“You want me to chill the f**k out,” she mumbled, shaking her head and picking up the pen. With a flourish, she signed at all the designated spots and slid the pile over to me.
“I was where you are, you know,” I told her, lifting the papers and tapping the bottom of them on the desk so they all lined up before stuffing them in a yellow envelope. “I left Bridgewater when I was eighteen, went to college, then law school on the west coast. I went corporate, just like you. Did the whole eighty hours a week deal, the partner track. No life. Just worked my ass off for three years. Cell phones, email, texting, IM, deadlines, heartburn pills, I know all of it.”
I had her attention. “Why did you come back here then?”
“Because one of my dads had a heart attack. A small one, and he's fine now. But
