All of Me

by Emily Duvall

  “I thought Caleb was different than other men.”

  “Are the two of you hanging out?”

  “Not anymore. All because of work. He wants to ask me questions about one of his clients for a case he’s defending.”

  “He wants you to be a witness?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. That does sound tricky. Will you talk to him?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Doctor K shifts. She’s a bit squirmy today. “Maren, if he wants you as a witness, you might have to tell him. The court will have the final say. Is there anything you want to talk about from that night? Did something happen?”

  Shame, heat, regret climb up my cheeks. Flashbacks of that night haunt me now, even in the serene, light office. Mr. Pierce standing in front of the car. The bottle of alcohol in his hand…the hateful tremor in his voice…piercing eyes staring back at me the second he realized he wasn’t alone. “No,” I say emphatically.

  “Are you afraid Caleb won’t like you anymore if you what you have to say doesn’t go well for his case?”

  Doctor K threw my fear at me like a fastball, hitting me directly in the stomach. I can handle keeping Pierce’s threats inside me, but to lose Caleb because of that night makes me hate him all the more. “Yes.”

  “Maren,” her voice is soft and motherly, “that is okay to admit. You are in a tough position, honoring Caleb’s wishes and setting boundaries in this situation is critical. His job is his priority at the moment. Sometimes relationships take a back seat, but if something else happened that night or if you’ve been hurt. You need to tell someone. Caleb might not be that person, given his work.”

  “I’m not hurt,” I shout.

  “You’re upset though.”

  “Yes. I am. There’s just…so much going on. My parents had me tour this group home.” Automatically, my hands clench. “They come into town and disrupt my routine. They tell me what to do. They get in the way. They pick out my meals. They watch their television shows. I graduated college. I work. I pay my rent. What more must I do to show them I am living on my own?”

  “Have you told them how you feel?”

  “They even tell me how to do that.” My hand raises and drops with a thud on my leg.

  “You’re right to feel the way you do. They’ve been with you since you were born. Change can be challenging. People realize they’re not needed in the way they once were. I’ve toured some of these new communities, they’re not for people with medical needs or what we used to think of as homes for people who are dependent. They’re high-concept, like for someone who is antisocial, or like an artist’s colony, or for video game lovers. No one really knows how these living arrangements will do long term. They could be a trend, or they could be more.”

  “Do you think I need it?”

  She purses her lips. “Do you think you need more support?”

  “Not another question, please. Stop being a therapist. This one time tell me what you think.”

  Her lips part in hesitation. “Everyone has problems, Maren. And everyone has choices. There are a lot of people out there who struggle. Some would say you’re a late social bloomer. I don’t see Autism when we meet. I see a woman struggling to shed a label. Sometimes diagnoses and labels are good, like when you were younger, and your parents needed to qualify you for services, and other times, the world can get caught up in defining you just by that. What’s important is to ask yourself if you are happy living on your own. You get to choose how you feel.”

  A tear plops from my eye and crashes on the back of my hand. “I think I can be happy. I’m still trying though.”

  “There is no time limit,” she says encouragingly, glancing at the clock on the wall behind me. “Think about what you want this week.”

  Her words are with me after I leave the session. My brain is fried. Maybe the weekly sessions are too much. Two times a month meeting with her might be better.

  After seeing Doctor K, I go to the grocery store.

  I move through the aisles taking in the variety of cereal boxes. There are eighty-two different brands. I can’t think of the last time I ate the stuff. The box with marshmallows and strawberries is appealing. I’ll give that a go in the morning, without the milk.

  There’s something else bugging me. Doctor K had mentioned the court can make me talk on behalf of the defense. Sharing the story for the first time in a room full of strangers would be like walking through a forest fire. It sounds awful. Paul Pierce is an evil man. He’s not good. How can I be on his side? I can’t, which means I can’t be what Caleb needs me to be.

