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Hopefully. The weekend is step one and I’ll be wearing Manolos for the occasion.
“Seriously though, gorgeous.” I’m on a mission to pick out a dress that will knock Zander on his ass too. I also bought a small riding crop. It’s harmless enough and mostly a gag gift, but I intend to be playful after the party. I’m not exactly sure, but I imagine he’ll allow me to amuse myself and then show me what he can do with that riding crop.
My cheeks heat and I nearly trip in my heels. “It been ages,” I say, defending myself against Kam’s smirk when he catches my arm. “Leave me alone,” I answer playfully.
“So … are you happy?”
“Am I happy? I am.”
“With everything … are you …” he hesitates but with a deep breath, he presses on as we continue our walk down the storefront. “How are you doing with James’s …” He doesn’t say death. He doesn’t say it, but I hear it.
To anyone else it may seem like we’re a well-dressed couple, out for a luncheon or perhaps they can tell we’re only friends. To me, this feels like freedom. Although some thoughts and emotions still feel imprisoned.
“More than I have been. It still … it still hurts sometimes.”
“Are you nervous about anyone bringing it up?”
“Zander will be there,” is all I can answer.
“Right.” Kam nods. “He’ll take care of you, but I want you to know you’re handling it well on your own too.”
I wish I had a retort that wasn’t sarcastic. As it stands, all I’m thinking is that I can now add “grieves well” to my resume.
“If all goes well, we should be able to request a psych eval.”
His statement stops me in my tracks, although the bag hanging from the crook of my arm continues to swing.
A thought hits me that I haven’t considered. “The Firm would leave?”
“When you pass the eval, two things will happen. The first is that the judge can order their dismissal entirely.”
“What about Damon?”
Kam’s brow scrunches, not understanding for a moment. And then my concern registers, his eyes widening when it does.
“I want to continue my sessions. I’m not a fool. I’m doing better because of him.”
“We can continue their service even if it’s not judge ordered.
“The second thing … we can request a hearing on your conservatorship.”
“When would we schedule that?”
“Not until you pass the mental health check and The Firm agrees to their dismissal without complaint.”
My heels click on the sidewalk as we near the end of the row, with Tiffany’s perched on the corner and the sweet smell of pastries from a Brew & Cap coffee shop we just passed surrounds us.
“One thing at a time.”
Nodding, I feel more at ease.
“I’m glad we’ll be able to continue with Damon.”
“Of course.”
“Then he can keep monitoring the weaning.”
“Weaning?” This time it’s Kam whose pace is troubled.
“From the antidepressants,” I clarify.
“I didn’t know you were stopping them,” Kam states, his voice lowered and obviously bothered by the discovery.
“Damon said some people renew indefinitely as long as there are no side effects since withdrawal can create more … well, it can make things much worse.”
“How are you feeling about that?”
“Good,” I respond in the same chipper voice although he arches a brow like he doesn’t believe me.
Stopping where we are, with the city at our back and couples surrounding us without seeing us at all, I grab ahold of Kam’s hands. “It’s all going so well. Just let it happen.”
“One last thing.” Kam’s business tone makes an appearance.
“Uh-oh, my PR is mad with me?”
He huffs a laugh, slipping his hands into his black jean pockets, an attempt to appear casual I would think.
“About Zander,” he starts and my pulse drops as a chill I hadn’t felt yet creeps through my tweed jacket. I pull it tighter.
“What about him?”
“Everyone loves a love story and you two are cute together.”
His comment is unexpected and the smile it brings me is genuine.
“Is he on the same page as you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw Kelly and Trish’s post, Ella.” He tilts his head down, his brow raising, like a father scolding his daughter and I laugh.
“Does he know that you’re hinting you’re together? Does he want that too? This life and … the things that come with it.”
Memories are a fickle thing. They creep back to me. I remember James confiding in me one night and then I told him everything. For us, it brought us closer. But he knows how it is.
“If you want to come out at this party, you can. If you don’t,” he says then sucks in a breath and looks off into the distance to the mountains, past the shining windowpanes of boutiques and designer shops. “Just make sure, whatever you decide, that you’re on the same page.”
“What if I want him to stay a secret? Or he wants that?” My heart does a painful flip. Just the thought of having this conversation with him makes me feel sick. I don’t know what Z will say.
