5.

 

“What are you going to do?”

Back in the city a week later, my mother voices the question that’s been running around in my mind ever since Albus delivered my Nana’s bombshell of a parting gift.

“I don’t know, I still can’t believe it.” I help her bring the food over to the table for Friday night dinner. Every week, we try to get together at my parents’ place, but with their schedules, it’s usually more like once a month—and even then, the food comes courtesy of General Tso’s down the block. Still, it’s nice to spend the time.

I unload the spread of food, and glare over at my dad. “You don’t mind, do you?” I check, feeling a pang of concern. “That she left it to me, I mean.”

“Of course not.” Dad absently pats my shoulder as he sits, still tapping away on his tablet device. “I think it’s a wonderful gift. A lump sum like that could set you up, you could buy something here in the city, or put it in a retirement account…”

“You mean, sell the B&B?” I pause, still torn. “I don’t know…”

“What else would you do, silly?” My mom interrupts us. Her short blonde hair is pushed off her face with a headband, and she’s still wearing her hospital scrubs. “Although, I’m not sure it’s worth all that much,” she pauses, frowning. “I remember, it wasn’t in great shape the last time we visited. The roof, remember? And that smell round back.”

“There was no smell!” I protest. “And Nana kept the place up. It’s lovely there, you should have stopped by. All the roses, and the back garden. This realtor said a beachfront plot is in big demand,” I add, remembering the brisk woman from the funeral, Hallie.

“Well, that’s great news.” Mom brightens, reaching for a plate. “You should call her back right away. See about finding a buyer.”

I join them at the table and start eating, but for some reason, I can’t get excited about selling the B&B. A windfall like this is a huge gift, but I can’t help thinking of Nana, bustling in that sunlit kitchen with something delicious in the oven.

Is selling what she planned for me?

“So how are you getting on at work?” my dad asks, finally tucking away his phone. He looks at me from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. “Is Harper still giving you associates a hard time?”

“The worst,” I sigh. “He’s been piling on hard this week, I think he’s still mad at me for taking time off for the funeral.”

“Don’t worry,” Dad reassures me. “Just keep your head down, bill those hours, and you’ll be fine.”

“When he was starting out, I wouldn’t see your father until midnight most nights,” Mom adds, laughing.

“What about you?” Dad protests, good-naturedly. “You were on your residency, what was that, two-day shifts, no sleep? You would come home, fall straight asleep, and then get up and go straight back to work.”

She smiles. “I swear, the first year of marriage, we barely had time for a real conversation.”

“That sounds awful,” I shudder. “You must have hated it.”

“Best years of our life,” Dad grins. “Staying in that tiny apartment above the subway, going days without sleep…”

“Eating food from vending machines and late-night bodegas…” Mom catches my expression and laughs. “Trust me, sweetheart, it’s all part of getting ahead. If we hadn’t put those hours in, we never would have gotten to where we are today.”

Her pager suddenly sounds. She checks the number and makes a face. “I have to take this. My residents are doing their first solo surgeries, and they’re all scared stiff of killing someone!”

She goes to the next room to make the call. I pick idly at my food. “Do you really think it’s worth it?” I ask my dad quietly. “All the late nights and stress? Because I just don’t know… Every day at work, I feel like I’m running as fast as I can, just to keep up!”

“The first years are the hardest,” he tells me, his weathered face softening with sympathy. “But I know you can do it. This is what you’ve worked so hard for, after all. Remember studying for law school, and the bar exam? We got you through that, you can make it through a few sleepless nights now.” He digs into his food, content, but I’m not convinced. It’s not just about the tiredness and stress; lately I’ve been wondering if I’m even cut out to be a lawyer, after all.

I always wanted to take after my father, from the very first time I got to see him in court: so impressive and smart, up there performing for the jury. He’s been my role model, the reason I’ve worked so hard to follow in his footsteps. I’ve wanted to make him proud. The day I got my job offer from Levinson, Sutter and Pace, he took me out to his club and proudly told all his friends that they were looking at a future partner in the firm. It felt like the best day of my life: and the start of an amazing career.

But now, a year in, and that excitement and ambition has all drained away. I drag myself to work in the mornings and drift into idle daydreams to make it through the day. But if I’m not supposed to be a lawyer, then what else will I do? This has been my only dream, and maybe my parents are right: this is the hard part everybody goes through just to make it out the other side.

Mom comes back in, looking frazzled. “I’m sorry, I have to head back in.”

Dad shovels the last of his noodles into his mouth. “And I should really finish up some briefs before morning. You’ll be OK getting back downtown?”

“Sure.” I blink. “That’s fine.”

