hell if i know

Things that used to be inconveniences had been turning into blessings for Casey lately. She thanked herself for not moving out of her Brooklyn apartment the last time her lease was up, despite its tiny size and long commute to the office. She could’ve afforded a bigger place then, and had resigned the lease more out of a lack of motivation to move than anything else, a rare moment of laziness that paid off.

Had it been two months already? The date on her Blackberry said so, as did the birds chirping outside her cracked-open window. An ordinary July would have seen her cheerfully going about her Saturdays, but they felt hollow this year. She couldn’t revel in the warming weather under these circumstances. Running could still settle her spirit, so she slipped on her sneakers and went out the door.

Her running schedule had been drifting later by increments, even though she wasn’t sleeping much later these days. She checked her watch when she got to Prospect Park-- it was already ten fifteen. A different crowd gathered at this hour, the coffee vendors were joined by nannies pushing strollers, teenagers laid out on picnic blankets, elderly couples resting their canes on benches. As she ran she felt her body start to fill with a gentle, pleasant contentment that was usually out of her reach. She sped up towards the end of the long loop, pushing. Maybe she’d sign up for a half-marathon soon, give herself something to look forward to. She slowed to a walk, then stopped to stretch by a bench in front of the lake.

She rolled her neck out, rested her hands behind her head. She was hungry. A bagel and a latte on her way home called her name, though she knew she should really eat what she had at home, use the nice coffee machine her mother bought her for Christmas. She sipped water from the bottle in her drawstring backpack. She started walking again, beginning the short journey back to her apartment. The park was getting truly crowded now, as it did at this time in this weather. She checked her phone: no texts, no messages. She counted that as another blessing.

---

She got the bagel, but not the latte. She showered, and blow dried her hair, did some Sudoku while listening to Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me!. She tidied her bedroom, and did the dishes, and it was still only two o’clock.

She guessed she’d go get some work done. She was bringing in money the way she had in law school, freelance copywriting. It was monotonous, mind-numbing even, but that meant it was very easy. It wasn’t the most lucrative thing she could do, but neither was being an ADA. Building her own schedule was a plus. Even if, ever the workaholic, she couldn’t resist the temptation to do things like work on beautiful early summer Saturday afternoons. At least she could do it in a sweatshirt and a pair of old jeans.

With not too much deliberation, she wound up at one of the few cafés in her neighborhood that had seating and tolerated people working there on the weekends. She set herself up in a shady spot on the patio with an iced chai (this place had the best chai) and a croissant beside her. She had several commissions to get done by a week from today, and she typed them out in a to-do list. She let herself get sucked into the work, and knocked out the two Linkedin profiles on her list in about an hour. She closed her laptop, the only way she was able to force herself to take a break.

The screen had been blocking something, or rather, someone sitting at the table just across from her. Someone who waved at her as she closed the novel in her hands. She looked good. Her hair was longer than Casey had ever seen it. She looked polished, put together, and Casey felt conscious of the flyaways poking out of her claw clip and the holes in the cuffs of her shirt. She took out her earbuds.

“Casey Novak,” Alex said. “The rumor mill is wrong then. You didn’t run off to Colorado.”

“Alex Cabot,” Casey replied. How the collective consciousness of the New York City legal community learned of her week at her sister’s place in Boulder escaped her. “I did, for a moment. The altitude doesn’t agree with me.”

“Too much fresh air will drive a girl crazy.”

“Yeah, so will little sisters. You’re well-dressed,” Casey noted. “What’s the occasion?”

Alex looked at her dress and cardigan. “Lunch with my mother. I only wish it was early enough for a drink now. Coffee just doesn’t quite do the trick.”

“You could always splash some whiskey in there.”

“Tempting,” Alex said. “I don’t think this place has any in stock.”

“You don’t carry some in your purse?” Casey joked. It got her a laugh.

“What’s on that laptop that has you so focused? You were typing like a maniac on that thing. Writing the next great American novel?”

“Close, it’s work.”

“Of a Saturday afternoon, how dreadful.” Alex shook her head.

“I’m sure you work plenty of weekends.” Casey knew she was back at the DA’s office. “It’s not so bad. Maybe I’ll take Monday afternoon off.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Alex said.

“I’d better get a little more done if I want to,” Casey said, though she didn’t really want the conversation to end.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Alex said, and returned to her book. Casey opened up her ancient laptop again, and returned to her maniacal typing.

---

Taking Monday afternoon off seemed more and more likely as the morning dragged on. She was almost finished with the week’s work already. She had no clue how she’d fill the rest of her suspension year at this rate. Maybe she should take Alex’s suggestion, but she’d never been one for writing fiction.

Her mind had been occasionally drifting to the conversation with her old colleague over the past few days. They’d never been close, knowing each other how anyone in different bureaus did at the DA’s office. The extent of their relationship had been small talk, but it had always been nice small talk. And yet, they’d shared the intense experience that was the Connors trial. That case had done a lot for Casey professionally, but it had also been a large moment of personal growth for her. And, she imagined it had given her a perspective on Alex Cabot that few people would ever have: she’d seen her as a victim.

