Page 81 of Hers for the Weekend

“What’s up, kid?”

“Randolph is taking the case to trial.”

Again, Tara didn’t ask what case. The huge one. The one she’d fought to be allowed to take, because the partners at her firm thought it was social justice warrior bullshit that wouldn’t make them any money, and that her client wasn’t worth defending. The one she’d pushed her ethics to the line trying to keep on track.

“He’s fucking what?” Randolph was the senior partner at her firm.

Lucy drew in a sharp breath. “Some of the true crime podcasts have started talking about the case, and HBO called about doing a special. You’ve been off the grid, and Randolph…”

“Wants the glory. And now he can take my work and spin it to make the firm look altruistic and progressive.” Tara nodded to herself. Fuck. She couldn’t even argue, even if her boss would listen to her, because as good as she was in front of a jury, Randolph was the best, and at the end of the day, Tara wanted her client to get the best defense.

The case had been the only thing pushing her to get back home, the only real responsibility she had left there. She had a moment’s hot anger at having so much work stolen from her, and then an overwhelming wave of relief. She didn’t have to go back yet. Oh, she was going to eventually. The South was in her bones and her blood, and she loved it deeply. But right now, she could stay at Carrigan’s, wrapped up with her friends in this little magical pocket universe for a little while longer while she figured out who the hell she was. Because if she went back to Charleston now, she’d never know.

Carrigan’s had shown her a mirror version of her life, and a version of herself that she’d never imagined, but she didn’t know how to take that version of herself out into the world yet.

“Lucy, my dear girl, I am quitting the firm. I highly recommend you do the same. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing next, but when I figure it out, I’ll call you to see if you’re available.”

“Oh, I will be,” Lucy assured her. “Where you lead, I will follow.”

Tara only knew this was a Gilmore Girls reference because she’d been letting Cole catch her up on TV she’d missed, and they’d been systematically making their way through the WB catalog. She now had a lot of opinions on Piper vs. Prue Halliwell, and teenage aliens who loved hot sauce.

Then, rather than having Galentine’s Tea or a Valentine’s special for couples, the Carrigan’s team leaned hard into supporting Tara’s broken heart by hosting an Anti-Love Party. They played angry breakup music, decorated broken heart cookies, and wore their best black outfits.

It was… fun? It was a lot of fun. She hadn’t played, for the fun of it, since she’d burned down her life. Until she came to Carrigan’s.

While she was gleefully writing Luv Sux on a cookie in pink icing, Elijah Green sat down next to her. “Needs glitter,” he observed.

“You’re not wrong.” She picked up some edible glitter and sprinkled it on.

Jason and Elijah were constantly planning fun outings with what seemed like every queer person in Upstate New York. Noelle and Miriam often went and always invited her along. Getting to know them and their friends had put into stark contrast what she had waiting for her at home—polo matches and brunches where drunk straight women complained about dating.

“Not to add salt to the Valentine’s wound,” Elijah said, gesturing at the broken heart in Tara’s hand, “but any thoughts about what you’re doing next?”

She made a face. “Lots of thoughts, but none of them great. You got any ideas, most brilliant lawyer friend?”

“Have you thought about consulting?” he asked, popping some cookie into his mouth. “Working with people around the country defending tough cases? It would give you a lot of outside-Charleston options. Hell, you could do it from here.”

She almost said no, reflexively. She almost said, “I can’t settle anywhere but Charleston.” But she stopped herself. Even if that were true, eventually, for the rest of her life, what was true right now? That she had no job to go back to and no real connections to do the kind of work she wanted to do going forward.

Consulting was smart. Really smart. It would let her collaborate with amazing people, on her own schedule, anywhere. And she could still take on her own cases. No wonder the Carrigan’s crew spent so much money keeping this man on as their lawyer.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Consulting, not staying here permanently. I’m not the kind of gay who wants to start a commune in the woods with her ex.”

“I can’t wait to hear what you decide,” Elijah told her warmly. Then, looking over her shoulder, his eyes widened. “I think your friends are descending.”

He fled in the face of Cole and Hannah. They flanked her, Cole on her right and Hannah on her left. Cole stole what was left of her cookie.

“Isn’t Elijah a great friend?” Hannah asked. “Wouldn’t it be great if you lived here and could hang out with him all the time?”

They were relentless. “I can’t just live in your hotel. You need to rent out the rooms.”

“We are renting them!” Hannah reminded her. “To you.”

Noelle appeared and sat across from them. “You could stay here in the back cabin. Unlimited Rosenstein’s pastries and Kringle snuggles, zero parrot wallpaper.”

“If I stayed, I would have to earn my keep. I can’t stay here and do nothing,” Tara argued, breaking a cookie on the table into crumbs.

“You’re not ‘doing nothing,’” Hannah asserted. “You’re self-actualizing.”

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