When I got to work, my plan was to keep my head down and not tell anyone about my breakup with Chris, but that plan went quickly awry when my coworker, Amy, approached me in the pantry and asked, “How was your weekend?”
I looked at her standing before me in her usual hippy-dippy attire (a tie-die-looking shirt with jeans and Birkenstocks—no dress codes for us at the office), and simply cracked. Rather than just telling her I had a great weekend before deflecting and asking about hers, I crumbled and told her that my weekend was horrible because Chris put me out and I was back home with my mother.
Amy, a sweet young woman from Peoria with auburn hair and freckles, stared at me in shock. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting all of that when she’d asked about my weekend. “Oh, Scott, I’m sorry. I h