“Call the realtor!” Mom says, on her way to the door. “Get a valuation on the house soon. Even if it’s not worth much, you could sell as a tear-down, for the land.”

“And remember to make up the hours you missed this week,” Dad adds. “They keep track of it, you know. Billable hours!” He kisses the top of my head, and heads for his office, leaving me alone at the table.

The leftovers are all mine.

 

I take the subway back to my apartment downtown. It’s a cute modern condo in a new building, but as I drop my keys on the table and look around the tiny, cramped space, I can’t help but think of Rose Cottage and its rambling gardens right there by the beach.

I take a deep breath, imagining for a moment I’m back there, breathing in the salty sea air.

What if I didn’t sell?

I snap out of the daydream, feeling foolish. My whole life is here in New York City: my job, my friends, my family. What would I even do out there in the middle of nowhere with that big old house on my hands? Mom’s right: I should call the realtor first thing tomorrow and see about putting it up for sale.

I go check through the mail, discarding old junk mail and setting aside bills. Then I find a package with a return address in Beachwood Bay, from Albus Dudley.

I tear it open, and a set of keys tumbles to the floor. I pick them up, and set them aside as I read his note.

Ms. Olsen,

There’s much for us to discuss, but in the meantime, I realized I failed to pass along this letter from your grandmother. I apologize for the delay, and hope to talk soon.

Yours faithfully,

Albus Dudley

I smile. I can almost hear his formal tone through the writing. There’s another envelope tucked inside the package, this one with just my name on it, addressed in Nana’s familiar looping script.

It’s from her.

I feel an ache, and for a moment, just press the letter to my chest. Then I pull open the window and climb out to sit on the fire escape in the muggy night air. The sound of city traffic and noise from the alleyway below echoes around me as I open the letter and read.

 

My dearest granddaughter,

I imagine by now that you’ve learned about my parting gift to you. I’m sure you have questions, and I’m only sorry I’m not around to put a pot of tea on, and sit and talk it through.

Rose Cottage has been a home to me for many years. I’ve seen many happy times under that roof, sharing stories with my guests, and keeping that double range working overtime with a new batch of cookies. If that time is over, then I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather share those memories with than you.

I want you to know, that I mean the inheritance to be a gift, not a burden. You should feel free to do whatever it is you wish with the place—I just ask that you take some time to think before making a decision. I love your father, but he’s a practical man: he always put business ahead of passion or emotion. Your mother is the same, it’s why they’ve been able to build a happy life together, but you, my child, you’ve always been cut from a different cloth. Ever since you were a girl, you’ve felt things deeply; risked more, dreamed bigger. I know you’re all grown up now, and making your own choices, but I still remember the girl who would spend hours trying out different flavors in the cake batter, or chasing butterflies in the back gardens.

I hope that girl still exists. If there’s one thing I’ve learned during my lifetime, it’s that the world will always find a way to try and strip that childlike curiosity and joy away. To put you in a neat box, and set you on a narrow path through life. I know you want to make everyone proud, you’ve always worked so hard to keep up. But the true joys in life come from the unexpected; the meandering path, the spontaneous afternoon picnic. I just hope you can hold on to that joy you’ve always felt, even when you think the odds are stacked against you.

Listen to your heart, believe in a brighter tomorrow, and always, always leave room for dessert.

Your loving grandmother, always, Nana

 

I lower the letter, tears stinging in my eyes. The grief overwhelms me again. Grief, and love too. Somehow, she always knew. Knew the struggle I felt to live up to my over-achieving parents and perfect, straight-As sister. Knew how out of place I felt in the corporate world: biting my tongue, and blowing out my curly hair, and trying to be the polished, successful woman I thought I always wanted to be.

She saw the real me, and now, with one final selfless act, she’s given me something few people are lucky enough to have.

A choice.

I slowly fold the letter away, and dry my tears. My mind is still full of all the sane, rational reasons why I should sell the B&B as soon as possible, put the money in a savings fund and get back to work, but my heart…?

Right now my heart is aching for those summer afternoons in the kitchen, listening to the crashing of the waves, and old 60s records, as Nana worked her magic with butter, sugar, and flour.

But like my childhood, she’s gone forever now. Even if I were to return to that kitchen and follow her recipes to the letter, it still wouldn’t bring her back.

So should I keep those memories alive, or just try to move on?

 

*

 

As the week continues, the question of Rose Cottage is quickly buried under the weight of case work and legal briefs from my bosses at work. From first thing in the morning until late at night, I barely have time to think about anything except dense legal jargon and loopholes. But every night when I drag myself home, my eyes go straight to that business card sitting on the bureau—and the set of keys beside it.

