I shake my head no.
Josh gives me a steely look. “They’re pure evil. Worse than fucking Hitler.”
“Why?” I ask. Do the CEOs eat pork?
“They’re a New York based company, but they’ve got their hands in everything,” Josh explains. “Right now, they’re one of the largest suppliers of pork to supermarkets in the whole country. And they don’t give a shit what they have to do to meet those demands.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Where do we begin?” Reid snorts. “First of all the ammonia levels coming from their factories is completely unregulated and way above what it should be. It’s toxic to people and animals. On top of that, their waste management is completely inadequate.”
“One of Hanford’s facilities makes as much shit as a small city,” Josh says. “And they don’t do anything to dispose of it. They just make these huge shit piles.” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen pictures of it. The shit piles. It’s disgusting.”
“That’s awful,” I murmur.
“And that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Reid tells me. “The conditions those pigs are forced to live in is nothing short of abuse. They’re kept in crates for their entire lives where they can’t even turn around.”
“They cut off the piglets’ tails with dull clippers,” Josh tells me. “You know why? Because when pigs are stressed out, they start showing bizarre behavior like biting off tails. So they chop off the tails and then use pliers to break off the ends of their teeth to keep them from doing it. Can you imagine?”
Reid nods. “And the mother pigs do nothing but birth baby after baby until her uterus prolapses. And probably kills her.”
My stomach turns as images of animals being tortured materialize in my brain. “That doesn’t really happen.”
“You bet your ass it does,” Josh assures me.
Despite the fact that I love ham and bacon, I feel my eyes filing up with tears. The thought of any animal being treated so cruelly makes me feel incredibly sad. How could a human being treat another living creature that way?
At that moment, our waitress arrives with our heaping plates of food. I look down at the strips of beef on my plate and I feel sick. I don’t know why I always assumed the animals that ended up on my plate were treated with respect. Obviously, it was self-serving. All I can see now are screaming piglets having their tails chopped off. Or whatever terrible thing they do to cows, like… I don’t know, pinching their udders?
From within my purse, my phone buzzes with a text message. I grab it and see Will has sent me a message: “I think I’ll be done within the hour. Want to get burgers?”
Burgers. That’s one of my favorite things to eat. Was one of my favorite things to eat.
I text Will back: “Already eating with friends.”
I shove my phone deep into my purse, so I won’t be interrupted by any further text messages from Will. I don’t want them to think I’m one of those rude people who texts all through a meal. It’s bad enough they know I eat meat.
“So here’s the maddening part,” Reid says as he digs into the weird soupy mixture that was placed in front of him. “There was an injunction against the Hanford Corporation that was supposed to put a hold on their production, but they got some fancy, expensive lawyer that got it put on hold somehow. I don’t even understand it, but it was in the papers this morning that now they’re allowed to continue production until there’s an actual decision against them.”
“That’s terrible,” I breathe.
Josh takes a sip of his borscht, which drips down into his beard, turning the scraggly hairs slightly maroon. “We can’t let them get away with that. We’ve got to do something.”
Reid nods at his friend. “Josh was thinking maybe we should hold a public protest to raise awareness. Like a rally.”
“You should,” I say. “That sounds like a great idea.”
Reid’s face lights up. “So if we did that, you’d help out with the planning?”
I nod eagerly. “Of course. And I bet I know some other people who would like to get involved.” I push the beef to the side of my plate, trying to eat around it. “Like, some of my friends from the animal shelter would definitely want to help.”
“That would be awesome,” Reid says. He grins at me. “I knew you’d want to help out. I could tell you’re that kind of caring, compassionate person.”
I remember how when I first started biology class, I felt so excited about the whole thing. Then as the class wore on and all we learned about was plant sex, my enthusiasm died down. But now I’m feeling that excitement again. I really want to do this. It’s important. Maybe one of the most important things I’ve ever been a part of. This must be how Will feels when he’s working on a big case.
