Unforgettable
Page 10
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But like my childhood, she’s gone forever now. Even if I were to return to that kitchen and follow her recipes to the letter, it still wouldn’t bring her back.
So should I keep those memories alive, or just try to move on?
*
As the week continues, the question of Rose Cottage is quickly buried under the weight of case work and legal briefs from my bosses at work. From first thing in the morning until late at night, I barely have time to think about anything except dense legal jargon and loopholes. But every night when I drag myself home, my eyes go straight to that business card sitting on the bureau—and the set of keys beside it.
By Friday, I’m just about ready to collapse and sleep all weekend through, until our boss, Kelvin Harper, comes storming into the law library where Lexi and I have been holed up, researching the case. The hedge fund client has filed a lawsuit against their old employer for unfair dismissal—firing him right before a multi-million dollar bonus payout. The company counter-sued, settlement negotiations broke down, and now we’re all knee-deep in depositions and documents before the trial next week.
“Where are we on precedent?” Harper demands loudly.
“Only what we’ve already found,” I offer. The table is covered with papers and books, but there’s nothing new: this case has been dragging out in negotiations forever. Both parties seem equally shady. If there was some amazing evidence, we would have seen it by now.
“What about the online research?” Harper snaps his fingers impatiently. “I told you to check the profile pages of everyone at the company.”
I blink. He didn’t tell us that at all.
“Everyone?” Lexi ventures nervously. “That’s over a thousand people in the US offices alone.”
“And?” he whirls on her angrily. I quickly speak up.
“And opening up that line of evidence could be just as damaging to our client.” I tap a few keys on my laptop and bring up the client’s Instagram feed. “Look.”
I scroll through to show him: photos of the guy partying on his private jet, smashing thousand-dollar champagne bottles, and generally acting like the worst kind of rich asshole. If I was on the jury, I wouldn’t care if this guy missed out on another few million, not when he’s doing such a good job of blowing the fortune he does have.
Harper looks annoyed. “It’s not your job to question why I want something. It’s not your fucking job to think at all! I need complete files on everyone in the New York office by Monday morning: social media, background, the lot!”
I check the clock on the wall. It’s 6:00 p.m. on Friday night. What he’s talking about will take days! “You want us to work the weekend?” I check.
He turns red. “You’ll stay as long as it takes, dammit! What is this, nursery school? You want a break for milk and cookies too?” He slams the files on the table and storms off.
The library is silent, then gossiping whispers start. I glance around, flushing hard. Other associates are looking at me with a mixture of pity and disbelief.
“What were you thinking?” Lexi hisses at me. “You know you don’t complain to Harper. You don’t complain to anyone. Ever!”
“I know,” I groan. It was a rookie mistake. “But we’ve been pulling twelve-hour days all week!”
“So now we pull a couple more.” Lexi takes a gulp of the coffee cup beside her. “How about I start with the As, you start with the Zs, and we meet in the middle?”
She turns to her computer with a new focus, but I can’t get settled. “You really think this is worth it?” I ask, clicking through the photos of our client. “I mean, all the evidence and depositions we’ve read, it’s pretty clear they had grounds for firing him.”
“He’s our client,” Lexi says absently, squinting at the screen. “It doesn’t matter what we think, it’s our job to represent him.”
“I know, but still…” I stare at the photos of him doing jello shots off some poor waitress’s chest in a club in San Tropez. “Would you want to be stuck in the office next to this guy?”
Lexi lifts her head. “What’s all this about, Noelle? You’ve been acting weird all week. You should be loving this stuff: background research, a real case going to trial. Everything else we’ve done has been settled out of court. It’s our first jury!” Her eyes sparkle with excitement, even though she’s barely slept all week. She thrives on this: the late nights, the last-minute stress. Somehow, she manages to hold on to her sanity and just power through.
So why are my reserves failing me now?
I shrug. “I don’t know, I guess… I just wonder if this is what I’m supposed to be doing, that’s all.”
“You mean, you might want to switch into criminal law?” Lexi glances back to her work. “That’s a good idea, your dad would have all kinds of contacts on that side.”
“No,” I admit to her for the first time. “I mean quit.”
Lexi gapes. Her mouth drops open. “What? Don’t say that!” She glances around, and lowers her voice. “Are you crazy? You busted your ass to get this job!”
“I know.” I sink a little lower in my seat. “There are hundreds of people who would kill for this spot. That’s what makes it feel even more wrong. I’m taking up space for someone who actually wants to be here.”
