“I’ll walk in with you,” I say, getting up from the bench. Can’t buy lunch if I don’t have my wallet, which I inconveniently left on my desk upstairs.

In the lobby, I eye the elevator suspiciously. After spending nearly an hour locked in that cage, I’m not keen on repeating the experience. No matter how “fixed” the superintendent claims the elevator now is.

So, with a friendly nod, I leave Tegan in front of the grate doors, saying, “I’ll take the stairs.”

She waves goodbye, showing more friendliness in her pinkie than the sum of her mother’s entire being.

In my office, I find my laptop still open on my session notes. Right. In all the excitement, I’d nearly forgotten about the Newmans. I’d better finish the notes before I take my lunch break.

Unfortunately, as I sit at the desk, my brain refuses to concentrate on the Newmans. It keeps going back to the woman next door and her daughter.

Tegan must be fifteen or sixteen—which, unless her mother has an excellent plastic surgeon, means Medusa must’ve had her when she was a teen. Eighteen, nineteen at max.

I wonder if there’s a father in the picture. From the brief interaction I witnessed on Saturday, their dynamic spoke of a consolidated duo. I’d bet my right hand there’s no dad. Why? What happened? Is that why Miss Attorney has such a bone to pick with men?

My phone rings, interrupting my musings. It’s Garrett, my best friend.

“Hey, buddy, what’s up?” I ask.

“Luke, I did it! I asked Leslie to marry me last night. We’re engaged!”

“Whoa, man, congratulations!”

“Thanks, dude, it was a long time coming. And you were right, it was stupid to be scared. Leslie is my best friend and I’m lucky to have her.”

Garrett has been hinting he might propose for months now, but I thought he was still too terrified of commitment to actually pop the question. Apparently not.

“Want to grab a beer tonight, celebrate?” I ask.

“Yeah, man. But we’re also hosting an informal engagement party Saturday night at our house. You’re coming, right?”

“Sure, what time?”

“Six. Sorry, Luke, gotta bounce, lot of calls to make. Catch you later at the Full Shilling?” he asks, naming our favorite pub for after-work drinks. “Usual time?”

“Perfect, later, man,” I say, and hang up.

Garrett is like a brother to me, and I’m thrilled his relationship with Leslie has hit such an important milestone. Still, I can’t help feeling a little wistful, and my mind inevitably drifts to Brenda. My ex-girlfriend of two years, who was offered a promotion in Chicago six months ago and didn’t even bother to ask me if I’d consider moving before she packed up and left. New job, new life, new boyfriend, probably.