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“I don’t even know what I want yet because every time I try to figure it out, somebody explains why I’m not allowed to have it.”

Kev nods slowly.

That’s the most lawyerly thing he has done all lunch.

“I can push for direct communication,” he says.

“Can you make his lawyer stop treating me like a typo?”

“I can try.”

“Great.”

He goes back to the folder.

“So what do I do?” I ask.

“Don’t sign anything. Don’t agree to anything directly. Don’t threaten anyone in writing.”

“That last one feels targeted.”

“You have a vibe.”

“I’m an extremely peaceful person.”

“Your arm is bulging.”

“It came that way.”

He smiles and closes the folder, which feels too final for the amount of nothing I have learned.

We pay separately because I don’t want to owe my free lawyer anything. Outside, the heat hits like somebody opened an oven door in my face.

Kev slides sunglasses on.

“Wanna pop over to The Peppermint? Have a beer or three?”

I stare at him.

“I don’t think Peppermint opens till when normal people drink.”

Kev grins, not insulted. That’s good. I need a lawyer too stubborn or too stupid to quit when I’m an ass to him, and he may be both.

He waves with his folder. “I’ll call when I hear back.”

The back door sticks when I pull it open. I shoulder it once, hard, and it gives.

Noise. Heat. Movement. No room for thinking unless the thought is how many pepperonis go on a large or whether the dough has proofed too long in this weather.

“Pizza Dude!” Carmine shouts when he sees me. “You’re late.”

I check the clock. He’s not wrong.

“I had lunch with my lawyer.”

“That explains your face.”

“What’s wrong with my face?”