by E. J. Noyes
“What about them? And what about me?”
“Weisman was being a prick about a bisexual client of mine who of course I can’t say is bisexual because her soon-to-be ex is also a prick, and it may have slipped out accidentally on purpose that I couldn’t meet with him partly because he’s an ass and partly because I had to go to a wedding planning session for my sister.” I gulped coffee. “And my shoe, I think it was the morning after I came around for dinner, this woman broke my shoe in the lobby.”
“How’d she break your shoe?” Sabs studied her bowls, a forefinger moving over them as if counting.
“By charging into me and pushing me over. I twisted my foot and broke the heel of my shoe.”
“But that’s you breaking it, not her.”
“Well it wouldn’t have been broken if she hadn’t shoved me and made me lose my balance.”
“Yeah but she didn’t grab your shoe and snap it, did she?”
“Fine, for fuck’s sake. It was a mutual breaking of my shoe. Better?” At her smug confirmatory nod, I continued, “What I was trying to say is after the shoe became broken, we had coffee before work.”
Both eyebrows hiked up. “That’s…really great, Jannie. Good for you drinking coffee.”
I flicked the dishtowel at her. “If you’d listen for three seconds instead of interrupting, then I’d be able to tell you that I think I made a friend. Sort of.”
Sabine nodded, almost absently moving pieces of red pepper from a bowl to her mouth. “A friend! How exciting!” Grinning, she moved to the side, anticipating my second dishtowel strike.
“Bitch. I thought you’d be happy for me, that’s all. I’m out making new friends instead of…withering away buried under a pile of work, wasn’t that the phrasing you used earlier this week?”
“I may have said something to that effect, yes. But I was talking about relationships, not friendships.”
“Oh. Whatever. Look, my point is that it was weird because I wanted to throttle her that morning but when I saw her in the afternoon it was this feeling of almost instant comfort, like we’d been friends for ages. And it’s weird, but also nice.”
She made a hmming sound of agreement. “Some people are just like that, like Mitch. How was your date last night?” Even after all this time, she always asked about my dates if I didn’t bring them up, which I didn’t unless they were sensational.
“Meh.” I directed strawberries into the bowl. “Great guy, but for someone else. Just no spark. And he has straight hair so that kind of struck him off the list anyway even if there had been any real attraction.” Sabine and I both had thick, ultra-straight hair, and as a kid I’d hated it. Thankfully in my late teens, I’d discovered great haircuts and styling, but why would I want to inflict unwanted coiffure upset on my potential offspring?
“You are fucking unbelievable. Seriously? Even if you’d liked him you would have canned him because of his hair?”
“What? Is it wrong to want good genes for my hypothetical children?”
She gawped, letting out a choked kind of splutter. “What do you think would have happened if our parents had done that? Like Dad decided he wanted his hypothetical daughters to have bigger breasts, and Mom was worried about early onset gray hair in her kids? We wouldn’t be here. Seriously. I’ve never met anyone as picky as you. Actually, this is beyond picky, Jana.”
But was it really picky? “Honestly, I’m not sure I would complain if my hypothetical not-mom gave me her genetic C’s instead of these A’s. And as for the early onset gray? Ain’t no gray in these luscious locks. That’s all you, Sabs, not me.”
She grunted, and I chose not to push because I had the sudden awareness that the timing of her gray hair after The Incident was likely more stress than science. Sabs opened the egg carton. “Proves my point. Even with genetics, nothing is assured. You’re taking a possibility and turning it into a certainty. This whole thing goes way beyond not finding a person physically attractive.”
I huffed. “Whatever. If it was the right person, then these little things wouldn’t matter.”
“Sure, but sometimes you have to compromise to get to the right person instead of writing everyone off so early. You don’t give some of these guys a chance at all.”
I raised both hands. “I know, and I agree with you there. But if you compromise in the early stages, you’re giving up the fundamental things that you know will make you happy or fulfilled or whatever before you’ve even started a relationship. That just leaves you with shitty foundations.”
