Page 24
Before I can ask, Mack chimes in, “Tight clothes increase stress responses.”
I ponder that for a moment. “Fine, this one seems simple. What’s next?”
Nessa walks into the kitchen and pours hot water from an electric kettle.
Where are all these home goods coming from?
She sets the cup in front of me with a tea diffuser inside. “Tea?” I question, “That will reset me?”
“Not just tea. A tea rotation. We start with Lemon Balm; it is supposed to improve your mood, which you need.”
She side-eyes me over her mug, and Mack jumps in, “It also helps lower cortisol, which you do need.”
Steam curls from the mug, citrus and herbs filling the kitchen as I pick it up, blowing on it to cool. “I hate that you’re both right.” I take a sip. “Okay then, what’s next?”
The rest of the day is an onslaught of one activity after another. We are banned from any screens, Nessa says it throws off our Chi, while Mack says it is for a low-stimulation zone to lower my heart rate. Part of that means my phone is turned off. Which, after an hour, I must admit, does make me relax.
As the day continues to force deeper relaxation, I give it my all for about four minutes. Looking around for something productive to do, I spot pine needles to clean up. Nessa catches me and takes the rake away.
“Next, we are doing a vagus nerve reset. Lie down on the cushions, face down, and wrists pointing up,” Nessa explains.
Following the instructions, I give out a yelp of surprise. “What is that?!”
“Don’t be such a baby; it’s just a little ice,” Nessa admonishes.
“Freezing me is going to help my burnout?” I question.
“Actually, yes, this helps regulate your parasympathetic response,” Mack responds plainly.
“I knew that,” I mumble, lying back down face-first.
Through all of this, tea and filling meals are thrown at me at regular intervals. And I hate how quickly my body responds to this day, how it starts to settle. It’s as if it were waiting for permission.
Mack and Nessa depart together as the sun starts to drop, leaving me in peace on the patio I built, pine needles crunching beneath my slippers. The light wind is blowing through the ponderosa pines as the sun sets. I can’t remember the last time I sat outside. No phone, no task at hand, nowhere I need to be.
The clarity that comes from attempting to do nothing is outstanding. A thought that started as background noise becomes a curious thread I pull. Then, one week later, I’ve filled three legal pads. The thread I started has unraveled something much larger than I expected, making me temporarily forget that I’m supposed to be resting, not plotting my unfair betrayal.
This situation is bigger than Lena, Cassandra, or even our new M&A department. What I’ve uncovered started before our newest member of Cascadia Legal joined.
My phone buzzes; I don’t bother glancing at it, knowing it’s Jackson. He has been checking in all week; short ones at first, then the tone slightly more urgent. He even knocked on my door twice, but I pretended I wasn’t home.
I don’t have room for him tonight, not when the cool night air inspires an evening walk. With no destination in mind, I decide to enjoy the peacefulness of the small town, crickets chirping, and not a cloud in the sky to block the full moon. Music drifts faintly from somewhere down the street, and the air smells like cold pine.
I walk through the well-lit street of Cascadia, passing by Whitmore’s, the elusive steakhouse where people go to be seen. From the window, I see a group of people I recognize—coworkers from Cascadia Legal. I check my silenced calendar app on my phone.
“Cascadia Partner Recognition Dinner Tonight: Whitmore’s”
Ah, of course, I was supposed to attend this annual night out. One of schmoozing with our senior partners, thanking us for our hard work. The floor-to-ceiling windows facing the street illuminate the scene of happy coworkers celebrating together, with one empty chair on the reservation.
There’s an unmistakable air of celebration between the candlelight and the gathered suits. Amber light spills across white tablecloths and polished wine glasses. Tonight, they are presenting the award for “Rising Associate: Emerging Leader,” or what we call the Rising Star award. The one that all but guarantees you Senior Legal counsel in the next couple of years and comes with an increase in pay and billables.
Mr. Rhodes stands up, holding the small, heavy glass award. The kind that stays on your desk for the next twenty years. I can’t hear what he is saying but I know the announcement has been made when everyone starts clapping. Mr. Rhodes turns to shake the recipient’s hand, and then I see a smile I know all too well. A smile I thought was reserved for me.
Jackson gladly takes the award and starts speaking to the small group animatedly, bringing the crowd into his natural charisma. Not even six months in and he is our rising star? Please. Beside him, Cassandra stands, not as a colleague would in a crowded space, but as a woman who’s decided who she wants to be next to.
Cassandra’s hand finds Jackson’s elbow and slips through, intimately linking arms. The same arm that used to be thrown over my waist, cradling me to sleep. Cassandra leans in, her ruby red lips moving, leaving a faint red stain near the edge of his ear. Jackson laughs in full enjoyment.
As if finally sensing my stare, he makes eye contact through the window. One second, maybe two. His smile doesn’t fall; there is no change in his joy of the moment. Me on the outside of the world, him being recognized and awarded with the partner’s daughter on his arm.