  I take my phone out and stare at the screen. The number from that other lawyer, Dana, is in my recent calls, though I haven’t called her back. What if Paul Pierce finds outs? I look over my shoulder. What if he’s following me? What if I’m in the courtroom and he tracks me down and kills me right there in front of everyone? I don’t know what to do. My phone is gripped between my fingers and I dial her number.

  “This is Dana,” comes the crisp voice.

  “Hi, this is Maren—Maren Cole.”

  “Yes, hello. I was beginning to think you haven’t gotten my messages. I am the lead prosecutor for this case involving Mr. Pierce, and, after watching video footage from the night in question, my team would like to interview you as a possible witness.”

  “Caleb Allan has been asking me to do the same.”

  There’s a long pause. “And have you spoken to him?”

  “No. I can’t. I won’t. I saw something that night, Ms. Rosenthal, and I am ready to talk.”

  “Well,” her voice is piqued, “you have called the right person. I must ask though, why you haven’t come forward sooner?”

  My eyes glance around the aisle. A young man is coming toward me with his shopping cart. “I just haven’t.”

  “Come to my office Monday morning. Nine o’clock. Does that work?”

  “I’ll get to skip my weekly meeting, so yes.”

  “Good. In the meantime, I would like to request that you refrain from speaking to Mr. Allan about the case. He will be able to still interview you, but if you’re with us, then we get first crack at your testimony.”

  She runs through a few logistics and ends the call. No sooner do I put my phone in my pocket and the ringer goes off. The number isn’t one I recognize. I answer. “Hello?”

  “My name is Jane Harper, I am calling on behalf of the partners at Hockley and Lyon law firm. I’m calling about an event that happened last fall Pierce’s bar. Are you familiar with that business?”

  My hand hardens around the phone. “Yes.”

  “We would like to interview you as a possible witness for the defense.”

  “I am already meeting with Ms. Rosenthal and she told me not to talk to you.”

  “She can’t make you stay away from us, and we would like to ask you a few questions.”

  “I want to speak with Caleb.”

  “Caleb Allan?” She pauses. “He’s busy.”

  “What am I supposed to do about the case?”

  “We will reach out to Ms. Rosenthal and I will be in touch.”

  Jane is off the call and I stare blankly at the rows of muffin and cake mixes. Some guy is in my way. I reach across him to get the box of muffin mix. I make eye contact with him and he looks at me. “Apple’s by far the best,” I explain.

  “A solid choice,” he says, stretching his arm in front of me and snags the box. “Pardon me, you’re in front of the one I need.”

  I look at the cake mix he selected. “Strawberry swirl?”

  He grins self-consciously. “For my daughter.”

  “How old is she?”

  “She’ll be ten this weekend.”

  “I remember being ten. That was fun. Does she get a birthday party?”

  “She’s having some friends over. Her mother and I don’t live together anymore. I’m still a father, you know? This is my daughter’s favorite flavor.”

  “Are you divorced?�
�

  “We’re separated.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  He laughs. His teeth aren’t precision straight like Caleb’s. One of his incisors is crooked. “I guess they’re one in the same. We’re committed to not being together.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  The smile wavers. “Yeah, it is.” He sticks out his hand. “I’m Andy.”

  I put my hand in his and shake. “Maren.”

  “I live in D.C., but I work over here. Thought I’d pick up the cake before I head home.”

  “That’s nice.” I turn my back to him and push my cart away.

  “Hey, wait. Maren. That’s it?”

  I stop the cart and look over my shoulder. “Do you have another question?”

  His hand grabs the cart’s handle. “I’d like to see you again.”

  “Are you asking me out?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe. Ahh.” He runs his hand through his wavy blond hair. “Sorry, I’m not great at this. I haven’t asked anyone out in years. I thought this would be easy. I’m sure this is strange, asking for a date when we don’t know each other.” The overhead speakers blare and interrupt our conversation.

  “We need assistance at the bakery,” the voice booms over the mic. Music begins again, and Andy looks to me.