Sabs started cracking eggs into yet another bowl. Cooking with her was a study in excessive washing up. “Remind me again why I debate things with you?”
“Because you always seem to forget that I get paid to argue and negotiate for what I want, and I get paid to win. And I’ve always been fabulous at it.” I nudged Sabs in the ribs. “And maybe, just maaaybe you like letting me be better than you at something.” Smiling, I popped a piece of melon into my mouth. “Seriously though, doesn’t Bec do shit that drives you absolutely insane? Does she not have things that if they were anyone else’s then it’d make you tick the no-fucking-way box? But because on the whole, Bec is Bec and she’s awesome, it doesn’t matter.”
“Ehh, yeah, she does,” my sister conceded. “And yes, she is awesome.” The smile was automatic as always when she talked about Rebecca.
“Right, so you ignore those things, because you love her. Because she’s the one for you. Why is it so wrong when I’m looking for something like that?”
“It’s not wrong, Jannie. I just want you to find your awesome person.”
“What’s an awesome person?” came the sleepy mumble from behind us.
“You are,” me and Sabs answered together.
Bec rubbed her neck, rolling her shoulders. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. Good morning, Jana. Morning, darling.” She settled her glasses on her nose then crossed to Sabs, pulling my sister’s face down so she could kiss her. “What are you two talking about?”
Sabine got in before me. Mmmph, shithead. “Just the usual. Jana being so picky she could hire herself out as quality control manager for the Queen of England.”
Rise above, rise above. I turned slowly and shot her my best withering stare. Then stuck my tongue out and added double raised middle fingers for good measure. This refrain felt as old as me, and I secretly adored knowing I could push her buttons with something as innocuous as being ultra-choosy about relationships.
Sabs laughed and Bec joined in with a low chuckle. My older sister strode over and scooped me up into a hug. “God I love you. Now make us some mimosas please.”
Chapter Five
After dumping my things in my office, saying hellos and catching up with my office staff on their weekend activities and getting an update on what had already happened work-wise that morning, I made my way to the elevators. Time for a hit of sanity-reviving coffee. I slipped into the café and was immediately enveloped by the wonderful combination of the aroma of coffee, pastries, and cooked breakfasts, and a crowd big enough to recharge my extrovert batteries until the afternoon. Near the counter was Brooke, who spotted me a few seconds after I’d recognized her.
Though her smile was instant, bright and appealing, her wave was strangely tentative. My own smile was automatic as my reaction of pleased to see her registered. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” I blurted.
Her eyes widened, mouth working open and closed until she mumbled, “Oh, really? Sorry, I just, uh, you know…” She took a step backward, and everything from her body language to her expression made me think of a dog who’d just been punished for being too friendly.
I grabbed her hand to halt her retreat, wondering if my joking tone hadn’t been as clear as I’d thought. “Shit, Brooke, I’m sorry. It was a stupid joke, like you know how in every romance movie ever, they bump into each other randomly and it’s always that coy thing of ha-ha of course this is totally a coincidence…not. Never mind, ignore me, sometim
es my funnies are funnier in my brain than they are out in the world and I forget that not everyone has a weird sense of humor.” I sucked in a breath, smiled and made another, less idiotic attempt. “Let me try again. Hi, Brooke, it’s really great to see you.”
Her stiffness dissipated along with that kicked-puppy expression. “Hi, great to see you too. In this totally coincidentally, non-planned, non-stalkerish kind of way,” she added dryly.
I couldn’t help laughing at the deadpan comeback. “Of course. So are you late for your first coffee or early for your second?” I extracted cash and my loyalty card from my purse and joined the back of the line, pleased when Brooke followed.
She raised her cup. “Early for my second. Monday,” she said, as if that explained it.
It did. “Amen,” I muttered. “How was your weekend?”
“Busy, good. You?”
“Also busy, and also good.”
My phone rang and I considered ignoring it until I saw the office number. “Sorry, have to grab this.” I swiped and answered, “Jana Fleischer.”
