by Whitney Boyd
“Of course! I thought I mentioned that on the phone earlier. I can tell you more about the job, if you’d like. You will work closely with the police force, government social workers and the foster care program in particular. You will assist with the legalities of fostering to adopt and removing children from at risk environments. To warn you, the pay will not be anything close to what you would have made at Carter Clinton, although the hours should be better. There are seven lawyers in our team and I’m sure you’ll fit in well. If this is something you are interested in, I will get the paperwork printed up tomorrow and have it couriered to you.”
“Yes, absolutely! That sounds,” I choke back tears of joy and try again. “That sounds like my dream job. It’s exactly the type of position I dreamt of in law school and I would be honored to be part of your team. Thank you.”
“Lovely. I am having dinner with Josh and my boyfriend tonight, want to catch up since it’s been a while. I’ll have to tell him how delightful it was to chat with you.”
“Your, your boyfriend? I thought you were interested in Josh,” I sputter. “So, you’re not going on a date with him?” It’s none of my business, of course, and she has every right to be offended, but she just laughs.
“Of course not! I could never date a younger man, no matter how amazing. Besides, you should know him well enough to be certain he would never cheat on you.”
We shake hands, drain the final drops of our coffees and stand. “Cheat on me?” I echo. “As if we were dating?”
“You are dating, are you not? You are so lucky to have him.” Natasha says, pushing her chair in. We grab our mugs and place them on a return tray near the door.
“He’s a good friend, but I don’t really ‘have’ him, per se. Not yet, at least.”
“Oh, here I assumed you two were dating. The way he spoke of you . . . I was certain you were his girlfriend.”
I shake my head. “No, we’ve been friends for a few years but that’s it.” Although that might change, I think hopefully. Now that my head is screwed on right.
We are on the street now. Natasha turns toward the courthouse and I thank her again.
“I’ll get you the paperwork tomorrow. I’m thinking you can start in a week or so.”
“That sounds great.”
“Brilliant. Well, you have a good day. It was lovely to meet you.”
I wave goodbye and walk home, mulling over the events of the last few days. Josh isn’t dating someone new. He gave her a hug on the street because she’s an old friend of his sister’s. He also mustn’t be too furious with me, since he passed on my résumé. I have a job now, something that I never expected to happen in a million years.
I enter our apartment and find Heather on the couch. She’s on the phone and hangs up when she sees me.
“Hey, how was it at your mom’s?”
“Good. I gained a lot of clarity.”
Heather leans forward. “Does this mean what I think it means?”
“What?” I ask innocently.
“You and Josh?” She hints. She gracefully rises from the couch and comes to stand in front of me.
“I’m going to call him,” I admit. “He got me a job at the courthouse. He helped me out with the Carter Clinton mess.”
“And?” Heather prompts. She places her hands on her hips and gives me a warning glare. “I talked to your mom. She said you’ve had a change of heart about the whole ‘I can’t date my best friend’ thing.”
I shrug. “Well, if you talked to her, why do you need to hear it from me?”
“Because. Do you mean it? Are you actually going to give Josh a chance?”
I smile. “I’ll let you know after I talk to Josh.”
Her scream of frustration as I walk to my bedroom and close the door makes me laugh. I pull out my phone and punch in his number. Before I hit send, I take a long breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
This is it.
And then the phone rings.
If you love something, set it free.
If it comes back, it was and always will be yours.
If it never returns, it was never yours to begin with.
—English Proverb
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It’s Josh. I know before I even pick up the call that it’s him.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me,” Josh says, words rapid and business-like. “I got off the phone with Natasha. She said that you seemed great and a perfect fit and that you got the job. That’s wonderful news!”
He sounds genuinely happy for me which makes me smile. I lie back into my pillow and cradle the phone between my neck and ear. “Thanks, I’m really excited for it. She’s going to give me the paperwork for it right away and I start next week. I really appreciate you putting in a good word for me, Josh.”
“Of course. Look, I have to go, but I wanted to call and make sure you are okay.” The tension is still evident, and his words are a bit forced, but I’m sure once I tell him what I need to, he’ll be fine.
“I’m good now,” I reply and add quickly, “I know you’re busy, but before you go, I have to say something. I’ve been thinking about, you know, you and me, and I think maybe we can give it a shot. My parents were friends and now look at them! They’ve been married for forever. Anyway,” my words are uncomfortable and I hope I sound the way I want to sound, “do you want to go out for dinner or something and put everything I said in Victoria behind us?”
There is silence on the other end. I take the phone away from my ear and check that there is still a signal. Yup, he’s still there. Finally Josh clears his throat. “Charley, look, let’s go back to being friends. We’ll hang out, we’ll talk, I’ll help you out and you’ll have my back, but let’s not force the dating thing, okay? What happened in the cemetery was probably for our own good. We’re good together, but not as an item, like you said. Don’t force yourself to look for feelings that clearly aren’t there.”
