“It’s just a regular Sunday,” Miller said as she set out plates.
“It’s the first nice weekend of spring. That counts as a holiday.” Nadia arranged the silverware beside each plate. “Besides, you’ve been working too hard. You deserve the good napkins.”
Harper appeared with the chicken, golden and fragrant, and they settled into their seats. The conversation flowed easily: Harper's latest motorcycle restoration project, the '72 Honda CB350-4 she'd been chasing parts for; and Nadia's volunteerwork at the LGBTQ+ youth center, where a teenager had come out to accepting parents that week and the whole staff had quietly celebrated.
“That’s wonderful,” Miller said, meaning it. “It must feel good to be part of that.”
“Everyone deserves a safe space to figure themselves out.” Nadia passed her the potatoes. “Speaking of which, how are you, sweetheart? Besides work, I mean. Are you taking care of yourself?”
“I’m fine. Busy, but fine.”
“Dating anyone?” Harper asked, too casually.
Miller sighed. Here it was, the question that surfaced every few months like clockwork. “No. You know I don’t have time right now.”
“You always say that.” Harper cut into her chicken. “You said that when you were finishing law school. You said it your first year at the firm. And you said it when you made it as an associate.”
“I dated Marcus for almost a year.”
“Marcus.” Harper’s tone suggested what she thought of Marcus. “The accountant who collected stamps.”
“There’s nothing wrong with collecting stamps.”
“There’s nothing right with it either.” Harper pointed the tines of her fork at Miller. “He was nice enough, I’ll give you that, but you never seemed…”
“Excited about him?” Nadia offered.
“I was going to say ‘interested,’ but sure, excited works.”
Miller felt the familiar defensiveness rising in her chest. “Not everyone needs fireworks, Mom. Marcus was stable and reliable, easy to be with.”
“Easy isn’t the same as right.” Nadia’s voice was pitched softly. “You dated him for eleven months and never brought him here for Sunday dinner. That tells me something.”
“I was busy?—”
“You bring your work stress here. And your victories and frustrations. But you’ve never brought anyone you were dating.” Nadia reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m not criticizing, sweetheart. I’m just observing.”
Miller didn’t have an answer for that, so she focused on her plate.
The silence stretched just long enough to be noticeable before Harper cleared her throat. “So this Shepry woman, the ice queen. What’s she actually like?”
Grateful for the subject change, Miller considered the question. “Honestly? I’m not sure. I’ve only seen her in one context—across a negotiating table fighting for her future—and that’s not exactly when people show their authentic selves.”
“But you have an impression.”
“I think…” Miller paused, remembering the flicker she’d seen during the mediation. That split second when Astoria’s mask had slipped and something raw had crossed her face before she’d locked it down again. “I think ‘cold’ is reductive. She’s guarded, definitely, but guarded isn’t the same as cold.”
“How so?”
“Cold implies she doesn’t feel things, but watching her during the mediation, there was a moment when Valerie had said something and I saw—” Miller stopped. Why was she analyzing this so thoroughly? It was just a professional observation. “I saw a reaction, just for a second, something underneath all those layers of control.”
“Sounds like you were paying close attention,” Harper observed.
“It’s my job to read the opposing party.” Miller heard the slight edge in her own voice and softened it. “Anyway, she’s going to be tough to beat, which is what makes this case interesting.”
“You like the challenge,” Nadia said, and it wasn’t a question.
“I do.” Miller smiling, feeling the truth of it. “The routine cases were getting stale. This one demands everything I’ve got, and I’m grateful for it.”