  “As I was saying, I’m a father. I work, pay my bills, and I live a quiet life. I haven’t lived with my soon-to-be-ex-wife in close to a year. I have great friends, I can give you their numbers if you want to call and check with them. And I’ve never picked up a woman in a grocery store.”

  I shrug. There’s no excitement like there is with Caleb, but he’s not here. He didn’t pick me. “No one’s ever asked me out in a grocery store either. This is a first for both of us.”

  Andy laughs and takes out his phone. “Is that a yes?”

  “It’s a yes.” I smile.

  “Give me your number and I’ll send you a text, so you have mine.”

  We exchange numbers. Electricity charges through me. I’m what they call hot shit.

  The high I’m on stays with me for the rest of the shopping trip and when I get home. I go on a binge and play Countess Coins for four hours straight and crawl into bed. I put on my white noise machine, close the blinds, and consider this one of the most successful days I’ve had in forever.

  Andy doesn’t make me wait long. Sunday morning he calls. “Do you want to meet up for dinner tomorrow night? I can meet you after I get off work.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I’m a network engineer at RAD Systems.”

  “Never heard of your company.”

  “Not many people have. Do you have a place in mind?” I list a couple of restaurants I like, and he agrees to meet me at the noodle place.

  My mother has what’s called a sixth sense. She calls almost immediately after I hang up. “I can’t talk,” I inform her, I’m processing my good fortune of having a man other than Caleb ask me out.

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “I’ve got a date tomorrow.”

  “Charlotte? Caleb?”

  “His name is Andy.”

  “Hmm, Andy,” she repeats his name with a touch of disapproval. “Never met anyone named Andy. Do I know him?”

  “No, you don’t. I met him at the grocery store.”

  There’s a crash and a string of expletives. “Where are you going with him?”

  “Out to dinner. What was that?”

  “I dropped a plate. You don’t know this man. This isn’t a good idea. I know you want to meet someone, but in the grocery store?”

  “He’s separated from his wife. He’s got a daughter. He has a job and friends. I think he’s nice looking. Not handsome, or maybe he is. I’m not sure I remember what he looks like.”

  “What if he’s not a good person?”

  “He was nice.”

  Another long breath. I’m certain she’s pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want you to be disappointed if this goes nowhere. Libby told me about Caleb and his date with Sara. I didn’t realize the two of you were hanging out.”

  Caleb’s name is like a sharp object through my heart. “We were,” I say coldly. A tear slips out of my eye and I no longer want to be on the phone with my mom. “I have to go.” My voice is raw and wipe the tear with the back of my hand. Caleb is a reminder of what could go wrong. Dating is so hard. What if Andy doesn’t like me? What if ten Andy’s don’t like me? I wish Caleb was here. He would make this easy.

  I open my laptop and pull up the screen, typing the phrase, ‘Things Never to Discuss on a First Date.’ The results are astounding and ranked in order of importance. Apparently, other people ask the same question.

  The Ex (No talking about Caleb)

  Money (Seems a bit silly not to discuss)

  Politics/Religion (I don’t believe in either)

  Marriage (Ridiculous, every man wants to know his future)

  Sex (I disagree)

  I log these conversation faux pas in my brain and later, I stand in front of the mirror practicing asking questions that aren’t on this master list of first date etiquette.

  Monday morning begins with the meeting at Ms. Rosenthal’s office. I meet with her and one other staff member in a small conference room. She listens intently to what I have to say and asks questions every chance she gets. After listening to my story, she pulls me aside.

  Her hair is at her shoulders and her eyes remind me of a hawk’s. “Maren,” she says, once her assistant is gone. “I want you to know that Mr. Allan has a right to hear what you have to say. I’ve spoken to him, and we’ve come to an understanding. He would like to meet with you and I agree.”

  “But what if I don’t want to?”

  “I’m afraid he will get a judge to make sure you do.”

  “You want me to tell him what I just told you?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “Why? Doesn’t that ruin your case?”

  She pats my arm. “You let me do my job. You just get on the witness stand and tell the jury what you told me.”

