When I come into work this Monday morning, feeling like it is too, too early, all I can think about is Lucy’s face, the crinkling around her eyes when she laughs, the way her cheeks go a bit pink, the way she feels next to me in bed, and the way we worked hard together on Saturday night. In short, I’m dragging, because lawyering is starting to pale against being with Lucy and the hectic, yet fun environment of Ming Kitty. Seeing all those faces, all those people eating our food, enjoying each other’s company…that was so satisfying.
I push open my office door, turn on the light, and head to my desk. The piles of paper I left there on Friday are still there, and I’m pretty sure that new paper has joined them. Does paper multiply like fruit flies? I haven’t been able to prove it yet, but I’m pretty sure that it does. I set down my bag and take off my sneakers, changing into a pair of low heels I keep specially at the office. My feet protest, but I’ll have to ignore them. I settle into my chair and pull the closest file toward me. There’s going to be a lot of catching up to do, and I know my schedule is solid today and tomorrow. My first meeting is at nine, at least, so I have a couple of hours to get sorted.
As I’m reviewing a contract for a new client, I hear Cindy come into the assistants’ area outside of the office, talking to one of the other paralegals. I look up as she comes into my office, carrying coffee—thank goodness—and a newspaper under her arm.
“I didn’t know that you read the newspaper in paper,” I remark as she sets the coffee down in front of me. “Thank you so much.” I take a deep drink. “I need this so badly today.”
Cindy grins, setting down her own cup and taking the newspaper out from under her arm. She spreads the broadsheet over my desk, draping it over the files, and flips to the food and entertainment section. Then she points at an article. The headline, though small, reads: Perfect Pop-up for Your Chinese and Western Cravings.
“Jo just loved Ming Kitty,” Cindy gushes. “You need to get out the word for another evening really soon. This will bring in the interest.”
“It’s in the paper already?” I turn my attention to the article, amazed that we could have gotten such a good review so quickly.
“Country charm and good taste,” Cindy quotes. “I won’t say that you and Lucy will be millionaires, but holy cow, this is a great start.”
“I wonder if we can do another one this Saturday.” I pull up my calendar. Somehow Cindy has managed to keep all my appointments to the regular workweek, with a few later evenings, and my weekend is free. “I’ll call Lucy and give her the news.”
“You should do every weekend,” Cindy says, “and take advantage of the publicity. Not to mention the great weather. More people will drive out of town.”
I reread the article. I can’t help but focus on the compliments: crisp yet roasted finish, elegant frisée with the indulgence of truffles, a carefully curated mix of Chinese and Western cuisine.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Cindy says, “and I’ll get prepped for the meeting at nine. Mr. Pegau always likes coffee, doesn’t he?”
I nod. “He’s not fussy, though. Black coffee, no fancy stuff.”
Cindy smiles. “The easiest way.”
I go back to my files, making notes and setting things aside to send to the court and to other lawyers. I feel like I’m making some progress.
My phone rings around eight thirty. I answer it without thinking. “Kitty Kerr.”
“Kitty, it’s Jack,” my boss says. “My office, please. Now.” He hangs up.
Jack’s never been that blunt, that short. Suddenly my day doesn’t feel so good. It reminds me of when I was a kid, when I messed up and my dad would call me into his office and give me a dressing-down. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, I never forgot it. Just the thought makes me tense, and I know my breathing is increasing, my hands clammy. Cindy comes in.
“Jack just said we need to be in his office,” she says. She looks puzzled. “I’m not sure why—there’s nothing on your schedule.”
I shake my head and rise, willing my stomach to quiet, willing my anxiety, my attack of nervousness to subside. It doesn’t, but I have to pretend it has.
“Let’s go.”
“You all right?” Cindy asks in a low tone as we leave my office and head down the hallway.
I shake my head again. Cindy stays quiet; she knows just as well as I do that this isn’t a pleasantry for Jack. If he’s going to do that sort of thing, he comes to his associate’s office, not the other way around. Each footstep feels like a mile.
We reach the desk of Jack’s assistant, who waves us in. “He’s waiting for you,” she says. To me, she sounds pitying, and that makes me even more nervous.
“Come in, Kitty, Cindy,” Jack says as we reach his open door. “Close the door behind you.” Cindy closes the door once we’ve entered, and we take the seats that he indicates in front of his desk.
