Page 91 of Catfish

I wave a dismissive hand in the air. “Viola was in the family for decades. She ran my father’s campaign.”

“But it’s you we're talking about. You’re not your dad.”

“Is there a point?”

“Yeah, why?”

"I'm honestly not sure what else you're trying to insinuate, but there is no—" I air quote. "—’hidden agenda’ behind it." Just the words leaving my mouth makes my tongue dry.

I’ve never lied to Chase before.

Never had to because nothing was ever mine to just stay mine. Everything I do and plan on doing is public to him and Em, there are no secrets or moments solely to myself. Besides, when I'm alone at home, and even then, there is no one to talk to about standard, everyday stuff.

Like the rivalry between the Yankees and the Red Sox. Or the fact that I hate peas and the winter when there is no snow. How I’d like to travel the world and kiss someone in public without anyone giving a shit.

“Alright,” Chase concedes. “I was just curious.”

“You’re always curious,” I censure. “Surprised you’re not dead yet.”

"Second nature, my friend. I normally have to know everything about a case, or I lose. And we know that doesn't happen very often."

I snort. “Mhm.”

“Why does Em want her so bad?”

You should fucking see her.

“Again, you’d have to ask her. Says she isn’t ‘basic’—whatever the fuck that means.”

"I'd ask, but Em has it out for me." He sighs. "I stared at her too long, and she threatened to throw a stapler at my head earlier."

“Then quit eye-fucking my assistant. She’s not an idiot.”

“Is she a lesbian because I—”

“Seriously? God, I wish she was because it’d win me more of the women vote.”

“Always thinking about votes.”

Because I can't think of anything else, and if I do, I snap myself right out because I'll drive myself mad.

Chase closes his carryout container and stands. “I’m going to take off, buddy, I have a hearing in an hour.”

“Thanks for lunch.”

"Anytime." He gives me a bro shake, and we snap our fingers. "Let's grab dinner tomorrow."

“If you mean the Yankees game and carryout at my place, you’re on.” I finger gun him.

“Chinese it is. I’ll talk to you later.”

I wave him off, listening to the door click closed behind him. The familiar sound of suppressed silence fills my office again.

You’d think I’d be used to this by now, the soundtrack of my life on repeat over and over. I never noticed it too much before until I started talking to Reagan, saw her, and now everything stands out.

I glance at my cell phone on my desk, the black screen tormenting me again to the honest truth.

I have but only one close friend.

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