She stands there smiling, waiting for some instruction, anything that she can do for me. She’s a good-looking girl with an elegantly featured face. Most men would give their right nut to be in the position where this young pretty thing is all but begging for the chance to service them. I could say, “Well, Bridge, actually, I’d like us to play a little game. It’s called Army. We’re gonna go over to that couch. I’m gonna sit down, and you’re blow the hell out of me,” and she’d be more than happy to oblige. With a mouth like hers, I get the feeling she’d be really good at Army.
But she makes me uneasy. She’s my employee, and things would go badly if I started shitting where I eat. Plus I don’t want to hurt her. She’s so eager, so desperate to make me smile and compliment her, say something to prove that I actually do like her. She’s not a bad girl. She’ll meet some guy and make him very happy, but that guy isn’t going to be me. The only thing that makes me happy these days is Oxy.
“All right then,” she says finally. She wrings her hands together. “Oh! I knew there was another reason that I came in here. My dad wanted me to ask you if you were available this Friday. It’s my grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary and we’re having a surprise party for them. It’d be really great if you could be there.” She’s got that starry look in her eyes. “Can you imagine being married for fifty years? And they’ve always been so happy together.”
I smile. “That’s a wonderful accomplishment,” I say. “And certainly something to be celebrated. But to be perfectly honest, I can’t imagine being married at all.”
She looks crestfallen, like she’s secretly already been planning our wedding day. She recovers quickly, though. “Can I tell my father that you’ll be there? It really would mean a lot. To him, but also to my grandfather.”
I’ve had to do a lot of these sorts of things over the years—be there at events and functions, the ambassador for my dead family. Talk about the sorts of things my father or brother might, reminisce about other occasions and events that I wasn’t even there for. Just the sort of shit I’ll have to do at this fiftieth wedding anniversary surprise party.
“Of course,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
After Bridget leaves, I find the folder I keep within another folder on my desktop, and I open it. I named it backups, but that’s not what it is. It’s photographs and some basic information about Essie. I look at the pictures. In a way, there’s a part of me that feels as though I know her. These aren’t photos a hired PI took of her; they’re photos she put up on Facebook, though she deleted her account after a few months, not long after she started working at the law firm, actually. The first thought that occurred to me when I saw her profile picture was that she looked a lot like Hannah. In fact, they could be sisters. And of course, why the hell wouldn’t she look like Hannah? The universe is just that fucked. My brother kills Essie’s brother, and then Essie ends up looking like the spitting image of the girl both me and my brother fell in love with.
If neither of us had met Hannah, would things have been different between Alex and me? They certainly would’ve turned out differently for Hannah. Back then, I hadn’t actually thought about Hannah in a while. Too painful. But seeing Essie brought back so many memories. If Alex were alive, I knew he’d say the same thing: That chick looks just like the girlfriend you stole from me.
TEN
ESSIE
The Mendel, Goldstein and Hofstadter law offices take up the whole twelfth floor of the Holbrook Building. None of the admins have their own office. The main space is a large room where our cubicles and desks are set up. Each lawyer’s assistant has the desk closest to her lawyer’s door, while we legal secretaries are grouped toward the middle of the room. I’m the closest to the entrance, which means I also play sometime receptionist, too.
I’m sitting at my desk, going over the dossier I’ve prepped and plan to show Aidan Callahan—when and if he gets back to me. I keep checking my email, but no response yet. To anyone walking by, it would appear that I’m very busy, very engrossed in the papers I have before me. I’m sure it appears this way to Brandon Lukeman, one of our clients who’s just stepped out of the elevator.
He stands there with his hands in his pockets, alternating glances between me and his feet. He clears his throat. I look up.
“Hi, Brandon,” I say. At the acknowledgement, he comes right over to my desk. I close the file folder and slide it into a drawer. “How are you this morning?”
Brandon’s a client hiring one of our a junior associates on a limited assistance basis. He kind of reminds me of Vaughn, both in looks and demeanor. I don’t know if he’s picked up on this or not—maybe I’ve smiled once or twice too often at him—but I think over the past few weeks he’s developed a crush on me.
“Hey, Ess,” he says. “I’ve got a meeting with Alicia. I’m a little early, though.”
“I’ll let her know you’re here. You can have a seat if you want.”
He smiles but doesn’t make any move to go sit down.
“Are you holding up okay?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s not easy. I just want to do what’s best for Trish, but Lindsay’s making that really difficult. I don’t want to have to do any of this, but she’s on the war path.”
Trish is his five-year-old daughter. I nod sympathetically. Most of our clients here are corporate, but Alicia Barrett also handles family law. I see my fair share of divorces and child custody cases. No way will I ever get married. No way will I ever have children with someone. There’s just way too much risk, way too much that could go wrong.
Brandon got burned so badly by his ex, it’s a wonder he’s not sworn off women for life. “Hey. I’m really sorry,” I tell him. And I mean it. He’s a good guy.
“Thanks, sweetheart. I really appreciate how nice you’ve been.” His face is starting to get red. “Actually…I know this probably isn’t the time or the place, but…I was wondering if you might like to go out and get coffee some time?” He says this last part in a rush, his eyes glued to his feet.
Before I can answer, Alicia appears in her office doorway, eyes quickly scanning between the two of us. “Hey, Brandon. Ready when you are, okay?” She shoots me a warning glance—keep your hands to yourself, Floyd—and then vanishes back into her office.
Brandon knows him leaning into my cubicle, flirting horrendously has just scored me a black mark with Alicia. He winces, straightening up and pulling his suit jacket down. “Sorry, sweetheart. Like I said. Wrong time, wrong place, I guess.” He doesn’t push for an answer from me. He’s even redder than before, even more embarrassed. Poor guy. I should just put him out of his misery and tell him I don’t think it would be appropriate, given the dynamic between us. That’s exactly what Alicia’s going to tell me when she comes by to ream me out later on, after all. Brandon must be able to sense it coming, though; he backs toward Alicia’s office, holding his hands up.
“Don’t break my heart just yet, Ess. Maybe wait ‘til after I find out how much I’m losing in the divorce first.” He winks, and then he’s gone.
Maybe in another life, buddy.
I’m about to get my Callahan dossier out again, but instead I decide to check my email. My heart speeds up when I see Aidan’s finally written me back.
I take a deep breath before I open the message. I suddenly find I’m doubting myself. What the hell am I going to do if this works? What the hell am I going to do if it doesn’t? What’s my life going to look like when I don’t have a purpose?