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“You know what I mean. I can’t be the sick girl with him. I want him to remember me exactly as I was until I can be that girl again.”
“And you’re willing to wait months until that happens?”
“If that’s what it takes.” I nod, not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself.
“What happens if you don’t get better? Are you really ready to give up what time you could have with him because of your pride?”
“It’s not about being prideful.” I don’t try to mask the aggravation in my tone. “I’m trying to protect him.”
“You’re trying to protect him or you’re trying to protect yourself?”
“Both.” I blow out a defeated breath. “Can we please not do this? I don’t want to argue with you.”
“We’re not arguing.” A small smile pulls at the side of her mouth.
“You’re such a brat.” I wave my fork at her.
“Look,” she leans forward slightly, balancing the container of pasta on her knee, “I don’t mean to press. I just hate to see you push away someone who clearly means a lot to you. But at the end of the day it’s your choice and I’ll stand behind you no matter what.”
“Thank you.” I let out a deep sigh. “Now can we please talk about something else?”
“Sure,” she agrees. “What would you like to talk about?”
“Well, for starters, you can tell me how your date with Michael went last night.”
“Work meeting,” she corrects.
“Right. A work meeting at eight o’clock on a Tuesday night at one of the nicest restaurants in the city.”
“Spinning Fork is hardly one of the nicest restaurants in Chicago.” She avoids the point.
“Nicer than any place I can afford to eat.”
“It was company paid,” she interjects.
“They supply the wine, too?” I tease.
“For your information, I drank water.”
“Sure you did.” I roll my eyes, forking another bite of pasta into my mouth.
“Michael’s good looking enough but I can’t handle his arrogance. I swear I want to stab him with my pen every time he sits next to me in a meeting.”
“Pent up sexual frustrations?” I continue to poke fun at her.
“Hardly.” She snorts. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping with Sharon.”
“Ah, the inner drama of the office.” I smile.
Claire is a personal assistant for a business executive. It’s not the most glamorous job in the world–her words not mine–but she makes pretty decent money and it gives her an excuse to stock her closet with cute pencil skirts and girly blouses that cost more than three of my outfits combined.
“Yeah, because food service is any better,” she points out. “You forget, I waitressed through school. I know the kind of shenanigans that go on behind the scenes.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that. You know me. I tend to mind my own business and keep to myself.”
“I know.” She shakes her head at me. “You’re the only nineteen year old I’ve ever met that would rather sit in the break room with her nose in a book than catch up on all the gossip going around.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
