Page 55 of Lovely War
I made a big mistake recently, telling her Ben gives me the little bags of pretzels that come with his student center café lunch combo. “It’s like when a penguin brings another penguin little pebbles because he wants to mate,” she cooed.
I don’t want to hear that again, so I hug my knees and grumble, “Yes, fine, I’m aware we’re flirting.”
“Really? Damn, I was hoping we could do that thing where you deny it and then eventually I’m proven right and I get to gloat about it.”
“You must’ve forgotten that I’m older and wiser than you. I’m incredibly self-aware.”
“What about him, is he aware you’re flirting?”
“I haven’t asked.” I’m pretty sure he is, except when I’m certain he isn’t.
“Wiseass. But no one has made a move?”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Nothing is going to happen.”
“Oh, I get it.Thisis the part where you deny it, and then eventually I’ll be proven right and get to gloat about it. Do you mind repeating what you said in writing for my file?”
Kat’s wrong. Nothing is going to happen, because I’m going to make sure of it. Flirting is one thing. In fact, I’d forgotten the thrilling, addictive pleasure of good banter. I can’t remember the last time I felt it. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.How close can I get,as close as I want, and no further. But I’ll keep it from escalating, because I’m not a fool. There are too many complicating factors, a weight that can’t be supported, that will bring the whole thing down.
After I hang up I look at the message again. A sick feeling floods my body anew, and my fingers are bloodless as I type a response.
Annie: thanks for letting me know.
Annie: now where’s my sasha pic, I know you were with her today
SIXTEEN
On Beach House Monday, Iarrive early to catch up with Cassie before Eric gets home.
“Third place is pretty impressive considering I’m the only one who’s never watched the show before.” I blow on my tea and sink into the couch cushions.
“Very impressive,” Cassie says from the bedroom, where she’s changing out of her work clothes. When she returns to the living room, she’s wearing leggings and a hooded sweatshirt, fuzzy socks on her feet. “I’m going to check on the food.”
“What are we having?” I ask. “Can I help?” A lid clinks as Cassie sets it on the counter.
“Oh,no.”
I set down my mug on a coaster and crane my neck to look. “Not done? Can you turn it up to high?” I’m only vaguely familiar with the settings of a slow cooker, not being the kind of person who has the eight hours of foresight necessary to use one.
Cassie pops her head around the corner, one hand pressed against her forehead, the other brandishing a pair of tongs. “I must’ve forgotten to turn it on this morning! I was on the phone with one of the junior associates on my new case while I was getting everything ready and I was so distracted. It’s been sitting here all day at room temperature.”
I make a sympathetic noise. “That sucks. Should we order takeout?”
Something visibly cracks inside Cassie, and her shoulders sag. “All I want is to cook for my friends once a week. Is that so much to ask? I don’t think so.” She waves the tongs like an angry fencer. “This is my one thing. My. One. Thing. The one thing I do just because I want to. Because I like to have one nice evening cooking something delicious and watching my favorite show with the people I care about. And I’m so tired and busy all the time I can’t even do it right.”
Her voice wobbles, and she blinks rapidly, her eyes shining with tears. This obviously isn’t just about tonight’s dinner. Something is wrong, has been wrong for some time, and I missed it. Dammit. I’ve been so preoccupied with my own life I missed the warning signs.
I jump up and cross the room, squeezing Cassie’s shoulder and gently sliding the tongs from her grasp before they slip from her hand and fly through a window. “Hey, hey. No. First of all, you’re an amazing human being. Second of all, forget the takeout. We have”—I check my phone—“ninety minutes. You have me, I’ll be your sous chef, we’ll throw something together. Ninety minutes, it’s doable, right?”
“Okay.” Cassie nods, inhaling and exhaling in a controlled manner. “You’re right. We’ll make—let’s see.” She returns to the kitchen, opening cabinets and peering into thefridge. “Wait, how about your lasagna? That’s good for a group.”
“Uh.” There’s not enough time to make pasta from scratch, so we’ll have to use store-bought noodles. I let out a tortured gurgle and cover it with a cough. Cassie is a better cook than I am in general, but I only have the one good dish in my repertoire, so I’m normally precious about it. But I’m not about to tell Cassie no. I grit my teeth. “Sounds great. Can I borrow your car to run home? I have frozen Bolognese we can use.”
Later, when we’re working together to assemble the layers in two glass baking dishes, I glance up at her. “You okay?”
Cassie methodically pats the sauce into the corners of the pan with the back of a spoon. When she speaks her voice is quiet. “Just stressed. I’m not good at turning things down at work. New cases, more mentoring, pro bono stuff. I always say yes.” She looks up. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but sometimes when I’m overwhelmed I think, ‘What would Annie do?’ You’re good at setting boundaries. It doesn’t work for me.”
Here Lies Annie Radford: She Knew How to Say No to Life. It’s not even true anymore. If only Cassie knew how bad I’ve been at setting boundaries lately. “Please. You don’t want to channel anything I do.” I wipe a splash of sauce from the counter. “It sounds like something needs to change. At least you love what you do, right? That’s why you keep taking on more. I think you’ll be better at the parts of your job that you love most if you can find a way to say no to the parts that are bullshit.”
