Epilogue
Fourteen Months Later
Just a few more emails, and then I’ll finally get out of here. I’ve been going nonstop all day, my calendar full of meetings and my to-do list full of motions to draft.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything since a banana at breakfast, so I weigh my options: fridge contents (which are minimal and mostly condiments), order food to be delivered to my apartment, or the Edison next door.
The Edison wins by proximity. They still serve that tortellini I like anyway.
It should only take about fifteen minutes to order, get my food, and then I’ll be on my way home.
So I gather my things and head next door.
The Edison lobby is mostly empty. A few tourists and some business types. I slip past, making my way to the bar.
It still looks the same.
As I enter, I can see there’s only one person seated.
It takes me no time at all to realize.
I would recognize him anywhere.
James.
I haven’t seen, or spoken, to him since he left the firm almost a year ago to work at the same public interest firm as Mina.
His departure caused quite the uproar, seeing as how he was, presumably, next in line to become partner at Bishop, Hollis, & Sterling.
For half a second, I consider leaving, pretending I was never here.
But I don’t.
I cross the floor to the bar, trying to keep my steps even and casual.
“Sterling,” I say as I approach him.
He turns to me, and the corners of his mouth tilt. “Anders.”
I glance at the seat beside him. “Is this seat taken?”
He shakes his head, gestures to the chair. “It’s yours if you want it.”
I sit. The barstool is cold against my legs.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just looks at me, so I break the silence.
“I’m surprised to see you here. Your firm is across town,” I say.
“Valentine’s Day, remember?”
“Oh. Right,” I say, but in all honesty, I had forgotten today was Valentine’s Day.
I guess that’s what happens when you don’t have anyone to spend it with. It’s just another day.
And James still comes here on this day every year.
“How have you been?” he asks.
“Good. Really good, actually. I had two trials this past year. Won them both. I have another one in a few months,” I tell him.
“I’m proud of you,” he says, and I can feel a warmth in my chest. “But I’m not surprised. I always knew you’d be a great attorney,” he adds.
The bartender appears, taking my order and asking James if he wants a refill.
James takes a moment, considering, then looks at me.
“Are you taking that tortellini to-go?”
I think about it. That was the plan. But I didn’t expect to see him here. And now that we’re together, I find myself not wanting to leave so soon.
“No. I think I’ll hang out for a bit,” I say.
He looks back to the bartender. “Then I’ll have another.”
The warmth grows as I think about how he’s letting his plans hinge on what I’m doing tonight.
The bartender pours our drinks and delivers them to us. James’s is a whiskey neat. Mine, a glass of red.
I sit, fiddling with the stem of my wine glass. “So how are things at the new firm?”
“Good now, but Mina had a lot to say when I was hired as her supervising attorney.”
I laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I’m growing on her,” James says, smirking. “Mostly because I don’t tell her how to do her job.”
“That’s probably smart,” I say. “She’d murder you otherwise.”
“She told me as much,” he says, taking a sip of his drink.
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “That sounds like her. But you like it? The new job?”
James shrugs. “Less money. More stress, if you can believe it. But I go home every day feeling like I did something worthwhile.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “I don’t get to see you every day.”
My brow quirks. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I say jokingly.
“It is,” he says, deadpan.
A new silence blooms between us. This one is heavier until James breaks it.
“How’s Nash?”
The question surprises me.
“He left. The firm, I mean. This past summer.”
James gives me a confused look, so I continue.
“His band was opening for that rock band. Midnight Drive? I think. Anyway, a music producer happened to be at one of the shows, and his band got picked up by a label. They’re touring on their own now. We still talk every once in a while. Just to catch up.”
“I’m happy for him,” I add, but there’s a slight sadness in it.
Not just for Nash, but also for James. For the loss of what I had with both of them and for how different things are now.
I still think about both of them all the time, but not in the same way.
For the last six months Nash and I worked together, before he left, we had essentially (and successfully) friend-zoned each other. And I’m thankful for the friendship we still have, even though there’s distance now.
When I think back on my time with Nash, it was fun. But it didn’t feel like forever. And that’s okay.
But with James? It was severe. It was deep. It was something else entirely. And I have missed him the way you miss an ex-lover. The way you miss the sun after days of rain.
James nods.
We sit there in the dim light of the bar, nursing our drinks. My mind drifts to the first time we sat here together. Our conversation, the meal we shared, him driving me home. And I wonder what we could have been had it not all been complicated from the start.
James clears his throat, and I’m ripped out of the memory and back into reality.
“So,” he says, soft and low. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“No,” I answer, quicker than I intend. “No, I’m not. I haven’t seen anyone since…well, you and Nash.”
He leans back, folding his arms. “Would you want to? See someone.”
My cheeks flush. My heartrate quickens. And for a moment, I forget that he’s waiting for me to answer him.
“Depends on the someone,” I say, taking a sip of my wine.
“How about me?” he says. “Would you want to see me again?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Yes. I would.”