“Ms. Fleischer, it’s Kelly. Just a quick one, Michelle Denham called to say she’s been caught up with a childcare snafu, and she’s going to be fifteen minutes or so late for your nine-thirty meeting. Massive apologies, and also tears.”
“Sure, no problem.” I didn’t even need to ask if our receptionist had assured my going-to-be-late client that everything was fine and I’d be ready when she made it in.
Kendrick, Weston and Fleischer prided itself on being what my mentor, Ollie Kendrick, had referred to as client-oriented. Mostly it just meant we weren’t assholes to those already going through what would be one of the toughest periods of their life. I always scheduled client meetings with a buffer to give me time to consolidate our discussion. If need be I’d absorb any run-over time by shortening my lunch break, as I’d done numerous times for clients who’d been caught by the demands of motherhood, fatherhood, or working parent duties.
I offered Brooke another apology for taking a work call during a personal conversation, and picked up where we’d left off. “So, your busy weekend. Did you get any arty stuff done?” We shuffled forward a few steps in line.
“Actually, yeah I did. I even started a new piece, which I’m really excited about. A metalwork sculpture,” she elaborated as if she knew me opening my mouth meant I was about to ask.
“Sounds amazing. I’d like to see more of your work sometime if you ever feel like sharing.”
Her eyes grew comically wide. “I uh, yeah I don’t mind sharing, but it’s probably not um, not the sort of stuff I think you’d be interested in.” After clearing her throat, Brooke deftly changed the subject. “How’s your day looking?”
“Well my morning just gained an extra fifteen minutes, so…yay for me I guess?”
“Nice. Use those minutes wisely,” was her sage advice.
“I intend to. How about you? Or shouldn’t I ask given the need for your second coffee so soon?”
She raised a shoulder, the shrug seeming more forced than casual. “Came in this morning to an abusive email from a fresh-out-of-school engineer who is adamant the design for the new apartment building my father’s planning in Laurel won’t work, but unfortunately he’s adamant because he’s totally misread the drawings. Now I’m going to have to find time to either go to his office or have him come to mine so I can teach him how to do his job. I have a thousand super urgent things to deal with, and a call with a construction foreman scheduled right when I should be eating lunch, because my father who should be dealing with it is off scouting development sites. So…yeah, not great so far.” She looked so forlorn that I almost hugged her, but before I could, she raised her coffee to her mouth, which negated any hugging.
I decided on a gentle, supportive forearm squeeze. “Ouch. I’m sorry. That’s a fucked-up way to start a week.”
“Yeah.” Brooke glanced down at my hand as I withdrew it. “I think today is going to be a drink five coffees, eat chocolate constantly and do the very childish thing of ignoring as much of my work shit for as long as I can kind of day.”
I nodded my approval of her coping mechanism. “Good plan. So, this artwork? Is it a big or little sculpture?”
She paused, blushed, and after brushing flyaway hair from her cheek answered, “Uh, life-sized-ish. I’ve had some materials lying around just begging for inspiration, which finally hit me last week.” Brooke nudged my arm gently and indicated that it was time to move forward in the line.
“Does it usually happen that way? Like a bolt of ideas out of the blue? Or is it more meticulous planning before you start?” I wasn’t surprised to find that I cared about how she made her art. Artists fascinated me, mostly because my creative streak was limited to decorating my condo and repainting walls whenever I grew sick of the color.
“Bit of both, probably mostly planning in advance. Actually I think this is the first time I’ve just tripped over an idea like this and gone straight to work on it and had it come together.”
“Well, I hope you can get home early to get to work on it some more.”
“Me too.” Brooke gestured to the counter. “On that note, you’re almost up. I’ll leave you to it, and I’d better get back to staring aimlessly at my drafting table and monitor, and metaphorically tearing my hair out. Enjoy your day, Jana.”
“I will. And hopefully yours…doesn’t get any worse?”
At that she laughed. “Thanks.” Then she backed up a few steps, turned and walked off.
