With her skin mottled and her expression pinched, Molly swings her gaze between Peter and me.

Her husband raps his knuckles on the display counter. “On second thought, Solange, go ahead and give us two of everything. I think a celebration’s in order.

“Molly,” he calls over his shoulder. “We need to head out soon. I have a few texts to send after this.”

“I’m sorry,” Molly says softly, a hand pressed to her throat as she looks at me in sympathy.

My stomach is caving in on itself, and my heart is beating as if it’s being powered by the drums of a thousand bateristas. “It’s okay,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Before I can flee, Melissa lays a hand on my forearm. “Is everything okay?”

“No, not really. I need to speak with your son.”

Dean

As Priya, a junior associate, updates the team on the status of her document review, I try to picture what’s happening at Rio de Wheaton. The image that materializes, one in which Solange is offering my mother fresh coffee and warm bread, brings a smile to my face.

Henderson, the only partner present, clears his throat, and my gaze snaps to his. Right. Happiness is frowned upon here. What a fucking joke.

“All right, thanks for your hard work, Priya,” Henderson says. “What about you, Dean? Where are we with witness interviews?”

I begin to outline the schedule, focusing on the people with potentially critical testimony. A minute into my report, however, Henderson hunches over and commences to type with urgency, his fingers flying across the screen of his iPhone. At one point, he raises his head, stares at me with a glazed look in his eyes, then drops his chin so he can resume texting, or emailing, or whatever. I flub my words, momentarily thrown off by Henderson’s uncharacteristically engaged behavior; he’s the most disinterested lawyer I know, yet his attention’s plainly been captured by who the hell knows what.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

He shoots out of his chair. “Actually, let’s end early and reconvene another time. Something’s come up.”

“Sure, no problem,” I say.

Priya and I watch him go, then shrug at each other.

“You did great earlier,” I tell her.

“Thanks,” she says, her shoulders relaxing now that Henderson’s gone. “I’m glad you’re on the team.” She hurries to pack up her papers. “It’s been helpful having someone who doesn’t bite my head off when I ask questions.”

I remember the feeling. Navigating law firm life can be like running a Hunger Games gauntlet with no protective gear, no special skills, and no weapons. If I can make the experience better for those who come after me, maybe together we can slowly change the culture. “That’s why I’m here,” I say, strolling to the conference room door. “Use me as a buffer anytime.”