Hmm. This is a tough one. I could say something trite—the long hours are at the top of my con column and don’t necessarily reflect poorly on the firm—but I promised to be honest about my experiences, and I’m not changing course now. If Kimberly’s going to be my colleague, I’d want her to have a full understanding of what she’s getting into, and it occurs to me that I’ve been giving her a skewed version of the firm simply because I’ve been sidestepping anything unpleasant. So I tell her—and them—the truth. “Being an associate is a challenge. We’re always proving ourselves. And the partners dangle the promise of partnership in front of our eyes to keep us in line. I wish they cared about us. As people. But I don’t think they really do. In the end, it’s just business.” I raise a finger in the air. “But it does pay well. And for a kid who had to put himself through college and law school, that counts for a lot.”

Is it enough, though? I’m not so sure anymore. I’ve been putting one foot in front of the other for so long, it never dawned on me to consider whether I’m heading down the right path. Or maybe I’ve purposefully avoided considering it. Because for better or worse, this job is an anchor, and without it, I’d just be bobbing around. Adrift and aimless.

I look up and meet Solange’s gaze. She tips her head and smiles, the warmth in her expression going straight to my heart. I’d like to think Solange is saying she’s proud of me. Because if that were the case, I’d consider this day a success no matter what else happens.

Solange

Once Career Day’s over, we meet Peter and Molly at Jaleo, a Spanish restaurant in Penn Quarter. Our group is on time for the reservation, but our table isn’t ready.

“We’re so sorry for the wait, folks,” the harried host says. “It’s been a hectic night. We’ll do our best to get you seated as soon as we can. In the meantime, you’re welcome to sit in the lounge.”

Peter huffs and appears ready to fuss and complain, but Molly places a hand on his arm and subtly shakes her head. Surprisingly, he relents. Peter’s mellowing the longer I’m in his presence, or maybe I’m just getting used to him; the latter’s a scary thought.

Taking the host’s suggestion, we drift to the lounge and find a circular seating arrangement large enough to accommodate our group.