Then she’d asked about cheese.
“Yes, I eat cheese,” I said patiently and shot Jean a quizzical look.
“Grandma doesn’t put cheese on pizza. Do you?” Her expression was serious, like my answer was make-or-break. Maybe it was.
“Yep, I like it,” I nodded, “but my best friend doesn’t eat it, so I know how to cook without it too.”
“Mom made me macaroni and cheese but Grandma gets gassy when she eats it. I miss it, but I don’t like the stinky house either.” Her tentative trust told me that it wasn’t just the macaroni she missed, but her fingers fidgeted so I didn’t push. Hopefully I had a lifetime to help her with that grief.
“I make a mean mac cheese,” I said.
Her brow furrowed. “How can macaroni be mean?”
Jean laughed and explained that I meant ‘delicious,’ and Ruby nodded like she’d known and was just playing along with us.
She tilted her head at me. “Can I stay up until 8?”
God help me, she was a negotiator. I was in so much trouble.
“Maybe on Fridays, but not on school nights.”
“Ok, then I guess so,” she said with a casual shrug. “When do we start?”
Jean smiled at Ruby’s trusting nonchalance and took my hand, sliding Sarah’s ring into my palm to bless my decision. It fit perfectly on the ring finger of my right hand, the completion of my promise during Ruby’s first heart surgery that I’d do whatever I could to give her a bright future.
Chapter 37
Alex
Friday at 4:45pm. The meeting appeared on my calendar that morning, setting my nerves on edge.
Friday at 4:45 was firing time: the employee meets with the equity partners, Frank Hamilton and Fred Houghton, before security escorts them out.
I’d spent two weeks trying to reestablish a rhythm in San Francisco. I’d told Grace about how I used to run every morning before law school classes and she’d suggested I try again. So my first morning back, I’d set my alarm and cursed the dawn light, but when I wanted to snooze, I thought about her on her meditation cushion. I threw a pillow on the floor and sat on it, but nothing happened. So I pulled up their studio’s website and streamed an audio meditation my sister recorded, wishing for a different voice.
Then I laced up my running shoes and stepped in the hallway … just as Victoria walked back into her apartment from her run. I did a short loop, nowhere near what I’d used to do, and was still winded. The next day, I’d set an earlier alarm and when I’d stepped in the hallway, Victoria was waiting.
We ran side-by-side, not a single word spoken. I could tell she was going slower than her usual pace but didn’t mention it to save my pride. We took different routes every day to explore neighborhoods, and on every street, I looked for a yellow Victorian townhouse with gingerbread trim and wisteria. I didn't know what I'd do if I found it, but I couldn't stop looking.
I don’t know if it was the running or the meditation, but I felt calmer … until I saw that meeting: Friday at 4:45 in the executive suites.
I figured when I left that I’d signed on for an extra year of hell. But that was before I saw the meeting with Fred and Frank at firing time. Shit.
At 4:22, I started packing up my office. I finished at 4:26. One box, halfway full. Surprising how little of me was in the room where I’d spent eight years. I could have at least had a plant, the cleaning people would have watered it. Mallory would tell me that the fresh oxygen would help my lungs.
Correction: She would say I’m such a blowhard that a plant using my excess carbon dioxide was environmentally responsible.
I couldn’t believe how much I missed that snarky little brat.
With 12 minutes to go, I leaned in the door frame of an office where I’d logged as many hours as my own. “Are you gonna miss me when I get fired?”
Victoria had a wicked glimmer in her eye. “Dibs on your office.”
“You always liked the view.” I sank into the chair across from her desk.
“They’re not going to fire you. You’re the most profitable associate with the second most billable hours.” Bitterness seeped into her words at the preferential treatment I’d always received. We both knew she’d accomplish more if she were in my (less pointy) shoes.
“So why schedule it now?”
“They’re fucking with your head. We’ll do the same when we’re partners. They’ll delay your offer as a slap on the wrist, then hand it over with fanfare eventually, because they inexplicably love you.”
They inexplicably love me. She’d known me for a decade. We’d lived together, been to family events and industry conventions. Hell, she’d expected to marry me … yet even she couldn’t explain how somebody could love me.
“But don’t worry, when I make partner first, I’ll put in a good word.”
This had been our running joke for years. As hard as we worked, we knew that we’d advance from senior associate to partnership to equity partners. The firm would eventually be Clarke & Blackstone. Or — she liked to provoke me — Blackstone & Clarke, if she made partner first. For years, I’d told her that was bullshit, I’d definitely get the nod first.
Now I wondered if I’d even have a job in an hour.
This job was all I had. Someday I’d feel something other than this empty void where my heart had been. On that day, I’d want to be here. Today, I had to find a way to fight for it.
“So how would you play this?” I asked, resting my forearms on my knees.
“You ghosted twice, you fucked up a giant merger … but technically they can’t fire you for that. They have to find justifiable cause, so don’t give them anything to use against you. Be cocky, arrogant, and entitled.” A grin tugged at her lips. “So… your usual self, then.”
My usual self: Cocky, arrogant, and entitled. Is that really who I was?
