I listen and try hard to stay in step with her, asking the appropriate questions. I’m not as sharp as I used to be. My thoughts begin wandering off the longer she talks.
My lab results are due back today. Last week I had myself tested for STDs and pregnancy. I’m on birth control, but I made sure to take an emergency contraceptive just in case.
I should be in the clear, yet anxiety manifests inside me as a dark, choking toxin. I find it harder to draw in a new breath and swallow against the cottony feeling in my throat. How can I possibly concentrate on work when I could be pregnant? What if I’ve contracted something? He hadn’t worn a condom. He’d finished inside me.
The menthol smell returns, so visceral and sudden it swarms around me. I cough and cover my mouth in disgust.
Brenda frowns. “Umm, Ms. Adams?”
“Sorry… I… I just need… give me a second…” I cough and climb out of my chair. I escape to the window, my intakes of air growing sharper. A gasp leaves me as I begin hyperventilating.
No! Calm down!
“Ms. Adams? Oh my god, are you okay?”
I focus on counting my breaths, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. Seconds pass before the rapid pounding in my chest slows down and the tightness gripping me subsides.
My cheeks warm.Of courseI’d have a mini panic attack on my first day returning to work. I stand, still unsure of what to even say.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t know it’d be so overwhelming to adjust to our work flow again. I’m fine now. What were you saying about Frausto?”
Brenda stares without blinking. “You seem different. Are you sure it’s nothing?”
Even as I tell Brenda I’m sure and we need to get to work, I can tell she knows I’m lying. I have to get better at covering my tracks; I have to readjust to normal life again. The only way to do that is to put what happened behind me.
* * *
The Fuel the Child charity dinner arrives before I know it. I don’t bother shopping for a new dress. I throw on a simple black one that’s stashed away at the back of my closet. It’s not the most fashion forward, but I’m not enthused to be attending. I would’ve canceled if I hadn’t already signed up to give a speech.
Brenda and I ride together using my car service. She never found a date and I’m grateful to have her as a crutch tonight.
“I can’t believe Chet turned me down,” she rants. “You were right. He’s just some player.”
The Northam City Bank is hosting the dinner at their headquarters, located in a towering building on Mercer Avenue.
Brenda and I make it two footsteps inside before I’m stopped by retired District Judge Kodjoe. He launches into a congratulatory spiel about my performance during the Giorgio Belini trial. Brenda smartly steals me away by mentioning a fake meeting with the charity event coordinator.
I haven’t said a word to her about my sour mood, but she seems to sense it. Apparently, I’m no Academy Award winning actress.
I gratefully accept a flute of champagne from a waiter passing by. If I’m forced to spend the next four hours here, a little tipsiness might loosen me up. The tension in my body refuses to go away otherwise.
I’ve been so lost in my head, I need the relief.
“You’re here for a good time,” Brenda says as I polish off my champagne. She’s only taken two sips from hers. “Is the future DA trying to turn up?”
“More like survive the night. This isn’t my idea of an enjoyable evening.”
She frowns. “But you love Fuel the Child.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
My energy already depleted, I don’t bother explaining any further. We slip into the banquet room among the other attendees and push our way through. The room is full of the familiar elites from Northam and other neighboring cities. Even a few recognizable juggernauts from other parts of the country.
Many of whom gained their wealth through dirty means, and who I’d love to takedown and protect citizens from. A whole rogue’s gallery of potential white-collar criminals.
Another waiter comes to my rescue and offers me more champagne. I thank him as Brenda and I stay on the move. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to avoid mingling when everyone keeps stopping you.
Mayor Bernstein corners me next. He’s shorter than I am when I’m in heels and he waddles like a penguin, but he’s usually cheerful enough, if not a little clueless. I’ve moved onto my third glass of champagne, slightly unsteady on my feet, but I manage to engage him for a couple minutes.