Page 168 of Role Play
“You connected with people, Forrest. You made lonely women feel treasured, wanted, even if just briefly.” She holds my gaze, unflinching. “At least you were adding something to these women’s lives. All Hannah does is take from people.”
Her words settle over me, a small balm to my raw nerves. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Of course.” She glances at her watch. “We should head in. Punctuality makes a good impression.”
“Sora wanted to come for support,” I say as we exit the car. “I told her not to. I didn’t want to put this stress on her shoulders. And after how cruel Hannah was to her…”
Rina gives me a knowing look but says nothing as we approach the revolving doors. Her silence speaks volumes.
The lobby of the building is all polished marble and echoing spaces. Our footsteps ring out as we cross to the elevator banks, the sound oddly ominous. I’m so focused on the brass elevator doors ahead that I nearly miss the small gathering of people to our right.
“Forrest!”
I turn, and my heart catches. The lobby isn’t empty as I’d expected. It’s filled with familiar faces—Taio and Saylor, dutifully standing with military precision in suits that would make James Bond envious. Beside them is Celeste, dressed to the nines, looking graceful as ever. Her dark hair fancily coiffed. Daphne, wearing her waitressing uniform, but no matter, she’s here, fist bunched in the universalget ’em, tigergesture.
And then, stepping forward from the group—Sora. Not alone, but flanked by her parents.
“Surprise,” Sora says, her smile wavering slightly as if uncertain of my reaction.
I stand frozen, floored by the show of support. Rina gives me a gentle nudge forward.
“Did you know about this?” I ask.
“I might have made a few calls,” she admits. “Your girl did the rest.”
Sora reaches me first, her hands finding mine. “Don’t be mad. I know you said not to come, but I couldn’t let you face this alone. We won’t be in your way,” she continues quickly. “We’ll stay down here in the lobby, but I wanted you to walk into thatroom knowing how much love and support you have behind you.”
I look past her to the others—Taio giving me an encouraging thumbs-up, Saylor with his nod of solidarity, Celeste holding her hand over her heart, beaming at me. Even Sora’s parents, hand in hand, stand firmly behind me.
“Boone wanted to be here too,” Sora adds. “He’s planning to call right after. He’s here in spirit.”
The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I’ve spent so much of my life standing alone—against my mother’s abandonment, against the crushing debt, against Hannah’s rejection. The sight of these people gathered for me is almost too much.
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice a mere croak. “All of you.”
Sora rises on her tiptoes to press her forehead against mine. “You’ve got this,” she whispers. “No matter what happens in there, we’ll figure it out together.”
I kiss her forehead, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo—vanilla and something floral—that has become synonymous with home. “I love you,” I tell her. “Thank you for being here, for everything.”
Her answering smile is like sunrise after the longest night. “I love you too. Now go get your daughter back.”
With one last look at the unlikely assembly—escorts and clients, colleagues and friends, all united for me—I turn and follow Rina to the elevators.
As the doors close, separating me from Sora and the others, I straighten my shoulders. For the first time in three weeks, I feel something other than despair.
I feel hope.
Sora
The lobby of the mediator’s office feels both too large and too small—vast in its hollow marble expanse, but confining in the way all waiting rooms are. There’s nothing to do except exist, trapped in the shallow tank of my anxiety and nerves.
I pace in front of the seating area where my parents wait, taking five steps in one direction before pivoting and retracing my path. Mom watches with the patient-ish resignation of someone who’s witnessed this particular habit for twenty-seven years. My father’s attention is divided between the legal pad on his lap, where he’s been scribbling notes about God knows what. Maybe story ideas before they leave his head and dissipate into the abyss of reality.
“Sora, you’re going to wear a track in the floor,” Mom finally says, patting the empty seat beside her. “Come sit. Your pacing won’t make time move faster.”
“I can’t help it,” I reply, but I do stop, turning instead to stare at the elevator bank as if I could will the doors to open and reveal Forrest with good news. “It’s been over an hour.”
“These things take time,” Dad says without looking up from his notepad. “Legal proceedings are notoriously slow.”
