“I believe her.”
I start the car and pull out of the parking lot. The Long Island Expressway stretches ahead of me. In three hours, I'll be driving this same road in the opposite direction, heading to the Shaw house for Sunday dinner.
“I'll pick you up at four,” Logan says.
“I'll be ready.”
“Jasmine.”
“Yeah?”
“I'm proud of you. What you just did took guts.”
“It was the scariest conversation of my life. And I've cross-examined hostile witnesses.”
He laughs. “See you at four. Love you.”
“Love you too.” I hang up and drive. The expressway is quiet on a Sunday morning. Long Island falls away behind me, and Manhattan rises ahead. Cat Shaw pops into my mind, but now, I’m not scared shitless. I’m Lorraine Bennett’s daughter.
I turn up the radio and drive.
Back at my apartment, I shower and take some time picking out my dress. I need to look like a woman who belongs at any table in any room, including the Shaw family dining room.
I choose tailored black pants, with a cream silk blouse and a fitted blazer. For jewelry, I pick the thin chain that that Mom gave me when I passed the bar. The perfume goes on last.
I leave my hair down in loose waves. And full makeup. Not overdone. Just enough to make Cat Shaw look at me and seea woman, not the eighteen-year-old she dismissed from her kitchen.
The group chat is going after I told the girls that I’m headed to Long Island for dinner with the Shaws.
Harper: How are you feeling?
Avery: We're all here if you need us.
Natalie: Deep breaths. You've got this.
Olivia: You are a queen. Remember that.
I type back:Heading into the lion's den. Wish me luck.
Harper: You don't need luck. You're Jasmine Bennett.
I put my phone in my bag and check the mirror one last time. I look good and strong. I look like a woman my mother would be proud of.
The buzzer rings.
“I'm downstairs,” Logan says through the intercom.
“Coming.”
I grab my coat, lock my apartment, and take the elevator down. Logan’s car is idling at the curb, and he gets out when he sees me and opens the passenger door.
He's freshly shaved, with his hair is pushed back, and he's so hot.
“You look incredible,” he says before kissing my cheek.
“I look like I'm going to court. You look gorgeous.”
“You kind of are,” he says with a laugh that relaxes me. I like that he’s not taking this so seriously, like a matter of life or death, or something that will determine the future of our relationships.
