Chapter 2
2
T hey say there are many ways to deal with life changes.
Pinterest told me to take time to reflect.
My mother told me to embrace change.
But the best advice was given by my best friend, Amelia.
“Time for tequila and nachos,” she told me over the phone.
That’s why we’re gathered around a table at Down Home, the neighborhood pub.
Down Home is where we toast our accomplishments and wash down our failures. Both are welcome, and neither is looked down on.
“Screw Adrian Castillo,” I announce, raising my shot glass. “And screw Adaway and Williams.”
Amelia follows my lead and lifts her glass. “Yeah, screw them.”
My cousin Callie and our friends Mia and Ava do the same. The five of us have been best friends since our births.
“Screw them,” we say together. “Cheers!”
Tequila spills as we clink our glasses. When I knock back my shot, I cringe as the alcohol slips down my throat. I’m used to having my tequila accompanied with a little margarita mix.
Though being unemployed sucks, I’m proud of myself. The partners worked us ragged and pitted us against each other for promotions. Every day I was there, I was miserable.
Setting down my glass, I sigh. “You know what will get those jerks back?”
“What?” Amelia asks before shoving a cheesy nacho in her mouth.
“Starting my own law firm here in Blue Beech.” I lean in closer, as if I’d just pitched them the best idea in the world.
Not that they wouldn’t support me. I could tell them I was moving to the forest and planned to live off strawberries for the rest of my life, and they’d ask when they could visit.
Starting a law firm from scratch is hard, but it’s always been a dream. It’s expensive, and it can take years to build a decent client list. Some attorneys don’t make a penny during their first few years. But I’ve always been a go-getter.
“You won’t have much competition since Adaway and Williams is an hour away,” Mia inputs. “Terrance Nelson is the only attorney in this town, and given his age, he’s bound to retire soon.”
“Terrance handles all the legal stuff for the brewery,” Amelia adds, picking cheese from her black hair. “Last week, he said he was looking for someone to take over his firm. It’s like destiny.” She raises her hands and makes a spirit fingers gesture.
Amelia and her boyfriend, Jax, own the local brewery in town. She didn’t always have ownership in the pub. Jax co-owned it with Chris, his best friend and Amelia’s fiancé. After Chris’s death, he left his share of the brewery to Amelia, and at the time, considering she and Jax hated each other, they both spent months trying to convince the other to sell their share.
During their time arguing and healing from their loss, they fell in love. Honestly, I think they’d had feelings for each other long before Amelia and Chris even started dating. It took time for her to admit her feelings for him.
Falling for your deceased fiancé’s best friend isn’t exactly ideal. But now, they’re happily in love and run the brewery together.
Callie arranges our empty shot glasses at the end of the table. “You could ask him to refer new clients to you or buy him out.”
“If you can’t join them, beat them,” Mia says, pulling a tube of lip gloss from her Prada bag. “Revenge is best served as competition.”
“I’m proud of you,” Mia tells me when she pulls into the driveway of my parents’ house. “You stood up for yourself.”
I solemnly smile and nod.
The reality of leaving the firm is now fully hitting me, thanks to the tequila.
Instead of making me forget my problems, it only caused me to remember them more, like a nonending movie replay.
Drunk Essie is an emotional Essie, which is annoying.
Which is also why Mia drove me home.
“Do you need help getting inside?” she asks.
I shake my head and step out of her red Mercedes. “Thank you for driving me home.”
“Take two Advil and drink lots of water,” she calls to my back before I shut the door and walk toward my parents’ backyard.
When my parents built their house, they added two pool houses on the back of the property. Though I refer to them as cottages. One for me and one for my twin brother, River. They said we could design them and live here as long as we wanted.
I went with a cute cottage aesthetic with pastel colors. The furniture consists of antique pieces I’ve gathered while estate shopping with my mother. Everything here has character—from the baby-blue chest with hand-painted doves in the entryway to the asymmetrical, handcrafted forest-green velvet couch to the English oak coffee table.
I kick off my boots and start stripping out of my clothes on my way to my bedroom. I flip on the light, and nausea swirls in my stomach when I look in the mirror.
My scarred skin.
After all these years, I still struggle with the sight of it.
I feel defective.
On the outside, everyone sees me as this confident attorney.
But inside, I’m far from that.
What’s worse is that every time I see myself naked, it’s a reminder of that night.
I hurriedly button my pajama shirt and toss my dirty clothes into the hamper.
Just as I settle in bed, my phone beeps with a message.
I glare at it while reading the text.
Adrian: We need to talk.
He hasn’t texted me in years. I only have his number because the firm required us to share ours with everyone.
I reply.
Me: I never want to talk to you again.
Adrian: Don’t expect for that to ever be a reality.
I fight with myself on whether to answer but decide ignoring him is the best option. There’s nothing that kills assholes more than silence.
“Please let it be a reality,” I say, patting my pillow and making myself comfortable. “Don’t let him find another way to barge into my life.”
But I should know that he always finds a way to blindside me.