I wonder if everyone else can tell.
The drinks arrive, and the table settles into conversation. The Clifton deal comes up, then dissolves into other cases. Minutes slip past, drinks slowly taking the edge off the first round of conversation.
Someone shares news about a new hire. Another drops a rumor about a partner retiring.
“They’re saying that memo is coming out next week,” Charlotte says, directing the comment to the table but mostly at James.
He shrugs. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I watch James out of the corner of my eye, trying not to be obvious about it. The brush of his knee against mine sends my focus reeling. I sip my gin and tonic, more aware of the pulse in my wrist than anything else.
I catch the tail end of a story that Teresa is animatedly telling.
“So then, to his face, I said, ‘Do you really want to make an ethics argument with the evidence literally right in front of you?’” She shakes her head. “And he backed down like that,” she says, snapping her fingers.
The table erupts in laughter. I join in, hoping it sounds genuine.
“So, Avery,” Charlotte leans over, “Any big plans this weekend?”
“Not really. I was thinking about hitting the farmer’s market on Sunday. But other than that, I’ll probably just hangout at home while my cat judges me for watching true crime documentaries and ordering takeout for the millionth weekend in a row.”
The rest of the table fills in the laughter my comment draws out, including James’s soft chuckle next to me, and I feel a rush of warmth that has nothing to do with the crowded bar. I steal a glance at James, wondering if he’s always had this effect on me or if it’s just the gin.
We trade more stories and jokes, and I breathe a little easier thinking about how different these coworkers feel compared to my last job. There’s no judgement, no pity. Just people who want to get to know me. It feels nice.
The noise level at our table starts to drop as people peel off, coats over their arms, the length of the week catching up with them. By 6:00, the only attorneys left are me and James. I pretend it’s not weird being here with him, remembering how he was standing at my apartment door the last time it was just the two of us alone outside of work.
I’m about to suggest another round when I see Mina walk in. The relief is instant. She makes a beeline for our table, hair wild and free.
“Hi babe!” she grins.
I spring up from the booth, greeting her with a hug and whispering in her ear, “Thank God you’re here,” low enough so James doesn’t hear.
I slide back into the booth and motion for Mina to sit.
“James, this is my best friend from law school, Mina. Mina, this is James Sterling.”
“Boss man,” she says with a small nod.
“Nice to meet you, Mina,” James says.
“Mina works at a public interest firm downtown,” I explain. “She’s changing the world.”
“Someone has to,” she says with a laugh. “We can’t all sell our souls to these money-hungry firms.”
The jab doesn’t go unnoticed. I brace for the same awkward silence that usually follows when my work friends and my real friends mix. But James laughs, surprising me.
“Believe me, I have days when I’d trade for your side,” he says, and there is a humility to it, an unexpected earnestness, that I can tell intrigues Mina.
“Hmm,” she says, considering him.
This is starting to feel a lot like when your best friend meets your new boyfriend and gives him the third degree.
Our conversation is interrupted when a guy wheels a speaker by our table and other bar employees start moving tables to the sides of the room to open up a dance floor.
“M’kay, well, I’m gonna run to the restroom and you two can order another round and debate the difficulties of our respective jobs.”
I nudge Mina to slide out so I can exit the booth, but before she can move, James is already up. As I’m sliding out of the booth, Mina asks, “Want me to order you something?”