By Friday, I’m just about ready to collapse and sleep all weekend through, until our boss, Kelvin Harper, comes storming into the law library where Lexi and I have been holed up, researching the case. The hedge fund client has filed a lawsuit against their old employer for unfair dismissal—firing him right before a multi-million dollar bonus payout. The company counter-sued, settlement negotiations broke down, and now we’re all knee-deep in depositions and documents before the trial next week.

“Where are we on precedent?” Harper demands loudly.

“Only what we’ve already found,” I offer. The table is covered with papers and books, but there’s nothing new: this case has been dragging out in negotiations forever. Both parties seem equally shady. If there was some amazing evidence, we would have seen it by now.

“What about the online research?” Harper snaps his fingers impatiently. “I told you to check the profile pages of everyone at the company.”

I blink. He didn’t tell us that at all.

“Everyone?” Lexi ventures nervously. “That’s over a thousand people in the US offices alone.”

“And?” he whirls on her angrily. I quickly speak up.

“And opening up that line of evidence could be just as damaging to our client.” I tap a few keys on my laptop and bring up the client’s Instagram feed. “Look.”

I scroll through to show him: photos of the guy partying on his private jet, smashing thousand-dollar champagne bottles, and generally acting like the worst kind of rich asshole. If I was on the jury, I wouldn’t care if this guy missed out on another few million, not when he’s doing such a good job of blowing the fortune he does have.

Harper looks annoyed. “It’s not your job to question why I want something. It’s not your fucking job to think at all! I need complete files on everyone in the New York office by Monday morning: social media, background, the lot!”

I check the clock on the wall. It’s 6:00 p.m. on Friday night. What he’s talking about will take days! “You want us to work the weekend?” I check.

He turns red. “You’ll stay as long as it takes, dammit! What is this, nursery school? You want a break for milk and cookies too?” He slams the files on the table and storms off.

The library is silent, then gossiping whispers start. I glance around, flushing hard. Other associates are looking at me with a mixture of pity and disbelief.

“What were you thinking?” Lexi hisses at me. “You know you don’t complain to Harper. You don’t complain to anyone. Ever!”

“I know,” I groan. It was a rookie mistake. “But we’ve been pulling twelve-hour days all week!”

“So now we pull a couple more.” Lexi takes a gulp of the coffee cup beside her. “How about I start with the As, you start with the Zs, and we meet in the middle?”

She turns to her computer with a new focus, but I can’t get settled. “You really think this is worth it?” I ask, clicking through the photos of our client. “I mean, all the evidence and depositions we’ve read, it’s pretty clear they had grounds for firing him.”

“He’s our client,” Lexi says absently, squinting at the screen. “It doesn’t matter what we think, it’s our job to represent him.”

“I know, but still…” I stare at the photos of him doing jello shots off some poor waitress’s chest in a club in San Tropez. “Would you want to be stuck in the office next to this guy?”

Lexi lifts her head. “What’s all this about, Noelle? You’ve been acting weird all week. You should be loving this stuff: background research, a real case going to trial. Everything else we’ve done has been settled out of court. It’s our first jury!” Her eyes sparkle with excitement, even though she’s barely slept all week. She thrives on this: the late nights, the last-minute stress. Somehow, she manages to hold on to her sanity and just power through.

So why are my reserves failing me now?

I shrug. “I don’t know, I guess… I just wonder if this is what I’m supposed to be doing, that’s all.”

“You mean, you might want to switch into criminal law?” Lexi glances back to her work. “That’s a good idea, your dad would have all kinds of contacts on that side.”

“No,” I admit to her for the first time. “I mean quit.”

Lexi gapes. Her mouth drops open. “What? Don’t say that!” She glances around, and lowers her voice. “Are you crazy? You busted your ass to get this job!”

“I know.” I sink a little lower in my seat. “There are hundreds of people who would kill for this spot. That’s what makes it feel even more wrong. I’m taking up space for someone who actually wants to be here.”

“Shh,” Lexi whispers, but she’s being over-dramatic.

“I thought it would be different after law school, that I’d find my place, something I really loved,” I continue, trying to explain the restless ache in my chest beating louder, every day. I’ve pushed it down, tried to smother the feeling, but it’s not working anymore.

“Noelle—” Lexi tries to stop me again, but I cut her off.

“Can’t you understand? All the rules and regulations, the dress code, and politics, and the Harpoon yelling at us 24/7. It’s not right for me. Every time I walk through the front doors these days, I think about turning around and walking right out again.”

A voice suddenly comes from behind me, icy cool. “Then why don’t you?”

I freeze.

