Page 42 of Gold Rush

I make a note. “I’ll give them a call”—I glance at the clock on the wall—“first thing in the morning. And you’re free to head out, Tina. Sorry for keeping you late.”

“No worries. I was happy to stay. You sure there’s nothing else I can work on tonight?”

I smile at her eagerness. This is my first time being on the other side of an internship. It doesn’t feel that long ago when I was the one excited to stay late and soak up as much experience as possible.

“I’m sure,” I say. “Thank you for all your help today.”

Tina nods and stands. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Have a good night.”

I remain in the small conference room after Tina departs, adding to the list of tasks I need to follow up on, aside from badgering about the surveillance footage that could be pivotal in this case.

I jump when the door opens again, assuming everyone already left for the night.

My supervisor, Rachel, stands in the doorway with her hands placed on her hips. “Here you are! I’ve been camped out at your desk for the past fifteen minutes.”

I frown. “Sorry. Is something wrong?”

“Yep,” she replies, then adds, “We’re late for happy hour,” before I can become too concerned.

I laugh. “You guys go ahead. I’ll⁠—”

“Meet us there. Right. Except you’ll stay here, working, until happy hour is over. Come on, Rory. I’m buying you a drink.”

As far as bosses go, Rachel is pretty amazing. My interview with her was one of the main reasons I chose this job over the legal aid clinic I was also considering. Rachel is boundlessly cheerful and optimistic, never displaying defeat despite the many times a day this job encourages cynicism. She’s the same type of extroverted as Flynn is—effortlessly pulling people into orbit before they realize their attention has been captivated.

I stand, not wanting to disappoint her.

I haven’t purposefully missed the previous happy hours. I’ve just gotten distracted by the endless amount of work that needed to be handled here, then gone home to study for the bar. All that’s waiting for me at home now is my distractingly hot roommate, so I suppose a drink isn’t a bad idea.

I’m not going to let Rachel buy mine though. I’m glad that no one here seems to be aware who my family is, but it’s awkward too. I nodded along when Jackie was complaining about a rent increase yesterday. And when Louis was ranting about his eye exam not being covered by insurance this morning. I wanted to work here because I knew it would expose me to new people and unfamiliar situations. But I sort of feel like a fraud, playacting at philanthropy, the way Kristin implied at the Harvard Law social.

Jackie and Louis are waiting by the faded couch in the small reception area, along with Rob, Carla, and Jennifer, when Rachel and I approach after stopping to grab my bag from my desk.

“Nice work, Rachel,” Louis says, grinning at me.

“There’s still a ton of work to do for the Marcus Riviera case,” I tell him.

“And Marcus is lucky to have you on his side. But you’ll be no good to him if you collapse from exhaustion on your way to court.”

“Come on, guys,” Rob says. He has one palm already placed on the door, waiting to push it open. “All the tables will be taken.”

“You mean, we might not be able to sit in the section assigned to your waitress crush,” Jackie teases.

Rob scoffs. “I don’t like standing.”

“You’ve been sitting all day,” Jackie returns.

I pull my phone out of my bag as they bicker, scanning the missed notifications that piled up during my afternoon meetings. It’s not until a disappointed twinge appears when I reach the end that I realize I was searching for a specific name.

I’ve hardly seen Flynn since he moved in. He’s working full-time, too, his hours even more hectic than mine. He makes dinner every night, so food is waiting in the fridge when I get home. But he’s usually gone. Back at the office or out with friends? Sometimes, the basketball by the front door is missing, so he plays at night?

The morning after we grocery-shopped together, I found a check on the counter. August rent was written in the memo line. I haven’t deposited it. The slip of paper is tucked in the pocket of the Sue Me tote from Wren. I think about it more than I should, along with noticing the spotless counters and the arranged pillows on the couch. I have no male aside from my dad to compare him to, but Flynn is an exceptionally respectful roommate.

He’s texted me a handful of times, asking if there’s anything I want from the grocery store or letting me know he picked up a package from the front desk, but there’s nothing from him now. Again, I’m irritated by the prick of disappointment. I was concerned he’d be an obtrusive presence. His inconspicuousness should be a relief.

We walk to the bar that’s only two blocks away. The short stint in the heat has my shirt sticking to the small of my back. Even breathing is unpleasant, the hot, stagnant air oppressive and heavy to inhale.