“And how would you know his flaw?”
“Babes, he is a man. Thatisthe flaw.” She snorts at her own joke. “Just be happy, okay?”
I twist a paper clip between my fingers. “I’m happy, but it’s been three months, and he hasn’t used the g-word yet. He has once before but I feel it was more like a slip of the tongue. Because he has never said it again. What if I’ve misread everything?”
Demi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Hold up. You’re spiraling because you want a label?Youwant a label? Well, I’ll be damned. Check you out. Have you asked him if you’re exclusive?”
“We don’t need that conversation.” Though we are in a great place, I fear putting a label on us would only cause problems. “We sleep at each other’s places six nights a week. Our shared calendar has sixteen ‘Aaron x Minji Taco Night’ events scheduled through December. We have been talking about long-term goals. I think?—”
“Maybe he’s waiting for you to bring it up?” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I mean, after you ghosted him in college, then the whole fucking case fiasco… Plus your emotional walls are basically reinforced concrete. He most likely worried you might run away. Communication is key babes, and closed mouths don’t get fed.”
“But…” I trail off, suddenly desperate for a distraction.
Demi does this thing where she leans forward and lowers her voice, making the rest of the world fade into white noise. “Babes, I love you, and you know I tell it like it is, so here it goes. Man the fuck up. If you want to be exclusive with him, then tell him. You two have been seeing each other since July, and it’s October. I know you two are dating, but you don’t know you two are dating.”
I open my mouth to retort, but Demi steamrolls me with the force of a mom exasperated at her child’s inability to choose an after-school sport. “Look—” she says, “the last time you avoided this conversation with a guy, you ended up in a situationship with William for years. As of right now, Aaron’s not the problem. You’re the problem. He’s in love with you, Minji. It’s literally the least subtle thing I’ve seen since that time you tried to wear heels on crutches.”
I know he’s in love with me. He tells me every morning and night. “Yes, but love is never the problem. It’s all the management of it that messes people up.” I flick a binder shut with a snap. “Nobody wants to say the wrong thing and break the spell.”
Demi tilts her head. “Just tell him. He’s a big boy. Worst case, you’re both grown-ups who want different things. He’s most likely pacing his feelings, so you don’t get scared and drop-kick him into the friend zone or your specialty—ghosting him.”
I purse my lips, fiddling with a legal pad out of habit. Demi stares, waiting. “What if I tell him and he decides he doesn’t want exclusivity? What if he’s just, like, a free love guy?”
Demi slams her hand on my desk. “Shut up! Shut the hell up!” She leans closer. “That man is all yours, and you know it.” She points at my heart. “I’m telling you, Minji, he’d propose tomorrow if you let him.”
My throat tightens at the wordpropose. I stare at my calendar just to avoid eye contact, but the only thing there is acoffee date with Aaron at Bryant Park in two days. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
“And another thing.” She leans in even closer, whispering. “I know I shouldn’t be asking this here, but are you going to quit this damn job and open your own firm? I know a guy who knows a guy that will get you a sweet deal on an office space.”
I freeze, croissant flakes glued to my lips. For someone who doesn’t believe in timing, Demi has chosen the worst possible moment to ask. “Why would you ask me this at my job? Demi, sometimes I don’t think you think. We can talk about this another time, maybe not when my office door is open.”
She glances over her shoulder and then at me, shrugging. “Yeah, you’re right, but you know me, I don’t care, especially when people screw you over. It will always be fuck th?—”
A tap at the glass, and there’s William, lurking with an armful of files pressed to his chest like he’s auditioning for a production ofOliver Twist.
“Do you have a sec?”
“Oh, look, it’s this fucking asshole with the ugly-ass bow tie.” Demi rises from her chair. “I heard you made partner. Honestly, you don’t deserve it. What you deserve is to get punched in the throat, hard and repeatedly. But violence is never the answer… That’s what Minji always tells me. But who knows, if I ever catch you in the streets, it might just happen.” She rolls her eyes and then looks at me. “I will talk to you later, babes. I have to get back to my greenhouse. A greenhouse big enough to hide a body.” She throws the last part at William.
She brushes past him, no longer acknowledging his existence. William touches his bow tie with a slight frown, and the way he tiptoes in tells me he’s debated this entrance for the full length of the hallway. He watches Demi’s retreat with undisguised loathing, then turns to me with a smile.
“She still hates me, huh?”
“Yeah, and I don’t think it will ever change. So, what did you need?”
“I came by to ask if you were planning on quitting. You haven’t given Caleb an answer about the Sheridan case, so?—”
“Let me stop you right there.” I hold up my hand. “If I decide to leave this firm, you’ll find out when everyone else does, in an email. Now, unless you’re here to discuss actual work, I have a deposition to prepare for.” I gesture to the door.
It’s honestly insane that, since I didn’t jump on one little case, everyone thinks I’m going to quit. He pauses. William 2.0 isn’t pressing the issue or trying to manipulate me as he would have six months ago. Instead, he looks deflated, with dark circles under his eyes.
“You’d make one hell of a name for yourself, if you did,” he says quietly, almost like he’s conceding defeat. He’s already halfway out the door before I can craft a suitably biting reply. I watch him recede, shoulders hunched and realize I don’t hate him as much anymore. His betrayal barely stings next to the world I’m building outside this floor-to-ceiling cage with Aaron.
The subway ridehome is like watching a hundred silent movies at once. A nurse dozes off on her feet, scrubs creased from what I assume would be a twelve-hour shift. Across from her, a man clings to his briefcase as if it might drift away, his fingertips stained blue—maybe from exploded pens, maybe from a day spent signing away fragments of himself. I wonder if they ever dream of burning it all down, or if they’ve found some secret balance I haven’t.
Aaron’s already home when I get there. The door opens to him, stirring something that smells like kimchi jjigae, the exactdish my mother made whenever I was sick or sad. He glances up, keeps stirring, and asks, “How’d it go today?” as if my answer might actually change something in the universe.
I drop my bag and kick off my heels. “Productive. Demi visited. William cornered me about quitting.”
