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FINN
I’ve run through a hundred possible ways to ask by the time she stands up to walk out of the door. I jump up and follow her. She notices me and the moment her eyes meet mine, every single one of them leaves my mind.
“Um…” I say, hoping that no one else in the bar is listening. “I was wondering…”
Emma smiles, patiently. “I’m afraid I do have to go. It’s getting late, and I don’t want to be tired in the morning.”
“I was wondering if I could walk you home,” I manage finally, the words coming out too fast and too loud. Immediately, I remember all the more clever and funny ways I had of asking that question.
Thank you for the effort, brain.
She seems a little surprised about the question. She glances quickly at her watch, thinks for a second, then finally gives a nod. “Sure! Why not?”
Does that mean something? I can’t decide. Maybe she’s just being friendly. Maybe she’s afraid of saying no to the boss. Then again, I can’t resist the idea that maybe she wants the company. Maybe I’m at least better than nothing.
“Which way do you live, anyway?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m just south a couple of blocks or so. You?”
“North,” I say. “But that’s okay. I like walking.”
We head out the door of the bar. It’s a cool evening, and there’s a beautiful half moon shining over the streets.
“I like walking too,” she says, and adds a smile at the end. Does that mean she likes walking with me? Or is she just being friendly?
Something about this girl has me double-thinking everything. I need to get outside my own head, or she’s going to think I’m a freak. And not in a fun way, either.
“So, how did you end up becoming a paralegal?” I ask, as we make our way slowly down the street.
“What do you mean?” she replies.
“You seem like the kind of person who has big ambitions,” I say. “And who’s probably going to succeed at them too. That’s the second thing I noticed about you. No offense, but being a paralegal at a firm like Devil’s Advocate doesn’t sound like the kind of job I’d expect to find your type at.”
“Well, that was a pretty good save,” she admits. “But I don’t know if you’re going to love my answer.”
“Just add ‘no offense’ at the beginning. That’s what I did.”
She laughs. “Alright then. No offense then, but it’s been a while since my life was going according to plan.”
There are crickets chirping somewhere in the distance. Other than that, the city is strangely silent. The kind of night I love Chicago for.
“There’s a plan, is there?” I say, interested. “Where are you supposed to be, if I may ask?”
“That’s the problem,” she admits. “I don’t know. I was born in a little city you’ve never heard of. I’ve gotten used to telling people it was Oklahoma City, but it was actually a good two hours drive from there. The kind of place where everything important gets worked out in the back pews of church on Sunday while the preacher goes on about how the big cities are full of demons who’ll take the souls of anyone who wanders there. Uh, like I said, no offense.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve heard worse.”
“Well, I told myself I wasn’t going to spend my whole life in a town like that,” she continues. I can see her eyes widen as she remembers the story she’s telling. Clearly, she hasn’t told it to very many people. “So I made a plan. That’s right—I used to have a plan. It was a good one too. It started with working extra hard at school and taking some extra classes at the community college to get ready for law school.”
“I knew you were the kind who took summer classes. The moment I saw you, I knew.”
“Not just summer classes,” she says. “But it paid off! I didn’t just get into law school. I got enough scholarship money that my parents couldn’t say no, even if it meant going to the big city where all the demons live.”
“No offense,” I add, for her.
“Well, that parts true,” she answers. “You do live here.”
“Sure, but I’ve got cousins who still do the whole farming thing. They don’t go to church though.”