“Hey,” I say suddenly, dropping my fork on the plate. “You know, my fiancé is a lawyer. I bet he could totally help out. He knows everything about the law.”
Reid’s eyes narrow. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I’m not really a big fan of lawyers.”
“He’s not like that,” I insist. “He helps people out all the time and he doesn’t even charge them. The shelter was having some legal issue, and he fixed everything up in like one day.”
Reid is shaking his head, but Josh says, “That could be useful. We’ll let you know.”
I know Will would be totally psyched to help out with something like this. And it would be so great for the two of us to work on a project together for a change. I only hope he’s got time with this new, high publicity case hanging over his head.
Chapter 11
When I get home, Will is passed out on the sofa.
He’s got the Xbox controller next to him, which makes me think he tried to start up a game before exhaustion got the better of him. He looks so adorable, lying there in his wrinkled white shirt, the five o’clock shadow on his face, blowing air softly between his lips with each exhalation, Petunia curled up in the crook of his arm. Part of me wants to let him sleep, but he’s told me that it kills his back to sleep on the couch, and anyway, I think he’d want to see me.
I crouch down next to him, startling Petunia enough that she runs away. I lean forward to press my lips against his, and wait for him to stir. After a few seconds, his brown eyes flutter open and he smiles. “This is definitely the best way to wake up.”
He struggles to sit up on the couch. Even though he’s got stronger than average arms, pecs, and upper abdominal muscles, the fact that his legs and lower abdomen are paralyzed makes it harder for him to get into a sitting position. He rubs his eyes in the middle of the process, and I can’t help but notice that those damn purple circles are back. Saperstein and Hitchcock are working him ragged.
“How was dinner?” he asks me. Trying to sit up has set off a mild muscle spasm in his leg, and he grabs his knee to calm it down.
“Interesting.” I sit down beside him. I can’t wait to tell him about the despicable practices of the Hanford Corporation. Will loves animals too, and I’m certain he’ll want to help.
He smiles. “Yeah? Were you with Mia?”
“No, actually,” I say. “I went with my TA. You know, that guy Reid who’s been helping me get through the class.”
Will’s face darkens. “What?”
“Reid and a friend of his,” I say quickly. “It wasn’t, like, a big deal or anything…”
“Wait a minute.” Will struggles a bit more to be sitting up completely straight. “You blew me off on a Friday night—the only night I’ve been off all week—to have dinner with another guy?”
When he puts it that way, it does sound sort of bad.
“It’s not like it was a romantic dinner,” I say weakly. Damn, maybe this isn’t the best time to tell him about the Hanford Corporation. “His friend was there too. We just talked, that’s all.”
Will frowns. “Didn’t you say you thought that guy had a crush on you?”
Crap. Why did I tell him that? At the time, it seemed like a funny t
hing to say.
“I don’t think he really does,” I mumble.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” The muscle spasm in Will’s leg starts up again, and his knee bounces against his control. He seizes his knee with obvious frustration, trying to get it to stop.
“You know, it’s not like I had any reason to believe that you’d be home in time for dinner,” I remind him. Before he can respond, I add, “I’ve been pretty understanding about all your late nights, considering everything. It’s incredibly insulting that you can’t even trust me to have dinner out with a couple of guys.”
I brace myself for Will to shoot back an angry remark. He’s a nice guy, but he can definitely get grouchy when he’s tired or frustrated over his muscle spasms, both of which he obviously is right now. But to my surprise, he hangs his head.
“You’re right, Libby,” he sighs as his leg finally goes still again. “I’m sorry I was being a jerk. I just… I’ve had such a shitty week, and I was just really looking forward to seeing you tonight.”
“Me too.” I slide my fingers into his and he gives me a squeeze.
“I really do trust you,” he says. “One hundred percent.”
“Good.” I wink at him. “Anyway, you are way hotter than either of those guys.”
