Page 61 of Wright Kind of Trouble

He arched an eyebrow at me. “That’s not the same thing as being set on going.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It feels like what I should be doing. It’s what I’ve been working toward.”

“Again, not the same thing.”

“I’m at a disadvantage with you since I got wasted and told you all about my fears.”

He leaned toward me and tipped my chin up to look at him. I felt frozen in his embrace.

“I feel like that is an advantage. There’s no pretense between us. So you can tell me exactly what you think. I’ve seen you throw up in my bathroom. I think I can handle the rest.”

I laughed. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“I’m just saying that changing your mind at twenty-one is perfectly normal. And if you don’t want to be a lawyer, Harley, then you shouldn’t go to law school.”

If I didn’t want to be a lawyer…then I shouldn’t go to law school.

It was that simple.

And somehow forever difficult.

“But I still feel like law is the best way for me to be able to make a difference,” I told him, pushing off of the railing and continuing forward.

“How so?”

“Well, I want to…help women and minorities and LGBTQ with workplace problems. I want equality and inclusion and resources that aren’t there yet. I want to be part of the solution for a problem that feels as if it is growing ever more divisive.”

“That’s ambitious.”

I shot him a grin. “Have you met me?”

“Well, I believe you can do it.”

“Yeah?”

“Changing the world starts with one person.”

My smile was radiant then. “Thanks. Yeah.”

“Though I think you can do it with or without a law degree. You just have to decide if that’s what you want.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Enough work talk,” he said. “I haven’t seen you since you left. What have you been doing since you got back?”

I finished off my cone, wiping my hands clean and tossing the napkins into a nearby trash can. My arms swung at my sides as we walked together. Then, halfway through my story about how I’d started to take up ice skating lessons again, his hand moved into mine.

My head whipped up in surprise at the contact. Then, he threaded our fingers together. Just a couple walking through the market on a sunny day, hand in hand. My entire body felt like it was on fire. What was happening? He was holding my hand? Was this actually a date?

Yes, he was here to see his old Yale roommate. But he was here to see me, too, right?

I could just enjoy this. And not overcomplicate things.

It was the first time we’d ever been in a place where neither of our families was around. No Wrights to catch us together. No Sinclairs in sight. No one to question why we were here like this. No one who knew that our families hated each other. No complications at all.

Except the ones that we’d never been able to avoid.

Because what would happen when we went home?

---