No!

Lexi is cringing back in her seat. “I tried!” she whispers.

I brace myself and turn around.

Harper is standing there in the doorway, slowly turning a furious shade of raspberry. My heart sinks.

“I… um…” I try to think of something to say, but my mind is blank. I can’t believe he just heard all of that! “I’m sorry, I was just blowing off some steam—”

“Enough!” Harper screams. “I’ve had enough of you and your fucking attitude. I don’t want to work late,” he whines, mocking me, “It’s the weekend, My grandmother’s dead. Well fuck your grandmother!”

I gasp.

“If you want to leave, get the hell out!” Harper yells at me, spittle flying. “Otherwise, you keep your ass in that seat and don’t get up until I have my research, you understand?” He stands over me, jabbing a finger towards me with every word. “Do. You. Understand?”

“I…” I gulp, my heart racing. The whole room is silent, everybody’s watching my humiliating dressing-down.

My skin prickles hot with embarrassment. I feel a kick under the table. Lexi is silently begging me, her eyes wide. I know what I need to do: beg and plead for forgiveness. Pledge my loyalty to the firm and his clients, and work like a dog for the next six months to try and erase this major mistake. Then, maybe then, he’ll deign to have me fetch coffees and Xeroxes before shuttling me off to a different department for the rest of the year.

It’s my only option, the only way to keep my career here alive. But as I open my mouth to start the groveling, I feel that rebellious spark flare to life.

Before I can stop myself, the words come out, loud and clear.

“No.”

I hear gasps around me, but my heart is pounding too loudly in my ears for it to register. I get up from the desk, draw myself up to my full height, and look Harper straight in the eye.

“I quit.”

His eyes flick over me, and his lip curls with derision. “Your fucking funeral,” he snorts. “Clean your desk out. You have five minutes before security throws you out the door.” He gives me a final withering stare before turning and storming away.

My legs go weak; I have to grab onto the chair for support. Oh my God. Did I just do that?

“Noelle!” Lexi wails. “What did you do?”

I gulp. My pulse is racing, and I struggle to think straight. “I have to get my stuff,” I tell her. “Harper is probably shredding everything right now.”

I grab my notebook from the table and hurry down the hallway. People are already staring and whispering as I pass. Gossip spreads like wildfire in a place like this. I take the stairs down a floor, to the tiny cubicle in the corner of the bullpen.

I don’t have much time. The scene in the library was bad enough, but getting hauled out of here by security would be a humiliation I’ll never live down if I want to practice law again.

Because I just got fired. Or quit.

Oh God.

I sweep everything from my desk into a paper carton. They frown on personal effects here, so I only have a couple of framed family photos, and the set of cloth-bound legal books my dad gave me for my last birthday. I don’t let myself imagine what he’ll say when he finds out about this, I can’t think about that now.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” Lexi arrives at my cubicle, wide-eyed with shock—and a touch of awe.

“Me neither.” I go through my drawers and grab a few office supplies.

“Are you sure about this? It’s not too late to take it back!” Lexi looks at me hopefully. “Just go to HR, tell them you had some kind of mental break. Stress, from the Anderson case. They’ll be so scared of a lawsuit, they would totally sweep it under the rug. Remember that partner in litigation?” she adds, brightening. “He had a meltdown in the middle of a settlement conference, threatened to staple the client to the table! They just gave him a slap on the wrist and made him take some anger therapy sessions, and he was back at work the next month.”

“I don’t need anger therapy,” I manage to smile, “and I don’t want to come back. Harper is right, I’m not cut out for this job.”

“But you’re a great lawyer!” Lexi protests.

“No,” I sigh, pausing to look around. “I’m a good one. And only because I’m working overtime just trying to keep up. But I don’t want to fake it anymore. This isn’t what I want.”

“So what do you want?” Lexi demands. “What are you going to do now? You can’t just sit around in your sweatpants all day eating Cheetos and watching Gilmore Girls reruns!”

I hug her, laughing. “Relax, I’m not going to.”

“And never mind you,” Lexi sniffles, tearing up. “What am I going to do, dealing with all these assholes without you?”

“You’ll kick their asses, as usual,” I reassure her. I pull back, trying not to get choked up myself. I hoist my box, and take a final look around before leaving the cubicle.

“So what then?” Lexi trails me towards the exit. “Where are you going to go next?”

I take a deep breath. The idea has been building, ever since I told Harper where to shove it.

No, before that, even. Ever since Albus broke the news to me, back on the sunlit Main Street, with the ocean glinting blue in the distance and the scent of sunscreen and honeysuckle in the air.

“I’m going to Beachwood Bay.”