Will laughs. “Yeah? What are they—quadriplegics?”
I smack him in the arm. “No. They’re these hippie types who, like, never bathe or cut their hair.”
He widens his eyes in mock horror. “Oh my God.”
“One of them had a beard almost down to his shoulders,” I say with a shudder.
“Would you leave me if I grew a big, bushy beard?” Will asks.
“I might,” I say.
I wouldn’t. Christ, I’m not that shallow. But if he’d had one when we met, I’m not entirely sure we’d be engaged right now.
“So guess what?” Will says. “I’ve got the whole day off tomorrow.”
“Seriously?”
He grins. “It’s my reward for kicking ass in court yesterday. I was A-mazing.”
“So what else is new?” Will is always amazing in court. And… elsewhere, as well.
“How about we go to Chinatown for Dim Sum?” he suggests.
“Yes, please,” I say. Dim Sum is one of my most favorite things and he knows it. It’s been ages since we’ve been there.
“And in the meantime…” Will presses his lips against mine, and before I know it, he’s pushing me down against the couch. Even though I was teasing him, having dinner with those guys makes me appreciate how incredibly attractive my fiancé is. He’s about as far from a guy with a borsht-soaked beard as you can get. And his tongue feels so warm and good against my body.
Why wouldn’t Will trust me when he’s everything I ever wanted?
Chapter 12
The next morning, I catch Will in the bathroom in his undershirt and boxers, emptying pills from his bottle of Aleve into his hand.
I know that Will deals with pain of some kind on a daily basis. He told me once that the body is not meant to be sitting all the time. He tries not to talk about it much because he says he doesn’t want to “bore” me, but I know he gets a lot of pain in his shoulders and wrists because he does just about everything with them, and his back bothers him a good amount. Frankly, I’m relieved that he’s only taking Aleve instead of something stronger. He’s got a bottle of Vicodin for the really bad days.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“Fine,” he says as he tosses the Aleve into his mouth.
“Your shoulders?”
He shrugs. “Sort of everything today. My joints all feel really stiff. I’m getting old.”
“You should exercise more,” I tell him.
He grins at me. “Says the girl who hasn’t been to the gym in the entire time I’ve known her.”
“Well,” I say thoughtfully. “Maybe we should both go. Together.”
“No time.”
“How about the Easy Stand?”
Will sighs. Years ago, before I met him, he purchased something called an Easy Stand, which is sort of like an elliptical for paraplegics. He bought it after a doctor scared him by telling him that he was going to end up with contractures in all the joints in his legs if he didn’t have some standing time. It’s also supposed to be good for bone health, circulation, and reducing the annoying muscle spasms he gets. Except he never uses the damn thing. It’s pushed into the corner of the living room, collecting dust. Petunia sleeps on it during the day.
“I don’t have time to do that every day,” he says.
“It’s only supposed to be half an hour.” I rub his shoulder. “Anyway, you’ve got time now. Go use it and I’ll make us some coffee.”
“Are you going to be annoying until I do this?”
“You know I am.”
He sighs again, but I can tell he’s going to do it.
Petunia is asleep on the Easy Stand when he wheels up to it. He pokes her and she hisses at him, but clears off so he can use it. Anyway, it’s time for her to come beg me for food. Usually Will (over)feeds her before I can get to her, so it’s rewarding to empty her can of mashed beef into her bowl and watch her go to town on it like she hasn’t eaten in days.
I watch Will get onto his Easy Stand out of the corner of my eye. He’s still in his undershirt, which I like because he’s got such incredible muscles in his upper body. Am I the only woman who thinks a guy working out is super hot? I’ve dated a lot of men who were obsessed with the gym, and that was a bit of a turn-off, but at the same time, it was sexy to watch them lifting weights. Will isn’t like that at all—he goes to the gym as rarely as I do (which is basically never) due to his job obligations. So it’s a rare occasion when I get to see him really working it.
