As Wickham places the order, I question the wisdom of letting Jane’s drug-addled moment of clarity inform my decision-making. What happened in LA was supposed to stay there; even thinking about it resurrects a lot of grief. But Wickham’s assumption that I was an admin there felt like an erasure of a major part of my life, however painful that time ended up being.

At Work It, I’ve thrown myself into my commitment to competence. If I’m going to be an admin, I’m going to be indispensable. If the ongoing bafflement with the espresso machine is any indication, I’ll maintain that label indefinitely. The same goes for kittening. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to be the best at it. While it’s usually a stepping stone to performing, I’m happy participating in the show the way I do.

I’m proud of the work I do at Work It. I’m proud of what I’ve turned my gig at Meryton into. I’m also proud of what I accomplished before New York. Maybe—I stir my drink. Maybe I shouldn’t let the bad tarnish the good.

The bartender pushes two snifters of clear liquid across the bar.

Wickham raises one. “Cheers.”

“Don’t shoot it,” I warn. “It’s not espresso. Sip it.”

He does, and nods. “Ooh, I like it. What is this stuff?”

“A tequila. My cousin’s fiancé is a chef. He introduced me to it when I was in LA.”

Wickham takes another sip of the liquor. “About that time . . .” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just a shitty, embarrassing situation.”

I take a bracing pull of the reposado, the smoky burn a pleasant contrast to the slushy’s sweetness. “I went to the Art Institute in Denver. When I won the internship, it was a big deal. I was competing with students from programs across the country. It was me, from the blip of a school in Colorado, who won, which was huge for my program—”

And I failed them.

“How was it? In LA?” Wickham asks.

The question rouses a hint of the same rush I felt the first few weeks at the firm, the combination of excitement and possibility and pride that my work had proved me worthy of the experience. “It was like grad school, where everyone has a common passion, similar knowledge. Seeing what they were working on was inspiring. So much renovation to downtown. There’s great design down there, and even being adjacent to the efforts to restore it was . . .” I shake my head, at a loss for words.

“Exciting?” Wickham supplies.