back, huh?”
I nod. “Got home a few weeks ago.”
“That’s great,” Zach says, though the way he says “great” sounds as though he’s trying to convince himself. “Congrats—or, whatever it is that you’re supposed to say in this sort of situation.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. We stand awkwardly in the hallway a few seconds longer than we should. I search Zach’s face for the source of this uncharacteristic awkwardness. He seems pensive, even sad. He meets my gaze and holds it, and his eyes startle me. I’ve never before noticed how piercing they are, like a swimming pool that’s frozen over. As he stares back at me, something flutters deep inside. I feel my cheeks go hot, and I raise the manila folder I’m holding. “I should—ah—”
“Yeah,” Zach says, not waiting for me to complete my sentence. “Me too. Absolutely. Catch you later.”
We each beat a hasty retreat to our respective offices. When I reach mine, I close the door behind me and lean into it with my shoulders. I let my head fall back against it, close my eyes, and wonder,
What
was
that? What just happened?
Ten
It’s stress,
I tell myself.
That’s it. That’s all.
I have a million things to get done before my briefing with Zach later this afternoon, but I’m all nervous energy. I can’t concentrate. I flit from one task to the next, not seeing any of them to completion. I pick up the phone and dial one of the only three numbers I know by heart. Darcy answers on the second ring.
“Meet me for coffee?” I ask, not bothering with pleasantries such as “Hello” or “How are you?”
“You, my friend, have impeccable timing,” she says. “Mia just woke up from her nap, and I really, really need some liquid sleep. Give me fifteen minutes or so?”
“Great. See you then.”
Ancora, the coffee shop where we always meet, is a mere stone’s throw from my office, so I busy myself queuing up several e-mail responses to send automatically in the next hour—one to Susan, one to Zach, and a couple that require a “reply to all” to a swath of other members of the litigation team. I leave my coat and scarf hanging on the rack in the corner and disable my screen saver, making sure there are a variety of documents open on my desktop. If anyone comeslooking for me, it will appear as though I have run to the restroom or for a refill on my coffee, as though they just missed me.
These are key precautions to take in a firm like Early, Janssen, and Bradenton, especially after being gone most of the previous Friday and landing a plum assignment for a junior associate. Although we’re not the biggest, nor the best, firm in town, the attitude here seems to be that we’ll never get there if we don’t adopt the same culture. Here, there’s not much differentiation between weekday and weekend, except for a relaxed dress code for the latter. Every day since I joined the firm, my life has revolved around sleeping, eating, and working—not necessarily in that order. And so, the junior associates all learn the same tricks, because there are, inevitably, dentist appointments to keep, car repairs to see to, the occasional cold or flu bug that knocks you flat, or sometimes, the overwhelming need to simply get out of the office—like now. The key is to create the illusion of being present.
Darcy, punctual to a fault, beats me to Ancora and has chosen a seat by the window. I’m thrilled to see Mia with her. That baby’s coos and smiles always brighten my mood. I tell Mia this as I kiss her chubby cheeks.
“When are you going to quit trying to steal my kid and have your own?” Darcy asks. “It’s been what, a month since Brad’s been back?”
“Something like that,” I say. Darcy’s question would be offensive between lesser friends, but she has sat through enough of my laments over babies—or the lack thereof—in my life that it’s a safe topic. “It’s complicated, though.”
I say this as I sip my coffee and Darcy blows
I nod. “Got home a few weeks ago.”
“That’s great,” Zach says, though the way he says “great” sounds as though he’s trying to convince himself. “Congrats—or, whatever it is that you’re supposed to say in this sort of situation.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. We stand awkwardly in the hallway a few seconds longer than we should. I search Zach’s face for the source of this uncharacteristic awkwardness. He seems pensive, even sad. He meets my gaze and holds it, and his eyes startle me. I’ve never before noticed how piercing they are, like a swimming pool that’s frozen over. As he stares back at me, something flutters deep inside. I feel my cheeks go hot, and I raise the manila folder I’m holding. “I should—ah—”
“Yeah,” Zach says, not waiting for me to complete my sentence. “Me too. Absolutely. Catch you later.”
We each beat a hasty retreat to our respective offices. When I reach mine, I close the door behind me and lean into it with my shoulders. I let my head fall back against it, close my eyes, and wonder,
What
was
that? What just happened?
Ten
It’s stress,
I tell myself.
That’s it. That’s all.
I have a million things to get done before my briefing with Zach later this afternoon, but I’m all nervous energy. I can’t concentrate. I flit from one task to the next, not seeing any of them to completion. I pick up the phone and dial one of the only three numbers I know by heart. Darcy answers on the second ring.
“Meet me for coffee?” I ask, not bothering with pleasantries such as “Hello” or “How are you?”
“You, my friend, have impeccable timing,” she says. “Mia just woke up from her nap, and I really, really need some liquid sleep. Give me fifteen minutes or so?”
“Great. See you then.”
Ancora, the coffee shop where we always meet, is a mere stone’s throw from my office, so I busy myself queuing up several e-mail responses to send automatically in the next hour—one to Susan, one to Zach, and a couple that require a “reply to all” to a swath of other members of the litigation team. I leave my coat and scarf hanging on the rack in the corner and disable my screen saver, making sure there are a variety of documents open on my desktop. If anyone comeslooking for me, it will appear as though I have run to the restroom or for a refill on my coffee, as though they just missed me.
These are key precautions to take in a firm like Early, Janssen, and Bradenton, especially after being gone most of the previous Friday and landing a plum assignment for a junior associate. Although we’re not the biggest, nor the best, firm in town, the attitude here seems to be that we’ll never get there if we don’t adopt the same culture. Here, there’s not much differentiation between weekday and weekend, except for a relaxed dress code for the latter. Every day since I joined the firm, my life has revolved around sleeping, eating, and working—not necessarily in that order. And so, the junior associates all learn the same tricks, because there are, inevitably, dentist appointments to keep, car repairs to see to, the occasional cold or flu bug that knocks you flat, or sometimes, the overwhelming need to simply get out of the office—like now. The key is to create the illusion of being present.
Darcy, punctual to a fault, beats me to Ancora and has chosen a seat by the window. I’m thrilled to see Mia with her. That baby’s coos and smiles always brighten my mood. I tell Mia this as I kiss her chubby cheeks.
“When are you going to quit trying to steal my kid and have your own?” Darcy asks. “It’s been what, a month since Brad’s been back?”
“Something like that,” I say. Darcy’s question would be offensive between lesser friends, but she has sat through enough of my laments over babies—or the lack thereof—in my life that it’s a safe topic. “It’s complicated, though.”
I say this as I sip my coffee and Darcy blows
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