“Yeah, yeah.” Heather rolled her eyes good-naturedly and pulled out the pencil that had been holding her hair in a bun, shaking her long locks free. “You could take it later, but then you wouldn’t be taking it with me.”
Despite her obvious exhaustion, she started to look more like herself as the study haze cleared from her eyes. It encouraged me to keep the conversation going. Clearly, she needed a break.
“I know,” I said. “It would suck to have to study for it by myself. I would have to turn my own apartment into a hermit’s nest, like you have.”
That earned me a chuckle. Her eyes scanned the apartment as if seeing it for the first time, and she shuddered a little. Heather had come from no money, and she’d had to work hard for everything she had.
Understandably, she took pride in her achievements and in being able to afford an apartment in the nicer part of town, even if it was tiny. She displayed that pride by keeping her apartment, and herself, spotless and in great shape. When she wasn’t prepping for the bar, anyway.
“Let’s get one thing clear,” she said. “You would never have to study this hard. Not all of us are prodigies who just u
nderstand everything,” she snapped her fingers for emphasis, “like that. Secondly, maybe if you were taking it with me, you could do the cleaning while I studied.”
“I’m flattered that you think that I can clean as well as I can study. For the record, I’m awesome at Febrezing the shit out of stuff. But sadly, that’s where my talent ends.”
“Good to know there are a few things I’m still better at than you,” she teased. “Maybe not all of us are ready and able to take the bar at 24, but at least I can do my own laundry.”
I gestured at the monstrous pile of dirty clothes I’d swept from the couch and raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fact? You could’ve fooled me.”
She had the good sense to look contrite. For a second, anyway. Then she flipped me off with a smirk. “It is a fact. If I wasn’t studying all the damn time, or if, you know, I had my study buddy with me, I might have time to get to it.”
I sighed. I’d let her down when I told her I didn’t plan on taking the bar with her anymore. Our friendship had surprised people at first, given that Heather was four years older than I was, but she got me. And I got her.
“Just because I’m not writing notes with you doesn’t mean we can’t still do our thing.” I pulled her mind map for contract law closer. I could still argue theory with Heather until we both understood it. It was fun for me without the added pressure of taking the actual exam. “So, what’s got you damning the contractual founding fathers to a special place in hell?”
“I’m struggling with the difference between detrimental reliance and promissory estoppel.” Her brow knitted, and her fingers fidgeted with the pencil she’d pulled from her thick chocolate-colored hair. She was striking, even now, looking like a raccoon startled from its nest with her mascara smudged under her emerald eyes.
She could have easily been a model, but according to her, she lacked a taste for rabbit food and was unwilling to give up the tons of sugar we took in our coffee.
Always coffee. Strong, black, and sweet. It was one of the first things we’d bonded over.
“I think I remember that,” I said. “Okay, imagine you’ve been asked on a date.”
I continued to explain the distinctions between the two concepts. It didn’t take long before the light was back in Heather’s eyes, and she nodded enthusiastically as the principles she had been struggling with sank in. Heather was smart. She just doubted herself sometimes. As a tutor, she hated asking for help before we met, but like I said, we just got each other.
“You’re a genius!” she exclaimed. She’d just gotten nine out of ten questions right on the practice problems she’d been working on.
Our hands clapped together in a high-five, and I grinned at her. “Nah, I didn’t just score a 90. I’d say you were good to go.”
“On contracts, maybe. The rest, I’m not so sure about.” Heather paused and took a deep breath. I barely suppressed a sigh. I knew where this was going. “You know, it might be your father’s dream, but you’re really good at this. You would be a great attorney.”
“I’m good at studying law, not practicing it. There’s a huge difference.” Even if I did take the bar eventually, there was no guarantee I’d be a good attorney. I’d probably suck.
I didn’t have the driven, over-the-top, alpha personality that most lawyers have. In other words, I wasn’t an asshole. As an attorney, being an asshole was an asset. That was who you wanted on your side when push came to shove in the courtroom or in settlement negotiations. There was an old saying in the legal community: everyone hates lawyers until they need one.
But that just wasn’t me.
“Speaking of your beloved father,” Heather said softly, “did you watch the Super Bowl last night?”
My face fell. I hated stupid football. So much. “Super Bowl, Shmuper Bowl. I hate football. You know that.”
“Have you spoken to him about all of this? Not taking the bar?” Heather was hesitant but persistent. She was not-so-secretly hoping my father would change my mind.
Too bad my father and I had never seen eye to eye on this issue. “Nope. His precious team has been dominating his time, as always.”
“You have to tell him at some point, though.”
She was right, of course. My father wasn’t going to be happy. It wasn’t a conversation I looked forward to having.