“I had a call from Mr. Anderson on Friday evening,” he says, “and it seems that the companies who liened his property filed in the courts and at the Land Titles office. He was very concerned and thought you had filed all the paperwork to have that lien removed.” His voice is even, but firm. My heart’s in my throat. I remember that paperwork, the notices sent. I think back to the dates, mentally counting, and realize that I forgot the filing.
“I am so sorry,” I say. Words can’t even express what I’m feeling, that mix of embarrassment, horror, and worry that has no name. “It is absolutely my fault.”
“I should have known too,” Cindy says.
“Regardless of whose fault it was, it lies with you, Ms. Kerr,” he continues, “and that means that our client is now having to defend a lawsuit to pay fees to companies that never completed the work they were ordered to, and who he shouldn’t have to pay. As such, you will be taking his defense in this lawsuit, and you will be doing it pro bono. This is a junior mistake, one that I thought you’d be better than to make.”
I want to sink through my chair and into the floor. His tone is cold, his gaze icy, his lips thinned. He really is angry.
“Sir, Kitty’s schedule is packed solid,” Cindy says, bravely defending me. I love her for it, though I wish she wouldn’t. That’s not going to make things any easier.
“She has evenings and weekends open,” Jack says, looking at me pointedly. “And I’m quite sure she can do it. Right, Kitty?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, knowing I sound just as I feel, ashamed and at a loss.
“But…”
“Ms. Torres, please be silent.” Jack focuses on me. “I appreciate that you are spending a lot of time at work already, Ms. Kerr, but I am also aware of your side project and how it has taken your attention from the firm.” He slides a copy of today’s paper onto the blotter in front of him. “While I’m impressed with your moxie, I can’t help but think that if you really wanted to be a partner, you would have held off on your pop-up, or found someone else to run it while you did your real job.”
I swallow hard.
“In fact, your billable hours have dropped recently,” he says. “You’re in the lower third of associates at the moment, and you used to be at the top.” He shrugs. “Mr. Anderson wanted you fired and threatened to pull his business from our firm. You know that he does hundreds of thousands of dollars’ business with us every year. I’m not sure that I’m right to keep you on, quite honestly. It’s only my long-standing friendship with your father that has me giving you this opportunity to make things right.”
“Please give me another chance.” The words are out before I can even think about them. Desperation twists inside me, and I can’t bear the thought of losing this job, of losing the partnership. I’ve worked so hard for this for so long. I was impressing Jack, impressing my parents, impressing the other associates…I had been doing so well.
“I will,” Jack says, “but on one condition. Mr. Anderson has to win his suit. If he doesn’t, our corporate reputation will be sullied, and neither I nor the other partners can tolerate that, or that our insurer will have to pay his costs. I’ll expect regular daily reports from you and Cindy in regard to this file, and I will be speaking regularly with Mr. Anderson about how he feels the case is progressing. He’s very influential, and he is one of our best clients. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply.
Jack checks his watch. “Your meeting starts soon. You’d best be on your way.”
It’s a dismissal, and a curt one. I rise to my feet, trying to hide my shakiness. Cindy rises too, and we don’t look at each other until we’re back in my office. The walk back seemed interminable, as if every associate, every paralegal was staring at us, knowing that we’d messed up.
I feel like I’m going to be sick, but I can’t be.
“I’m so sorry, Kitty,” Cindy says as I shut my office door. “It completely slipped my mind, and I must not have added it to the calendar.”
“It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying proper attention. I knew better. I should have done better. I should have been focused on what counts.” I pace back to my desk, then turn, pacing back to the door. “Dammit. If only I hadn’t been so involved with the pop-up. It was stupid of me. Cooking isn’t important. I could have had the partnership, and this sets me back.” My stomach clenches. I’d let my emotions take over, let Lucy’s charm and attention take away my focus.
“But you love the pop-up,” Cindy points out. “This weekend was amazing. It was totally worth it.”
“Not if I don’t make partner, it isn’t,” I say. “I’ve wanted that for even longer. Longer than anything.”
Cindy purses her lips, nods. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know that she doesn’t agree with me. We’ve been friends that long, but I don’t know how I could explain it in a way that she’d understand how important being partner is to me. She’s a romantic, through and through. I love romance, and Lucy’s amazing, but our pop-up can’t come before my job. Nothing can.