He transfers into the seat of the machine and then he bends down to strap his feet down. He also has to put a strap over both his thighs. Because of the fact that he has zero strength in his legs, he has to make sure they’re well secured. He then pumps a lever a few times until he’s in a standing position.
Theoretically, he’s now supposed to work two side levers with his arms to move his legs back and forth as a form of exercise and range of motion, but instead, he just stands there quietly.
I glance over at my brewing coffee, then back at Will. “You okay?”
He looks at little pale, but he replies, “Yeah. Kind of.”
I wipe my hands on my shorts and walk briskly over to Will. He looks more than pale—he has a line of sweat across his brow. The sight of him makes my heart speed up slightly—he looks bad. “What’s going on?”
“It’s just…” He gulps in some air. “It’s been a long time since the last time I’ve been standing. It’s making me a little dizzy.”
“So sit down again, for Christ’s sake!”
“Yeah,” he mumbles.
Except he’s feeling so lightheaded that he can’t work the controls and I have to help him get the machine back into a sitting position. And even then, he still looks pale. I grab him some water from the kitchen, which he takes from me with a shaking hand. It’s only after he downs it and spends a few more minutes sitting that the color returns to his face.
“My blood pressure must have dropped.” He rubs his face with his hands. “I’m just not used to standing.”
I want to sit on his lap and hug him, but I don’t want to give him a heart attack or something. “Well, I feel guilty for making you do that.”
“Yeah.” He manages a weak smile. “Are you trying to kill me or something?”
I glance over at his wheelchair. “Can you get back in your chair?”
He lets out a long breath. “I don’t know. I think I need another few minutes.”
“Um…” I bite my lip. “Is there anything else I should do? Should I… call the doctor?”
His eyes widen. “No. God, no. I’m fine, Libby.”
“Are you still up for dim sum today?”
“Hell, yes.” He pulls the strap off his legs. “Just g
ive me five minutes. I’m completely fine. Really.”
He looks like he needs some space, so I go back to the kitchen to finish our coffee. By the time I’ve poured the cups and put them on the dining table, he’s back in his wheelchair and looking much better. He’s okay, but damn, that was scary. Despite his wheelchair, Will always seems like he’s healthy. That just threw me off.
_____
Parking in Chinatown is always a challenge, even with handicapped plates. Will cruises the streets in his Prius, keeping his eyes out for any spots. He finally pulls up in front of a spot that’s barely big enough for a bike to fit, much less a whole car.
In Manhattan, parallel parking is practically a sport. The whole challenge is to see how tiny a spot you can squeeze your car into. The ultimate goal is fitting into a spot with less than one inch of give between the car in front of you and the car in back of you. The prize is bragging rights. (And a parking spot, obviously.)
Will is great at parallel parking. Well, he does it enough, so he should be. I’m awful at it. Spectacularly awful. There was one occasion I was trying to parallel park with Mia, and she had to get out of the car and give me detailed instructions while she made fun of me. But this spot is tiny, even for Will.
“There’s no way you’ll fit in that spot,” I say.
“Watch me, woman,” he says.
A man is walking by us and sees what Will is trying to do. He calls out, “You’ll never make it!”
“Why is everyone in this city so pessimistic?” he muses.
Will backs into the spot, maneuvering the steering wheel as he goes. I notice that a couple of other people have stopped to watch. Parallel parking isn’t just a sport—it’s a spectator sport.
“Give it up,” I tell Will as he puts the car back in drive for the tenth time to adjust his wheels. “We can find another spot.”
“No way,” he insists. “This spot is right by the restaurant. It’s a great spot. I can do this.”
I have to say, I definitely doubted Will’s ability to squeeze his Prius into that tiny space, but he’s completely proven me wrong. It takes him a good five minutes, but he gets into the spot. And when he does, a crowd of at least seven people burst into enthusiastic applause.
(Almost) Happily Ever After Page 7