I watched her departing, aware of a sudden strange sense in the pit of my stomach and knowing right away what caused it. Brooke had been friendly and funny, but there was also an undercurrent of weariness and what seemed like dissatisfaction that went beyond a usual work is shitty at the moment vibe. Oddly enough, the thought of her unhappiness bothered me. Benevolent Jana is in the building.
“Ma’am? Can I help you?”
“Hmm? Sorry? Oh. Right, coffee. Uh, I’ll grab a, um…grande double-shot hazelnut latte thanks.” I glanced over my shoulder across the lobby to the bank of elevators. But Brooke was gone.
As anticipated, my meeting with Michelle Denham ran over time, and after I’d escorted her out to the elevator, I sat down with my meeting notes to work out how we were going to tackle this one. She still wanted to avoid court if at all possible, which was fine by me, but her estranged husband was pushing for the whole shebang—court, drawn-out arguments, custody hearings and bunches of upset and annoyance and a whole lot of money. His insistence on being a stubborn ass was making it very challenging to keep the matter easy for my client. My gut told me the only reason he was doing it was to be a bastard to his soon-to-be-ex-wife.
I made a note to call Joseph Weisman yet again to see if together we couldn’t push Mr. Denham in the right direction. I rated my chance of success at about seventy percent. My thoughts drifted all over the place like a driverless car. Mostly they kept running up onto the Brooke-curb. During our short friendship—was it friendship yet?—every one of our interactions had been easy, fun, and slightly teasing. This morning had been that, but it’d also been laced with that weird upset vibe. The only time she’d seemed truly enthusiastic was when she’d first spotted me, and then talking about her sculpture.
Unsure as to why I even cared and then deciding I didn’t care why, I thought about what I could do to make her day a little easier. Oma had drilled into Sabine and me repeatedly as kids—you don’t need an excuse to be kind. I couldn’t spring Brooke from work so she could go home to art, but I could prop her up with a chocolate stash.
Our receptionist had passed my door less than thirty seconds ago, and I took a chance she was still in earshot. “Kelly!”
A few moments later she appeared, a hand on the doorframe as she leaned in. “Yes?”
“If you’re not busy, can you please duck out to the French bakery and pick up a few things for me?”
“Sure. What am I getting?”
“My lunch plea
se and also some tasty, mood-boosting stuff. Something decadent and chocolate, éclairs or truffles, chocolate tarts or maybe even brownies?”
“No worries. And how many people need this mood boost?”
I grinned, and told her truthfully, “Everyone probably, but can you get one box of a few fabulous things just for one person, and then grab a bunch of somethings for the office staff? Cupcakes, cookies, pastries, whatever you think. I trust your choco-judgment.” I rummaged in my purse and pulled out a fifty for her.
“Can do. And just your usual for lunch?”
“Please. Thank you.” I tried to bring lunch with me most days, but every now and then I caved and sent Kelly for a fresh salad or sandwich or greasy soul-pleasing takeout. “Oh, and can you please ask Erin to come in when she’s got a free moment? I need her to draft something for me. If Belinda’s around, have her tag along too and learn from the best writer in the biz.”
“Will do. Back soon.” She saluted me with the cash then left me to my notes.
A knock on my partially closed door startled me from work, and it was only when I glanced at the time that I realized it was well past one. Score a point for getting so absorbed in work that the day races by. Kelly carefully set a small white bakery box on my desk, along with a sandwich and plastic cup of what was probably iced tea. Bless her.
“The rest of the bakery treats are in the break room but I don’t think they’re going to last long. Mr. Weston spotted them as I came in.”
“Ah, well then they’re probably history already.” Will’s sweet tooth was legendary, and he’d been known to come groveling to me midafternoon in the hope I had some chocolate or candy stashed in my drawer. I usually did, kept there just for him because it’d only taken me a few months at the firm to learn how unbearable low-blood-sugar Will was.
I opened the box holding Brooke’s dessert rescue, and carefully wrote on the inner surface of the lid.