“I’ll make sure your nine o’clock comes in on time,” she says. “And I’ll schedule in Mr. Anderson’s work too. You should have time between meetings this morning to give him a call.” She turns and leaves. I know she’s disappointed in me, but that’ll have to be dealt with later. I can feel the weight of Jack’s expectations, and the weight of my own.
* * *
I’m not even sure what time I get in to my condo—all I know is that it’s late. Too late. My feet hurt from the heels, even though I changed back into my sneakers before I left the office. I have files in my bag, but I’m not going to be able to get to them. All I want is a hot bath and my bed. And I need to call Lucy. I check the clock. Eleven.
It’s too late to call, I think. It must be. Lucy’s up with the birds. She’ll be asleep by now. We texted briefly today, but I didn’t mention anything about the restaurant or about work, just that I was busy.
I set my bag down by the kitchen bar and pull out my phone. Heimei looks at me from her perch. I’ve never been particularly fanciful, but it does seem that she too is disapproving. I text Lucy, a quick Just got home from work. I set my phone down and go to the fridge, pull out a bottle of water. I down half of it. The office is so dry, and I didn’t have much time to stop for hydration. Cindy did manage to convince me to eat a sandwich at lunch and a salad at dinner, so at least I’m not starving. My stomach growls. Well, I’m a bit hungry. I pull open my fridge again and scan the contents. Not much there. A plastic container that I’d brought home yesterday from the farm. I grab it, pry open the lid. Lucy’s mother made me some extra congee yesterday morning and insisted I take a container home. Right now, I am incredibly thankful. It will be the perfect snack to have before I go to bed.
My phone buzzes on the counter. I pick it up. Lucy’s calling. I thought she’d be asleep.
“Hey,” I answer.
“You sound tired,” Lucy says. “Work busy today?”
“Unbelievably. So much so that I’m just about to eat and then crawl right into bed. It’s another long day tomorrow.” So long. With the preparation for Mr. Anderson’s file as well as my other work, I know it’s going to be another late night. I feel overwhelmed with all I need to do.
“Thanks for sending the link to the review,” Lucy says. “We really did well, didn’t we?”
“We sure did.” A surge of love, of accomplishment surges through me, a feeling I thought I’d almost forgotten after today’s woes, but it fades quickly.
“Alice thinks we should do another one this Saturday,” Lucy says, “and capitalize on the review. We definitely have enough produce to stock the place again. And I think we can afford the chicken and fish. Unless we should try some new dishes? I don’t know.”
“I can’t do it this weekend,” I admit after a long pause. “My boss has given me a ton of work this week.” I try to keep my voice strong, keep it from shaking. I don’t want to admit to my screwup, even to Lucy.
“Can he do that?” Lucy asks. “That’s not fair. You have a life outside work.”
“Work’s not fair,” I agree, “but there’s not much I can do about it. I’m thisclose to making partner, and it’s what’s expected.”
“What about the weekend after?” Lucy asks. “We can’t let this go too long. Or what if we do a quickie pop-up booth at the farmers’ market here in town? I can talk to the woman who does the bookings, and I’m sure she’ll be able to squeeze us in. It’s Saturday morning from ten o’clock until two in the afternoon.”
“I can’t.” My heart is sinking, but I have no idea if I can even carve out the four or five hours that Lucy is asking for. I don’t want to be unemployed. I want that partnership.
“We need to keep doing this,” Lucy says.
“I know we do.” I try to hold back a yawn but fail. “I’m sorry, Luce. I can’t do this. Ming Kitty is taking away from my real job. I need a break.”
There’s silence on the line. Then I hear a deep breath.
“All right,” Lucy says, though her voice is tight. “But we need to figure out when we can do another evening, so we can start advertising it.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, Lucy, but I can’t. I need a break from this.”
More silence. My stomach churns.
“What kind of break?” This time Lucy’s voice is quiet, barely heard.
I don’t want to say the words, but I know that I can’t focus on work and her at the same time, can’t take any time for a personal life. It feels like there’s a vise around my chest. “A break from everything.”
“Right.” The word is sudden, sharp. “Don’t let me keep you up.” There’s a click, and then empty space. Lucy’s gone.
I set my phone down with shaking hands and look at the congee on the counter, waiting to be warmed up. The last thing I want now is to eat, especially not Michelle’s congee. It reminds me too much of Lucy, too much of the farm. I need to focus, and it’s late. Bedtime.
I dump the congee into the compost bin and go to bed.