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Jesus. That’s all? That’s not news. I don’t care about that anymore. I’m ready to accept the consequences of us being together. And if she’d feel better recusing herself from our case, I’m fine with that too.
I love her, and that’s what really matters.
I want to tell her all of that. But not here. Not yet.
“Tonight.” I stand. “We’ll talk tonight.” I can’t wait until the weekend. “But seriously, Ada, don’t worry about that.”
She’s not listening.
“Don’t worry? How can I not worry?”
I know from our conversation on Sunday night that she followed through with her decision to tell her parents everything. And that her dad thinks Ada should remove herself from our case. But we expected that. And he did say the decision was hers and that he wanted to meet me.
“Tonight,” I say. She’s already told me she wants to get in a run and will be coming over afterward. “It’ll be OK,” I promise her.
I hate to leave her like this, without so much as a single touch, a kiss, to show her my words aren’t just empty platitudes, that it reallywillbe OK. But kissing her in her office isn’t going to solve anything, so I settle for a smile and try to elicit one from her.
“I should get back to the office. See you tonight?”
She nods. “I’ll text you, but it will probably be around eight by the time I get to your place.”
“With any luck, it’ll stay dry for you. There’s a ten percent chance of rain.”
I get a teeny-tiny smile, but it’s not the crazy happy kind I want to pull out of her.
I look at my watch. Just eight hours . . .
And all will be well.
32
Ada
“Damn, girl. I wouldn’t want to be you right now.”
Not exactly the message of reassurance that I was hoping for.
“We really should do this more.” Karlene knocks back a vodka and club, same as me. “Without rooftop bars, New York in July would be completely unacceptable.”
Qasim’s jaw drops.
“More? Were you or were you not just here with me on Friday night?”
We’re sitting in a circle, thankfully under an umbrella for shade, as more and more people begin to filter in after work. It won’t get really busy until after six, but we snuck out at five. Given the typical hours people pull in the city, it’s basically the middle of the work day.
“OK, but what I meant is that we shouldn’t always wait for Friday. Tuesday is a perfect day for some outside drinking.”
“Speak for yourself, Kar. We don’t all have drinking problems,” Qasim teased.
I sip my drink, trying to enjoy their company and the beautiful weather. But this isn’t really a social visit. It’s an emergency HH—happy hour—I called because I desperately need their advice.
“Speaking of drinking problems . . . ,” I begin.
My friends revert back to the task at hand.
“I need your help.”
I know what my parents think, what my sisters think, and I have an idea of what these two think, but I’m still extremely torn.
