I look at him and see how tired he is. “You doing okay?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Yeah. No, but it’s whatever.” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes fixed on me. “Listen, I know things got fucked up. I was a dick. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
I shake my head. “You weren’t wrong.”
“That’s not the point. I just…I was hurt, but I didn’t want you out of my life. I just needed some time. I don’t want to not talk to you, Ave. I fucking miss you.”
The confession sits heavy in my chest. “I miss you, too,” I say, honestly.
He grins, small and lopsided. “Good.”
We stand in silence a while longer, the hum of the air conditioning and the conversation from the conference room filtering in. Nash shoves his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels. “If you ever want to grab a drink or something, you know, I’m around.”
I want to say yes, but this feels dangerous. Like a slippery slope. Instead, I smile and nod. “Maybe after the holidays.”
His eyes crinkle. “Yeah. Cool.”
He pushes off the wall, shoulders a little straighter. As he walks back, I watch the set of his spine, the way he glances over to see if I’m following. For a second, I think about trailing him, but I stay rooted to the spot for an extra moment.
By the time I return to the table, the partners are standing, glasses raised for a toast. James is front and center, his voice carrying over the crowd, smooth and practiced.
“I want to thank everyone for their hard work this year,” he says, “and for making Bishop, Hollis, & Sterling the family it is. We’ve had our share of challenges.” His eyes flicker over the room, landing on me for a heartbeat before moving on. “But we’ve also had some remarkable victories. I hope you all take time to recharge, to be with the people you care about. Andwhen we’re back, let’s celebrate properly at the holiday gala next weekend.”
There’s a round of applause. I catch the barest glance from James, a signal just for me, but it’s gone as quickly as it arrives. He disappears into the sea of employees, his presence already fading.
After the meal, people linger, nursing drinks, gossiping, packing leftovers.
Eventually, I gather my things and slip out.
***
My parents’ house is exactly as I remember it: white Hardy board, black shutters, immaculate hedges their HOA can be proud of. The front door is already open when I park on the street, and my mother’s silhouette waits in the entry, arms folded tight across her chest.
“Avery!” she calls before I can even close the car door.
I brace for the onslaught, the collision of perfume and inquiry that is my mother in her natural habitat. She hugs me as if I am returning from war, not from a city thirty miles away.
“Oh, honey, look at you! You’re so thin. Are you not eating?”
I say nothing about my freezer full of Lean Cuisines, or my refusal to eat lunch half the time.
“I’m fine, Mom. You look great.”
Her hair is blown out, makeup perfect, even her sweater has that just-purchased crispness.
She ushers me into the foyer, where my father waits. “Kiddo!” He gives me a brisk, one-armed hug. “How’s the new job going?”
I nod, noncommittal. “Not so new anymore, Dad. But it’s going well. Lots of work, but, you know.”
He winks. “I’m sure you’re their star attorney.”
He turns back to the living room, where the fireplace glows with a gas flame, and the TV is muted to a football game. Salem would have a field day in here, but he’s banned from the premises after a single, catastrophic incident with my mother’s favorite armchair.
Dinner smells of sage and butter, and the kitchen is fogged with steam. My mother chases me around the kitchen with a glass of wine and a running commentary about the turkey my dad chose at the grocery store. She sighs, checking the oven for the fifth time.
“Did you bring anyone? A friend? I told you to bring someone if you didn’t want to be bored to death by the two of us.”
“I came alone,” I say, and immediately regret it.
