“You’re brilliant at what you do,” I mention.
“Well that much is true,” she grins. “But it’s also the easiest way to go. I sit in board rooms with wealthy people and figure out how to get them wealthier. But you – you are a fighter. You get down in the mud, and you take on all comers. You are fearless, Berlin.”
“I’m definitely not fearless,” I chuckle.
She seizes my hand so quickly; it startles me. I look up, and her gaze is so direct and penetrating, it carries a physical weight to it. I feel like she’s pinning me to my seat with nothing but her eyes.
“You need to stop selling yourself short. Stop minimizing the things you do,” she daggers into me, her voice low and harder than steel. “You see injustices every day, and unlike ninety-nine percent of us, you do something about it. You step in front of the train that’s going to run people down and fight like hell to stop it.”
I give her a small shrug. “It’s just the right thing to do.”
“Exactly. But for most of us, it’s not even a thought in our minds. You have an uncommon moral compass, and you are driven to do right,” she insists. “Lots of people have the ability to change the world, Berlin. But you actually have the strength and courage to do it. That’s why I respect and admire you as much as I do.”
In all our years of friendship, Gabby has never said those words to me. She’s never told me she respects and admires me. And hearing the flat-out earnestness in her voice, I have no doubt what she’s saying is true. It overwhelms me with emotion and humbles me at the same time. By any measure, Gabby is a success. A big success. So hearing her so passionately speak about how she feels makes my heart swell with feeling.
I look up at her with eyes that are blurry with tears and a soft smile on my face. “I think you might be the first person who’s ever said those words – and meant them,” I tell her. “Thank you for that.”
She is on her feet and comes around the table quickly, pulling me into a tight embrace. I sniff loudly and try to discreetly wipe away the tears spilling down my cheeks. Most of them are happy, but there are also more than a few mixed in for what I’ve lost. Or at least, for what I feel like I’m losing.
After a moment, Gabby goes back to her seat and takes a swallow of her macchiato, giving me a smile that warms me from the inside. I sit back and take a drink of my decaf latte, turning to look out the front windows of the coffee house, a smile unconsciously touching my lips.
Fat snowflakes drift lazily down from a gray sky above and slick the street with a thin coat of fresh powder. The soft snowfall is beautiful and peaceful – and of course, brings the memories of my weekend with Sawyer in the Catskills to mind immediately. As I think about that weekend, I’m wrapped in a thick blanket of nostalgic warmth. I recall the feel of his arms around me, his lips on mine, and the sound of his words in my ear. I remember the way his fingers felt on my skin, the way he felt inside of me, and the love I saw shining in his eyes every minute of the day.
I’ve never felt so deeply for somebody. Nor had them love me back so hard in return. What I have with Sawyer is real. And it’s profound. He’s altered my life in so many ways – not the least of which is growing inside of me right this moment. Which is what makes this chasm between us so difficult to bear because I don’t know that it can be bridged.
I watch through the window as people bundled up in thick jackets, scarves, and hats scurry about, running whatever errands they’re on, and automatically think of the residents of the Jackson. I know that some of them are standing in the cold outside their building right now, protesting. Some of them have already begun putting up tents and plan to ride this out until they either win or are forcibly removed – and all because Sawyer will not budge. And because they believe in me. They believe I can somehow weave a Christmas miracle and save their homes.
Once again, I feel the full weight of the responsibility bearing down on me. Only this time, I don’t know that I can bear it. I wish I felt half as strong as Gabby believes I am. But I’m not. Right now, I feel as weak as I’ve ever felt in my life – weak and utterly heartbroken.
“So tell me why you think I have my head up my ass,” I finally ask her.
“Because you’ve always known what Sawyer does. His business dealings shouldn’t come as any surprise to you,” she replies. “And because you’re letting your moral outrage ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
“So what? I should just tell the people at the Jackson they’re out of luck because I’m in love?”
She shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m saying at all,” she tells me. “What I’m saying is that you need to make your passion and your moral outrage work for you instead of against you both.”
“And how am I supposed to do that, Gabs? He holds all the cards. I don’t really have a legal leg to stand on,” I respond. “I mean, I can make a big show of it and try to force his hand but at the end
