Chapter 20
I tap my pen against the reception desk.
It’s a surprisingly slow workday; usually this time of year we’re slammed with familial disputes because the holidays tend to ramp up tension in domestic lives, but the phones have been silent and the inbox quiet.
The office is empty, too; the lawyers are all in court, Stella is out sick, and Faye is on vacation, so it’s just Aashiq and me here.
Speaking of Aashiq, he’s pacing unsteadily behind me. He’s been doing it for at least ten minutes, too, so I know he’s about to burst.
Right on cue, he stops in place and tosses his hands to the sides. “We should find something to do.”
I lounge comfortably in my chair. “I rarely get a free moment, so I’d rather use this time to relax.”
“Come on,” he presses. “I know I’m here to help you with your writing, but I can help with other areas of your life, too. Like your day job.” He circles around my chair and crouches down next to me. “You’re trying to get a funding package for law school, right?”
I frown. “Yeah…but I asked Colin about it already, and he’s given me the brush-off.”
“Then that’s where we take initiative!” Without warning, he saunters down the hall and pokes his head into the office spaces.
Crap. I scramble out of my chair and follow him.
I don’t know what he’s searching for, because no one else is in today, but once when I left him unattended in the office, he broke one of the door handles.
Colin wasn’t very happy about it, and I had to pull out all the stops to persuade him to keep letting Aashiq come into the office.
“Aashiq, there’s no one—” I start as I round the corner, but I abruptly come to a stop next to him.
After I take a second to collect myself, I realize the person standing in front of us is Joe Hamada, our litigation attorney and one of the top lawyers at the firm.
With his tall stature, sturdy build, and salt-and-pepper hair, he’s a super intimidating guy.
I steer clear of him because he’s the type who is always busy, and because of that he doesn’t have the time to be inconvenienced.
Plus, his usual assistant is out for the day for a family emergency, so he must be extra annoyed.
He, like me, tends to avoid contact with the rest of the office, but in my case, I avoid other people while other people avoid him .
Aashiq, however, has no concern for work politics. He gives Joe a friendly nod. “Hey, Joe!” he says. “What are you doing here? I thought it was just me and Ziya in the office today.”
Joe returns Aashiq’s zeal with wrinkled brows. “I was popping in and out,” he explains quickly. “When I came in, there was no one at the front desk, so I assumed you were taking a break.”
“Where are you headed, then?” Aashiq asks.
I wait for irritation to bleed into Joe’s expression, but his face remains shockingly neutral. “I’m on my way to court for a contract dispute between a realty company and our client,” he replies.
“Oh, nice,” Aashiq replies, then gestures over at me. “Can Ziya tag along? I know your assistant isn’t here today, so she could help you out.”
My jaw drops. I’m about to protest when Joe says, “Sure, that’d be a big help, actually.”
“I can’t,” I insist. “I have to stay at the desk.”
“Everything’s been dead quiet here today,” Aashiq reminds me. “Plus, I can watch over things. I’ve been shadowing you long enough to know what to do.” He nudges me in the side. “Besides, it’s good to get out of the office once in a while.”
Given the fact that the one time I let Aashiq answer the phone he told the client not to forget to chase their dreams, it’s not exactly an appealing idea to leave him alone.
But I did promise I’d give him more responsibility, and tagging along with Joe does seem more fun than sitting around here.
There are only a few hours left of the workday, anyway.
Despite my initial hesitation, I say, “Sounds like fun.”
* * *
I immediately regret my decision the second we’re in Joe’s car.
There’s nothing wrong with the car; it’s a white BMW with a beige interior, and while I think it’s impractical to own a car in Brooklyn, it’s nice to travel somewhere without having to fight for a spot to sit down.
It’s also clean, with no fast-food wrappers or stray papers lying around.
The reason I’m kicking myself is because of the awkward silence that engulfs the car. I don’t know why I thought this might be fun, because I’ve spoken a handful of sentences to Joe since I started this job, and they were all along the lines of “hello” and “goodbye.”
I tap my fingers along my lap. Joe turned on the heat as soon as we got into the car, so the only sound for a long time is the whoosh of air that warms our faces.
I’m rarely in a car, so driving on the road feels foreign.
We go under a bridge, which reminds me how New York is just a place that built itself on top of itself.