  I don’t think I understand. Ms. Rosenthal ushers me out of the office and I’m left with getting to work around lunchtime. The rest of the day goes by slow. I count down the time until I get to meet Andy.

  I leave on time, only to find out Andy’s running late. There’s not enough time for me to return to my apartment and I can’t ride the Metro up and down the line for fun. Instead, I opt to do something I’ve never done before. I go back to the coffee shop and try something different.

  The bakery is close to where Andy and I will meet. I hover in front of the cash register. The same guy from the last time I was here is taking orders. “I didn’t like the peppermint mocha,” I say, stepping up to the counter.

  He nods and points to the menu. His hair is slightly curly and there’s acne on his jaw. “That’s okay. What’s your flavor profile?”

  “I don’t have one,” I say.

  “Sweet or salty? Cold or hot? Any allergies?”

  “Sweet and cold and I don’t want too much of a caffeine taste.”

  “I recommend the caramel vanilla mocha with whip cream and we’ll do half a shot.”

  “I’ll have that,” I say and pay for the drink.

  He leaves his post at the register and gets to work. When he returns, he hands me the order. “Enjoy.”

  My lips meet the cool liquid. Oh. My. God. This is delicious. I down the drink like a pixie stick and toss the cup in the trash.

  He gives me a thumbs up from behind the counter.

  I’m suddenly walking fast out of the bakery. My heart is sprinting. My hands are flapping. I walk right past Andy and back up, smiling. “You made it,” I say. The hair on his head is thicker and lighter than I remember.

  “Maren,” he says giving me a bear hug. He smells like fresh cut grass and summer nights. “I thought you were going walk right past me. I didn’t know if you’d recognize me.”

  “I forgot what you l
ooked like,” I say loudly.

  He looks around and chuckles. “You don’t need to shout.”

  “Sorry, I just had this incredible coffee drink. My heart is palpitating.”

  “Ah. Bit of a caffeine rush? Maybe we can hit up a coffee bar for another cup later?” The grin on his face widens and he elbows me. “Assuming dinner goes well.”

  My mother’s voice is in my head. “Why wouldn’t dinner go well?” I say defensively. “I haven’t brought up my ex or marriage or sex.”

  He runs his hand down the braid I worked on during a corporate video training. “I hope you don’t think you need rules for tonight. There are none. Let’s have dinner and get to know each other. You can ask me anything you want. My daughter, Savanah, would love to learn how to braid.”

  “She should take a class.”

  “Or someone could teach her.” He opens the door and we step inside the restaurant. “I shouldn’t tell you how I nervous I am.”

  “You should. Expressing that is more likely to make me comfortable. I read that.” My eyes take in the place and eventually, find my gaze meeting his. Maps of Georgia come to mind. “You named your daughter after a city?”

  Chapter 20

  Caleb

  The period of discovery is coming to an end, which means the case is going to move forward. The hearings have been conducted, and, my team is finishing up interviews for the witnesses. I have Libby’s testimony and a handful of other witnesses in the bar, plus the bartenders. I don’t want to put Paul on the stand, but if I need to, he’ll only corroborate what his employees say. Thanks to a phone call with Dana, Maren is arriving any minute and my stomach is up in arms over what she’s going to say. There’s a huge question mark around her testimony and the sheer joy in Dana’s voice when we spoke. That can’t be a good sign.

  My opening argument is on draft five and Darcy probably could have made a better persuasive first line. I highlight the text and delete the entire paragraph. What is with me? I know what’s with me, that’s a joke if I think I can lie to myself about this one.

  I tell myself Maren is any another witness. This is just a step in the legal process. Nothing is special or different. Now is the most inconvenient time for me to think about kissing Maren or about the dreams I’ve been having about her that leave me hard in the morning. I look at the piece of paper with Doctor K’s phone number. Yeah, won’t need that. I crumple the note and put it in my pocket. I don’t want anyone snooping around my office and thinking I need therapy.