Chapter 60
Ava
I’ve got about eight million pages of case law to get through tonight and Tammy is demanding drinks at Del Frisco’s at seven. I’ve blown her off (with plenty of apologetic groveling) at least five times since I started last week, but I think bowing out tonight might be the detonation button. And no one wants to see Tammy detonate.
On the upside, having this much work has kept my mind busy enough that the ache I feel for James and Urbino only registers when I come up for air. Which I’m doing now, staring at the last text from Tammy and counting the exclamation points behind, “Don’t be fucking late!!!!!”
Five.
I hover over the reply line, trying to find the courage to let her know my boss has asked me to stay and share notes at the seven thirty impromptu meeting she called. She’s ordering dinner for us from Stella, as if that makes up for the total loss of life the staff is collectively experiencing again.
“Tammy again?” Jeff asks from beside me, his eyes still on the words he’s been highlighting.
“She’s gonna kill me. Or worse,” I tell him.
There’s nothing like a 120-hour work week to help you make new friends. Jeff and I hit it off immediately when he told me he’d attended the same International Law Summit in Urbino that I was meant to attend this summer. Though having that shared experience just makes that ache a little more difficult to ignore when he’s around.
“She’d better get used to it,” he murmurs.
I sigh and swipe away from her text, chickening out and finding the text chain Nina started with me. The text had been the first sitting in my inbox the moment I’d powered on my new phone.
“La tua cena fa fredda,” it read.
I’d translated all on my own that she was telling me my dinner was cold and then cried for an hour, imagining them all sitting around that table, laughter and head-smacks being thrown around in equal measure.
We text each other every day, Nina and I. A mistake, I’m sure, based on the fact that I should be cutting the umbilical cord and moving on and letting go. But her messages are like stepping into a warm Epsom bath. They soothe the ache.
Her name on my phone is the next best thing to seeing James’s appear. Even though we decided that wasn’t a good idea, I can’t help but feel the fluttering rush of hope in my chest every time a text comes through.
My phone buzzes again on the table beside the pages of DeGiulio v. Stoddard that I’ve reread at least fifty times today without really getting what I needed. I’m distracted. Unfocused. And if I’m being honest, I have this nagging feeling of dissatisfaction in the back of my mind.
I’m sure it’s just the transition.
I touch my phone screen and the text pops up from my father.
We still on for dinner tomorrow?
I let out an actual groan like a child asked to clean her room, and Jeff looks over at me.
“You need a donut?” he asks, eyebrows raised.
“Two,” I say and the angel-man actually stands, without even rolling his eyes, and heads off to the break room to bring me donuts.
He probably just needs a break from my negativity.
I text my dad back a thumbs-up emoji and lean back in the swivel chair. I haven’t told him that I know about mom, yet. After writing and rewriting a confrontational email to him a dozen times, I figured it’d be best to handle it in person. Or I’d chickened out. And obviously he knows I’ve accepted the job here without ever consulting him. This dinner is going to require some pregaming.
I woman up and text Tammy: Don’t kill me, but can we reschedule happy hour for tomorrow? I swear I’ll get my ass there by four …
The triple dot appears and I’m actually wincing in apprehension.
Are you trying to get drunk before your dinner with dad?
It’s terrifying how well she knows me.
Yeah.
Short and sweet. No need to waste time failing to bullshit a politician’s spawn.
Fine. But your job blows.
I put my phone down beside the inch-thick packet in front of me. My job doesn’t blow. It’s just challenging. This is what I signed up for—the push and grind. The immersive distraction of a career that matters. The thrill of the race.
I just can’t feel the thrill right now because I turned off my emotion switch to self-preserve. Selective numbing. The thrill will come.
And until then, I’ll just have to settle for the donuts.