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“Uhh, can I sit here?” I asked, biting my lip. She looked up and snapped her gum. I took it as a yes, dropped down next to her, and opened up a Stephen King. Just as I was getting into the first murder, Bubble Gum Girl gasped and started crying.
“You… okay?” I asked, pulling out a tissue. She took it and blew her nose, letting it all out as the Metro stopped at Bridgeport. We had a long way to Grand Central. She gasped, trying to catch her breath.
“He… He… Broke up with me! By text!” she wailed.
“Oh honey,” I said, “I’m so so sorry.”
She snotted again, “I loved him. We were going to move in together.”
“Sorry,” I replied, pulling out more tissues.
“I loved him,” she said again, germing up another tissue. “His name was Will. He worked in finance. We met through a mutual friend. His eyes were…” Bubble Gum paused, looking for an adjective. She gave up, and said, “Pretty.” She took another tissue, and then started on him again, “He was so nice. He’d buy me drinks and we’d go to the park during lunch.”
I awkwardly patted her back as she heaved and cried.
We reached the Stamford stop. ‘C’mon, get me out of here,’ I thought, giving a pleading look to the conductor, who flashed a sympathetic smile. Bubble Gum choked a little and then cried, “I always have bad luck with guys. They always hurt me. Right when we get to the serious point in the relationship, they always bail. Always.” She covered her face with her hands.
“Well how long have you been going out?” I carefully asked.
She looked up, eyes red, nose running, and said, “Two weeks.”