“Shh,” Lexi whispers, but she’s being over-dramatic.
So should I keep those memories alive, or just try to move on?
*
As the week continues, the question of Rose Cottage is quickly buried under the weight of case work and legal briefs from my bosses at work. From first thing in the morning until late at night, I barely have time to think about anything except dense legal jargon and loopholes. But every night when I drag myself home, my eyes go straight to that business card sitting on the bureau—and the set of keys beside it.
By Friday, I’m just about ready to collapse and sleep all weekend through, until our boss, Kelvin Harper, comes storming into the law library where Lexi and I have been holed up, researching the case. The hedge fund client has filed a lawsuit against their old employer for unfair dismissal—firing him right before a multi-million dollar bonus payout. The company counter-sued, settlement negotiations broke down, and now we’re all knee-deep in depositions and documents before the trial next week.
“Where are we on precedent?” Harper demands loudly.
“Only what we’ve already found,” I offer. The table is covered with papers and books, but there’s nothing new: this case has been dragging out in negotiations forever. Both parties seem equally shady. If there was some amazing evidence, we would have seen it by now.
“What about the online research?” Harper snaps his fingers impatiently. “I told you to check the profile pages of everyone at the company.”
I blink. He didn’t tell us that at all.
“Everyone?” Lexi ventures nervously. “That’s over a thousand people in the US offices alone.”
“And?” he whirls on her angrily. I quickly speak up.
“And opening up that line of evidence could be just as damaging to our client.” I tap a few keys on my laptop and bring up the client’s Instagram feed. “Look.”
I scroll through to show him: photos of the guy partying on his private jet, smashing thousand-dollar champagne bottles, and generally acting like the worst kind of rich asshole. If I was on the jury, I wouldn’t care if this guy missed out on another few million, not when he’s doing such a good job of blowing the fortune he does have.
Harper looks annoyed. “It’s not your job to question why I want something. It’s not your fucking job to think at all! I need complete files on everyone in the New York office by Monday morning: social media, background, the lot!”
I check the clock on the wall. It’s 6:00 p.m. on Friday night. What he’s talking about will take days! “You want us to work the weekend?” I check.
He turns red. “You’ll stay as long as it takes, dammit! What is this, nursery school? You want a break for milk and cookies too?” He slams the files on the table and storms off.
The library is silent, then gossiping whispers start. I glance around, flushing hard. Other associates are looking at me with a mixture of pity and disbelief.
“What were you thinking?” Lexi hisses at me. “You know you don’t complain to Harper. You don’t complain to anyone. Ever!”
“I know,” I groan. It was a rookie mistake. “But we’ve been pulling twelve-hour days all week!”
“So now we pull a couple more.” Lexi takes a gulp of the coffee cup beside her. “How about I start with the As, you start with the Zs, and we meet in the middle?”
She turns to her computer with a new focus, but I can’t get settled. “You really think this is worth it?” I ask, clicking through the photos of our client. “I mean, all the evidence and depositions we’ve read, it’s pretty clear they had grounds for firing him.”
“He’s our client,” Lexi says absently, squinting at the screen. “It doesn’t matter what we think, it’s our job to represent him.”
“I know, but still…” I stare at the photos of him doing jello shots off some poor waitress’s chest in a club in San Tropez. “Would you want to be stuck in the office next to this guy?”
Lexi lifts her head. “What’s all this about, Noelle? You’ve been acting weird all week. You should be loving this stuff: background research, a real case going to trial. Everything else we’ve done has been settled out of court. It’s our first jury!” Her eyes sparkle with excitement, even though she’s barely slept all week. She thrives on this: the late nights, the last-minute stress. Somehow, she manages to hold on to her sanity and just power through.
So why are my reserves failing me now?
I shrug. “I don’t know, I guess… I just wonder if this is what I’m supposed to be doing, that’s all.”
“You mean, you might want to switch into criminal law?” Lexi glances back to her work. “That’s a good idea, your dad would have all kinds of contacts on that side.”
“No,” I admit to her for the first time. “I mean quit.”
Lexi gapes. Her mouth drops open. “What? Don’t say that!” She glances around, and lowers her voice. “Are you crazy? You busted your ass to get this job!”
“I know.” I sink a little lower in my seat. “There are hundreds of people who would kill for this spot. That’s what makes it feel even more wrong. I’m taking up space for someone who actually wants to be here.”
“Shh,” Lexi whispers, but she’s being over-dramatic.
