Page 33 of Revive

“I usually get a Prawn Pad Thai, covered in peanut sauce.”

”Sounds good.” I push the menu away without even giving it a second glance. “I'll get that then.”

“Are you sure? I kinda put that dish together, and it’s not really for everyone.”

“I'll take my chances.” The guy from earlier returns, pen behind his ear, and notebook in his hand. “Do you want me to order the same for you?”

“No.” She waves her hand in front of her and then addresses the waiter. “I would like a bowl of Tom Yum soup, please.” Her face turns back to me. “I had a really late lunch at work.”

“No problem.” Collecting the menus, I interrupt his continual appraisal of Taylah and rudely shove them under his nose. “Thanks. We’re done here.”

“I’m right here,” I say, shaking my head. “Could he be any more obvious?”

“Excuse me,” she says, the sass returning to the tone of her voice. “He can look all he wants, we’re not together.”

“Right now, we are.” Wanting to attach myself to her in any way possible, I’m unfamiliar with the sense of competition and jealousy coursing through me. She’s not mine, and I’m not hers, but the frustration and need building in the middle of my chest to have her, hints otherwise. “Why don’t you tell me about your week from hell. I bet you mine rivals it.”

“No,” she groans. “I don’t want to talk about it yet. You tell me yours.”

“Well. Wait, do you know what I do?” I ask, realising the sense of familiarity between us doesn’t actually mean we know a lot about one another.

“Jagger and Emerson have mentioned it.”

“How nice of them,” I say sarcastically. “Do they talk about me often?

She shakes her head while twisting an invisible key at the seam of her mouth, insinuating her lips are sealed.

“Whatever.” I put my hands up in defeat. “I don’t care anyway.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” she teases. “Now stop stalling and tell me what happened at work.”

“It’s not that exciting,” I start. “But we’re getting audited at the end of this month, which is a pain, but it’s almost impossible finalising all the paperwork when I’ve spent all my extra hours making sure my clients are staying out of trouble.”

“I fucking hate when they spring that shit on you,” she says in understanding. “Expecting it all to be up to date because your job only consists of paperwork.”

“Every time it happens, I tell myself to be more up to date so I don’t go through the same shit next audit. But alas, I’m really talented at being extremely unorganised.”

“It’s definitely one of the shit sides of the job.” She pulls a laptop bag in the air and points to it. “That’s the reason I’m not staying back every night, I’m taking it home with me.”

We sit through a meal, and order dessert, talking about all the things we love and hate about our jobs. I knew what she did for a living, but I forgot how close our circles ran.

I also didn’t realise how much I like hearing her talk. About anything.

Specialising in family law, she knows all about the type of children I work with, where they come from and how hard the system has to work to make sure they don’t get lost. In turn, I know how hard it is to be responsible for visitation rights, kids without parents and parents losing their kids.

It’s a constant battle between wanting to save everyone and not being able to save anyone.

“Do you ever think you’ll leave Legal Aid and go private?”

She skates her top teeth across her bottom lip as she mulls over my question. “I never say never, but right now, I’m happy and content. I get to have all the things I want for my life while doing something worthwhile for somebody else’s.”

The conversation hasn’t turned to sex once, and I find myself enthralled, wanting to learn all the things about her. How empathetic she is. How much she has to give, how little she feels she needs to take.

A loud yawn leaves her mouth, and she rushes to cover it. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“Some days my inner old lady shows, and my body wants to be in bed by nine pm.”

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