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"It's been two weeks," I say, shaking my head and laughing. Jacob is very good-looking–dark and handsome but short–and very gay. We all grew up on the Lower East Side. Norah's parents work in big commercial kitchens, while Jacob's Italian mom and dad run a small restaurant that he might one day take over. My dad worked for the postal service while my mom was a secretary. They both grew up in the area, met each other when they were young, and stayed in the area. What today is a hip neighborhood was once pretty seedy.
"Two weeks IS an eternity," Jacob says. He's currently working toward his PhD in literature just for fun while working as a chef, meaning his schedule does not allow him a lot of free time.
Norah, for her part, is working her way up in the world of glossy mags. She's a trained therapist, but her passion is writing articles that help and inspire people. She writes an advice column, like "Ask the Therapist" and otherwise specializes in things that inspire women to rise above their circumstances.
"Let's get snacks, and we can discuss relativity and time later," Norah says, pulling us toward the snack bar.
The scent of sweat and polished wood mingled with fried onions and hot dogs fills my nostrils while the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor creates a rhythmic background noise.
We grab some snacks and find our seats.
The game is intense from the start, with each team giving their all. Damien plays his heart out, scoring several points and making key defensive plays. I swell with pride as he steals the ball from an opposing player and makes a breakaway layup.
"Did you see that? That's my brother!" I exclaim, high-fiving Norah.
"Your little brother's got skills," she agrees, laughing.
The final score flashes on the scoreboard: 68-65; Damien's team is victorious. Damien's teammates hoist him onto their shoulders, and I can't suppress the tears welling up in my eyes, though I quickly wipe them away. It's been a long and often hard journey since we lost our parents, leaving me in a place I'd never imagined being. Now we've got it figured out, but when I was left in charge of a four-year-old at the age of twenty-one... things weren't easy.
Damien spots me and gives me a thumbs-up, his grin is wide and proud.
"Great game," Jacob says, high-fiving Damien as he jogs up to us after the game.
"Yeah," Norah agrees. "You were fantastic. Keep that up, and you'll go far."
Damien grins, and I give him money to join the team for a celebration, giving him a big hug. "Have fun."
"Will do; see you at home. Coach will drive me, don't worry."
I nod. "He better. This is my night out with friends, but I'll be home early to make sure you're OK."
Damien rolls his eyes. "I'm almost thirteen."
"Almost. You aren't even sure how to make coffee yet."
Damien rolls his eyes again and jogs off to join his team.
"They are pretty good," Norah says. "I mean it's clear Damien has talent, but the team at large isn't bad either."
"They have a good coach. He's done a lot for Damien's confidence. He's had some issues with some classmates because his grades are too good and he's really into basketball. I guess some losers wanted to take him down."
Jacob shakes his head. "And it'll only get worse until it gets better in college. Man, those teenage years can be brutal. Even the people you thought ruled your school had issues the size of Mount Everest if you looked close enough."
"And I was as tall as Mount Everest according to those people. Now, let's hit the bar."
Laughing and joking about our best and worst memories from high school, we make our way to the bar, which is within walking distance.
Once we get to The Rusty Anchor, the dim lighting and soft jazz playing in the background relax me. We get a glass of wine each and toast to Damien's victory and a great night out with friends. The conversation flows easily, touching on everything from work to the latest dating stories (Jacob) and ventures in creating an indoor herbal garden (Norah). I find myself laughing at their witty banter, enjoying the lighthearted company.
"Hey Maddie, how are things going with your new job?" Norah asks. "Isn't it ridiculously well-paying? Does it mean the guy you're working for has skeletons in his closets, or is his kid horrible?"
I laugh, but I also feel my cheeks flushing. With the help of some more wine and snacks, I tell the story of how I met Roland in the café, then found out he's my boss, discovered he actually has a heart... and slept with him.
By the end of the tale, Jacob is laughing and high-fiving me and Norah is looking half amused, half horrified. "You can't lose your job over a dick, and I mean that literally," she says.
"Wasn't planning to. Maybe I get to keep it because of his dick?"
At this, we all laugh uproariously, but then I turn serious. "Look, I actually do like him. There's a lot more to the man than what meets the eye. He has this attitude that makes you think he's used to getting what he wants. And he probably is. He's bossy. But underneath that, he cares. His staff and daughter adore him. And his staff isn't what I'd call easy to sway. His head of security is this woman who I'm pretty sure could take down half this bar single-handedly. And his chef is as straightforward as they come. His driver is a bit more of a softie, but I still don't think he'd stick around if Roland wasn't nice."
