Those are my favorite."

"Two employees. One reports to the other. They're in a relationship. Before the deadline, one of them discloses it."

She looked at me for a while.

"Is this for Ms. Templeton?"

"It's a hypothetical."

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