“I’m a constant source of disappointment,” I added sarcastically, yawning.
“Tell me about it. All I ask is for a throne of money, constant praise, and naked pictures.”
“How you’ve managed to survive all these years is miraculous.”
“I know.” He squeezed me again, adding on a sigh, “I’m basically a saint. Saint Greg, the Manly.”
I grinned against his chest, feeling warm and loved. Bantering with Greg was foreplay for my brain. My head already felt better.
***
“Are you really a lawyer?”
“Sure.” Marie shrugged, settling into her seat on the private jet Quinn decided to charter. I tried to talk him out of the expense, to no avail. Now that we were all heading home, I recognized how much I’d asked of my friends and had no idea how I would be able to repay them.
Dan and I had rescued Greg less than twelve hours ago, and it was now midmorning the day after. Quinn had said, and we’d all agreed, the sooner we left the better.
“Sure? What does that mean? Sure?” Dan grinned at Marie, like he found her fascinating and funny.
“It means, sometimes I’m a lawyer.”
“You went to law school?” Greg asked as he claimed the seat next to mine. The jet was relatively small, with seats and leather benches lining each side, facing each other.
“No. But I did pass the bar in California and Vermont.”
“You passed the bar without going to law school?” Quinn asked from his spot at the back of the plane. I knew he must’ve been anxious about Janie. He’d spread out papers, his laptop, and two additional monitors around him. Obviously he was going to use the flight home to get some work done and distract himself from worrying about his newly-pregnant wife.
“That’s the beauty of being a lawyer. Anyone can be a lawyer. You can just wake up one day and decide you want to do it. It’s not like being a ballerina, or a spy, or a petroleum engineer, where you have to train or hone a skill, practice. The law is a set of rules. If you can read, memorize, and think critically, then you’re basically ninety percent there. The other ten percent is pretending you know what you’re talking about, and having a deep abiding love for paperwork and bureaucracy.”
“You mean bullshitting,” Greg supplied.
“Exactly. Bullshitters make excellent lawyers. In fact, they make the best lawyers.”
“So, what you’re saying is, Greg would make the world’s greatest lawyer?” Dan kept his tone and expression serious.
“Dan, I didn’t know you cared. I’m touched.” Greg bit his bottom lip in mock sentimentality, causing Dan to snort.
“The only place you’re touched is in the head.”
This earned Dan a round of chuckles, including a quick smile and head shake from Greg. “I should have seen that coming.”
It felt remarkably good to laugh. But also surreal.
I zoned out during the takeoff, opting to rest my head against the crook of Greg’s shoulder, his arm around me holding me close. I was still tired, but it was more than that. My brain was a cascading fog of dichotomous emotions, all of which were extreme.
I was still angry with Greg.
I was also tremendously grateful we were in one piece, together, and going home.
I was also anxious about the future, Greg leaving again, coping with the loss of him.
Unable to decide which was the priority, I instead opted to dwell in feelings limbo.
“What are we going to do about Jack?”
I blinked away from the window I’d been staring out, realizing we’d taken off some time ago, and brought Greg into focus. “Jack?”
“Yes. What are we going to do about Jack and his mysterious case of musical prodigy-ism?” He gave me his charming crooked smile, his expression open and solicitous.
I felt like I was staring at him through a concealing screen. I couldn’t see him or his charming half-smile, the one I’d loved and cherished, because—and quite abruptly—I was looking at him through a lens of anger and distrust.
Instead of thawing, I sighed tiredly, preparing myself for a mandate, one I would ignore just as soon as Greg left for his next godforsaken assignment.
“Fine. Tell me. What do you want to do about Jack?” I asked.
Greg’s lips flattened, then curved downward into a frown, his eyes flickering over my expression as his eyebrows pulled low on his forehead. After a long moment of unhappily studying me, he leaned forward and whispered, “Am I really that bad, Fe?”
I stared at him blankly and didn’t answer.
Since leaving the consulate, every so often I would feel overcome with the urge to scream at him, accuse him of breaking my heart, wonder once again if I would be able to move past his abandonment of me, tying me to a hospital bed in Enugu and placing himself in harm’s way, rejecting me and my help over and over.
Logically, I knew the situation was a good deal more complicated than the oversimplification insisted upon by my feelings. I knew he’d been terrified to lose me. I knew he’d felt responsible for lying about the assignment in Nigeria in the first place.
Logically, I knew this.
But I just couldn’t bring myself to care.