At the coffee shop, though, it was like that had never happened, like they were making idle chat at the work Christmas party or something. There was a mismatch there that stuck in Casey’s brain, like a skipping CD playing at a low volume.

What to do with a self-imposed free afternoon? There was an exhibit at the MoMA that she might like to see, but the thirty-dollar admission price didn’t appeal to her. She’d gone for a run that morning, but she could go to the batting cages, or go lift at the gym, but she couldn’t remember the last rest day she’d taken-- maybe two workouts in one day wasn’t the best idea. She had some overdue library books, she remembered. She could make an activity out of it, go to the main branch. There were usually exhibits up there, so she could satisfy her museum craving, and she could pick up something new to read.

There was a F stop close to her apartment, but even the short walk was sweltering. She’d read somewhere once about how all the concrete traps heat and makes it artificially warmer in the city in the summer time. They were due for some summer rain. She passed a popsicle cart, and as she stepped down the stairs, saw some kids playing in a fire hydrant down the street. There was no relief from the heat in the station. A young man jumped the turnstile. She reloaded her Metrocard. She put in one earbud plugged into her iPod shuffle. A song from The Reminder played.

Nine-and-a-half songs, and she got off at forty-second street. People rested on the steps of the main branch building. A group of men were bucket drumming for tips. Casey walked in, and immediately dropped her books in the first return box she saw. It was pleasantly cool inside, and busy, but not crowded. People sat at tables. Casey almost wished she’d brought her laptop-- she liked to work here. She browsed the magazines, and the newspapers, but found nothing particularly interesting there. None of the exhibits particularly caught her eye either.

The visit was mostly a bust, then. At least she found the memoir her sister had recommended last month.

---

She would’ve stayed longer if the library hadn’t closed at five. The book was really good, and she loved the reading room on the top floor. She didn’t feel like going home yet. If she went home, she’d probably put the TV on and be bored the rest of the evening. A bar she liked did its happy hour from five to seven on Mondays. A crisp glass of white wine sounded like the right way to extend her outing. It was a short walk, but she still got slightly sweaty, and was glad she was wearing a skirt. She was early enough that she got a seat at the bar. She got her wine, and went back to her book.

She read happily through her first glass, and ordered a second. A quarter of the way through it, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and looked up to see the woman she had been thinking of earlier that day.

“Alex,” Casey said. “What a surprise.”

“You’re certainly engrossed in that book,” Alex said. “I’ve been sitting here for half an hour.”

“Really?” Casey said, a bit embarrassed.

“No,” Alex said with a smile. “I just walked in. I’m meeting Abbie Carmichael for dinner in,” she looked down at her cell, “thirty minutes.”

“Are you always so punctual?” Casey said.

“I was working at the library, and they closed on me. I went home and changed, and I was still early.”

Casey laughed. “That’s how I ended up here, too.”

“I thought you were taking Monday afternoon off,” Alex said. Casey was taken aback that she remembered.

“I was reading this,” she gestured to the book. Alex took it out of her hands. “Left the work at home.” She opened her bag. “See, no laptop.”

“Aren’t you disciplined,” Alex said, reading the back. “This looks good.”

“I endorse it,” Casey said. “Why don’t you sit, while you wait for Carmichael?”

Alex slid into the chair, and got the bartender’s attention. She ordered an Aperol Spritz.

“Do you have business with the Southern District?” Casey asked, even though she didn’t exactly want to talk law.

“It’s personal,” Alex shook her head. “We have a standing dinner once a month, for years actually.”

“That’s nice,” Casey said.

“We couldn’t let go of the tradition after we broke up,” Alex winked.

“I wouldn’t want to either,” Casey said, masking her mild surprise at the notion of that couple, and her milder surprise at Alex’s confirmed sexual orientation. She’d always had an inkling (of course, she knew Abbie was gay-- that was not a well kept secret). “This is one of my favorite places in the city.”

“Mine too,” Alex said. “So, what is the work that you can’t seem to bear tearing yourself away from these days?”

“I’m afraid I’m this way about any work,” Casey said. “You should’ve seen me scooping ice cream in high school.”

“I would like to see that,” Alex chuckled. “Did you wear a little hat?”

“And an apron,” Casey said, allowing herself to be teased. “I’ve been freelancing. It’s mostly writing blog posts, product descriptions, things like that.”

“How riveting. I can see why you can’t get enough.” Casey felt herself roll her eyes.

“It’s thrilling, truly,” she played along. “It’s fine money, and I can do it in my sleep.”

“There are worse things than boredom,” Alex said. Casey raised her glass to that.

“How is it being back?” Casey turned the conversation on Alex.

“At the DA’s office?” She asked.

“That is what I meant,” Casey said. “But, the other thing too,” she continued, daring the conversation to go there. “If you want to talk about that.”

Alex nodded. “Nobody asks me to,” she said.

“You don’t have to.”

“No,” Alex said, sipping her drink. “I wish more people would.” She paused, looking around the room for a moment. “It’s odd, though work is good. It took a lot for me to be ready for it again, but I am now.”

“I bet it feels good, being back doing what you do best.”

Alex breathed a laugh. “I was a pretty good claims adjuster, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure,” said Casey.

“You asked me a question, so I get to ask you one now.”

“Go ahead,” said Casey.