“I’m not,” I protest, sitting up with a frown. I didn’t think I’d have to beg! What the heck? “I honestly was shocked when you spilled your feelings to me, but it’s sunken in now and I think we could make it work. I miss you really, really bad. I love you, you’re my best friend. I’m not forcing anything!”
Josh chuckles and I hear people talking on the other end of the phone. He’s at work, I’m sure, and must feel awkward talking about this in front of his coworkers. “Charley, we’ll hang out. I’m swamped this week, but maybe next week after you start the new job we can get together and grab a coffee. You don’t have to pretend like you want to date me now just so you don’t lose me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”
He doesn’t understand. My talk with my mom, my flash of clarity I had about my Grammy, all these things have opened my eyes. It’s not like I’m rebounding on him or anything! Why is he brushing this off?
“You don’t get it,” I begin, but Josh cuts me off. “Charley, drop it, all right? Let’s not rehash everything, let’s not overanalyze. What has happened has happened, and we need to move forward. I’ll talk to you later.”
I hear a click and the sound of the dial tone. Heather must have been waiting outside the room, because instantly the door opens and she pops in. “You talk to him? What did he say?”
“He doesn’t want me after all,” I confess. “He wants to move on and go back to being friends. It was awkward and weird and I don’t get it. Why would he confess undying love for me last week and then blow me off when I try to get him back?”
“You hurt him,” Heather muses. She sits cross legged on the floor and twists into a side bend yoga pose. “I don’t think he intentionally blew you off, it’s probably more that he thinks you are taking him back out of pity or something. I mean, you made it clear that you thought the idea of the two of you tog
ether was ludicrous. Why should he believe you’d change your mind so fast?”
“I’m not changing my mind.” I scowl at my roommate. “Honestly? I couldn’t see what was right in front of me before. All I’ve done is open my eyes to the truth.”
Heather twists to the other side. “I know that and you know that, but think about how Josh feels. Last time he talked about the two of you dating, you laughed in his face. You need to give him time. Let him go back to being your friend. Go back to work, get your life on track. And then, you’ll see. The hurt will heal. He’ll come around when he sees that you aren’t just saying this. When he sees you mean it, he’ll be back, I promise.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. He’s been in love with you for years. I’ve seen him watch you when you are across the room. I’ve seen him jump at the sound of your voice and light up when he’s near you. You can’t get rid of love like that in a week or a month or even a year, no matter how hard you try. He loves you, Charley, and he finally got the courage to tell you and you crushed him. He needs to heal before he can accept you back. Just give him time.”
Time.
Time can be a funny thing, I think later as I stand in the shower before going to bed. Time made Drew almost unrecognizable to me. It made me see him for what he really was. Time since my Grammy died has made me grow up, become the woman I knew was hidden away somewhere. Time heals. Time changes.
•
The following weeks fly by. I start my position at the Calgary Justice Services and immediately feel as though I am where I need to be. I have more cases thrown at me right from day one than I ever handled at Carter Clinton, but now these are ones I am passionate about. A child whose parents are in prison. An infant found abandoned in a dumpster on Stephen Avenue and needing a foster family while the police and social workers try to locate her birth parents. A nasty custody case with a highly unfit mother fighting desperately to keep her four and five-year-old daughters.
My dad returns from his humanitarian adventures and my mom gets almost giddy at his return. I realize again just how special a true love relationship is when I watch the two of them together at our family dinners. And it makes me miss Josh all the more.
Josh and I email and text at least twice a day. He doesn’t drop by the apartment anymore the way he used to, but the tone in our messages is light again. Friendly. Time, as Heather promised, not only makes my heart long for him more, but also makes him soften towards me.
I receive the summons in the mail for my hearing at the Law Society of Alberta. At 11th Avenue and 2nd Street, on July third, at ten thirty in the morning, my fate will be determined. I throw myself into preparations for the meeting. I call a few old contacts at Carter Clinton and beg them to give written statements about my work ethic. When they refuse, probably due to fear of retaliation by their employers, I turn to my current co-workers, former law professors and outside colleagues, anyone who can vouch for me as a person. Natasha, among others, writes a five-page brief, outlining my credentials and personally vouching for me.
Josh meets me for coffee four times, each time bringing examples of other hearings where the defendant got off with nothing more than a warning. “These will be good to show as evidence,” Josh explains as he hands me the various memos. “It displays a pattern that the Law Society typically has followed, and will be huge in helping you out.”
Every meeting with Josh is better than the last. He smiles more. Our eyes meet and hold a little longer. I am continually tempted to blurt out the sorry fact that I do in fact love him, but I hold myself back.
Wait. Wait for the right moment.
And time keeps ticking by.
A true friend laughs at your stories
even when they’re not so good
and sympathizes with your troubles
even when they’re not so bad.
