Chapter 5: No Initiative

I picked the place myself: the Starlite Diner on Mass Ave.

Lydia and I had eaten pancakes there at two in the morning since college.

I got there first and took the booth by the window.

Lydia came in wearing her camel coat and carrying a paper bag from the bakery.

"Cinnamon twists," she said. "Your favorite."

"I didn't come for twists."

"I know. I brought them anyway."

She slid into the booth across from me and set the bag in the middle of the table.

Her eyes were already wet.

"First," she said. "I'm sorry about Saturday."

"I should have grabbed his arm and made him turn around. I didn't, and I'll think about that for the rest of my life."

"Lydia. The staffing firm called you."

Her face didn't change.

"They did," she said. "I'm sorry about that too."

"You told them I had no initiative."

"I know how it sounds."

"How did you know I'd applied?"

"Oh, Nessa." She laughed softly through her nose.

"I set an alert on your name the day you left. I was scared you'd do something rash."

"I wanted to be the first to know if anyone called about you."

"That's insane."

"It's what a person does when she's afraid," Lydia said. "And about the reference."

"Think about those jobs. Eighty-hour weeks, high turnover, managers who'd eat you alive."

"I said what I said so they wouldn't hire you."

"You were protecting me."

"I was protecting you."

It was a very good answer.

It was good enough that I almost believed it, and I wanted to, which was the worst part.

When I was nine, I broke my arm on the school playground.

Lydia carried my backpack and her own for a month.

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