It’s about 3 p.m., so while it’s not dark outside yet, the sun is well on its way to its descent.
The sharp brightness of the day is slowly shifting into a golden yellow, which in turn makes the light layer of snow on the ground shine.
We pass tall redbrick apartment buildings, and if you look quick enough, you can see people in the windows.
It’s a wonder, in a way. Those strangers have whole lives of their own: jobs they adore, loves they’ve lost, family they hold dear, friends they’ve cut off.
When we peek at those people in the windows, or they gaze down at us on the road, we only get a glimpse of someone else’s life.
Someone who has their own path, their own story that, for a brief millisecond, intertwines with ours.
Huh. Maybe Aashiq is on to something about the allure of strangers.
Joe raps his knuckles against the steering wheel. We’ve been driving for about ten minutes, and I guess the quiet has finally gotten to him, too, because he opens his mouth. “So,” he drawls, “how long have you been with the firm?”
How would a main character handle this? My instinct is to see this as an insult because Joe’s been at the firm for like fifteen years, so he should have noticed when I started, but honestly, we interact so rarely I don’t blame him for not knowing.
And a main character wouldn’t intentionally antagonize someone trying to be nice. “About six years,” I answer.
His eyes widen. “Wow, really? That’s…quite a long time. I thought you’d been here six months, a year max.”
I snort, though quickly cover it up because he’s a big shot lawyer. “Well, you’re usually too busy to notice things. You handle big-time clients and I answer the phone. We’re at two opposite ends of the food chain.”
“Hey, if you weren’t there to answer the phone, our schedules would be all over the place,” he says. “You do important work, too.”
“Huh,” I muse aloud. “I never thought I’d hear that from you.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“You’re all buddy-buddy with Colin. Sometimes I feel like he doesn’t value the work I do.” I pause, then grimace. “But please don’t tell him I said that.”
To my surprise, Joe chuckles. “Don’t worry, I won’t.
I’m very familiar with how highly Colin thinks of himself.
Lawyers like us, who have been in the business for decades, tend to be like that.
I try to be more friendly and personable with everyone I work with.
” He flashes me a rueful smile. “Though I guess I haven’t been doing a very good job with some people. ”
I give him a weak shrug in return because what am I supposed to say to that? Yeah, you’re actually a jerk for not knowing the minute details of all your coworkers?
I prepare for another long bout of silence when Joe suddenly says, “So… I hear you’re a writer?”
My stomach sinks like I swallowed hot rocks. If this is his way of making up for the fact that he’s bad at mingling with his coworkers, then I’d be happy if he forgets my name. “Where did you hear that?” I squeak.
“Some of the others were talking about it in the lunchroom,” he explains. The panic must be plastered on my face, because he quickly adds, “Oh, no, they all only had nice things to say! They think it’s amazing. I imagine writing a book is very hard.”
The tension in my brows loosens slightly. “Yeah, it is,” I acknowledge. “It’s not as easy as they make it out to be on TV.”
“How many books have you written, if I may ask?”
“A few.”
“Are any of them published?”
“No,” I admit, shifting uneasily in my seat. “But I’m working on it. It’s a slow process.”
“Like law is a slow process?” he asks.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“I have to say, I admire you for pursuing two careers that require a lot of patience,” he states, and the awe seeps through in his tone. “Do you mind if I ask how you ended up in law if you want to be a writer?”
“Um…” I hum. I lift a shoulder. “I guess growing up, I always loved writing, but everyone around me told me it wasn’t a realistic full-time career.
If anything, it should be a side hustle.
And writing isn’t necessarily something you need to go to school for—it’s the kind of skill that can be cultivated with lots of consistent practice.
” I’m about to leave it at that, but the rapt attention from Joe’s glances prompts me to continue.
“In high school, I wanted to take a cooking class, but the class filled up before I could enroll, so my guidance counselor put me in a law class instead. I ended up enjoying it, so I decided to study it in university. I didn’t know if I wanted to be a lawyer at the time, though.
I started reading up on the LSATs, and during that time I found an opportunity to work here as a legal secretary, so I did the online certificate.
I decided I liked it and ultimately didn’t take the LSATs.
Recently, though, I’ve been thinking about maybe becoming a paralegal… but I don’t know.”
“Why not?” Joe presses.