—English Proverb
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I’m in the bathroom painstakingly painting each of my nails with a French manicure. I’ve been struggling in here for a good thirty minutes, unable to make the nail polish look like a salon manicure despite the label on the box promising that it’s “easy and professional!” The instant I hear Heather enter the apartment, her shoes clicking on the floor, I decide to beg for help. “Hey Heath, can you paint the nails on my right hand?”
Pride means nothing when it comes to this. Manicures are harder than calculus.
“Hi.” Heather pokes her head into the bathroom and checks herself out in the mirror. She grabs a comb off the counter and begins brushing her hair. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”
“Can you give me a hand? I keep making the lines wobbly and I want to look good for the hearing tomorrow.”
Heather puts down the comb and reaches out for the nail polish brush I hold. “Sure. I have to be quick though. . . . I’ve got a double date tonight.”
“Ooh, fun! Who with?”
Heather looks away, just briefly, but something about her shiftiness makes me straighten.
“Who with, Heather?” I repeat. She takes my hand and applies a stroke of the white polish. It looks five million times better than my attempts. Impressive.
“Nobody, I mean, well, I’m going with a guy I met through a friend. His name is Glenn. Nice guy, taller than me, I think he’s an investment banker.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. She’s way too edgy right now, too secretive. And going with a random guy Glenn wouldn’t make her that way. “Who’s the other couple you are going with?”
Heather focuses on my hand. She brushes on another stroke and frowns. “Why do you care?”
“I didn’t, until you refused to say anything. The very fact that you won’t tell me proves that you have something to hide. Is it an ex? Ooh, maybe that nasty guy who promised he could make you into a porn star? Or it’s a lesbian couple that you are secretly in love with? Maybe one of my ex’s? Come on, just tell me!”
Heather groans. “Okay, fine, but don’t get mad. I don’t want you all upset and crying right before your hearing.” She applies polish to my pinky and mutters, “Josh. I’m going with Josh and his date.”
“J-Josh?” I stutter. “Josh has a date?”
He hasn’t dated anyone as long as I’ve known him. Not really. He’d occasionally grab a friend for drinks or something if a bunch of us were going out, but he never asked someone on a legitimate date.
I play it off, despite the surge of jealousy inside my chest. “That’s cool, who is she?”
“I don’t know,” Heather replies. “Her name is Julie, if I remember correctly. I met her once, a few weeks ago.”
“Why?” I ask suspiciously.
“Why what?”
“Why did you meet her? Where were you?”
Heather sighs. “Look, Josh has gone out with her a couple times since, you know, Victoria. It’s probably a rebound thing, him trying to get over you, but there it is. I went out to the pub with them a little while ago. You were working late, Josh called to see if the three of us wanted to go out together, I said you were busy, he invited me. Turns out it would have been awkward if you’d come, because he brought Julie. As a date.”
“Wow,” I say slowly. Heather finishes my last finger and blows gently on my hand.
“Sorry.”
“I know, it’s not your fault.” I am shell shocked.
“I didn’t want to make you all, like, emotional right before your big day,” Heather apologizes. “I was going to tell you soon.”
“No, no that’s fine.” I’m saying the words, but it hurts. Is this how Josh felt all those years when I dated random people? I feel an outpouring of compassion for him. How could he put up with this for so long? And now the same thing is hurting me.
Heather goes to her bedroom to get ready and I plead exhaustion. I hav
e a ton to do, a million final things to get ready before the morning. I hear her leave, call goodbye in return to her farewell, and lie on my bed face up.
I’ve felt so many emotions over the past few months, ranging from utter gloom to insane hope, that now I feel dead inside. I’m nervous about tomorrow, terrified to face Carter Clinton and the Law Society and possible disbarment. But there is something else too . . . sadness. Maybe Josh is gone.
All this time I had expected him to come back to me. He helped me with my hearing prep in between working his crazy hours at his law firm. He responded quickly to every text, just like he used to. Things were feeling more . . . normal. And now? Now it turns out that he was literally bringing things back to the way they were. Friends. But I want him as more than that.
I love him, more than anyone, and not because he’s now the one out of reach, but because he’s my soul mate. My best friend. I want him so badly it makes my heart feel physical pain.
I force myself to get out of bed, to finalize my preparations for the hearing. Don’t think about the pain. I organize all my papers one last time, placing them carefully in a folder. The examples of other hearings where the defendants got off. The reference letters vouching for me. My resume, outlining my volunteer work and employment history. School transcripts from my undergrad and law school, showing what an exceptional student I always have been.
I don’t deserve disbarment for one mistake, I tell myself one final time.
Then, trying not to think about Josh on a date with this elusive girl Julie, I get into my pajamas and fall into a fitful sleep. My dreams are a mess. I see distorted and manic versions of Josh’s face frowning and saying, “You missed your chance.” Then the hundreds of Josh’s laugh like Jabba the Hutt and have me banished to a prison cell where the Law Society of Alberta chains me to the wall and hangs a sign above me that reads: Disbarred Lawyer. Do Not Touch.