Free A Mingled Yarn by Melissa F. Miller

1
    The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
    William Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well,
    Act IV, Scene III, lines 69-70
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    S asha McCandless-Connelly huffed and pushed open the front door to the building that housed Jake’s Coffee Shop on the first floor and her law offices on the second. Naya trotted behind her, racing to catch up.
    “Jeez, Mac, slow down already,” the legal assistant grumbled.
    Sasha waited until they were inside the building to answer. She paused at the base of the steps, gripping the banister, and looked back at Naya. “Sorry.”
    “It’s not my fault Judge Creech is a creep,” Naya pointed out.
    Sasha sighed. “You’re right. It’s not.”
    “And even though he said you looked like you’re smuggling a watermelon, he did rule in our favor,” she continued.
    Sasha stared at her and tried to think of a compelling way to explain to a lithe, non-pregnant person that she didn’t need any reminders—not even from a judge who’d been on the bench since the Mesozoic Era—that she was hugely, enormously, giantly pregnant. Every minute of every day was a reminder, what with the near-inability to buckle her shoes and the hundred and seventy-eight trips to the ladies’ room. At this point, her excitement at not being pregnant any longer was nearly equal to her excitement at becoming a mother. She decided to save her breath. She’d need it for the climb up the stairs to the office. And her efforts would be wasted anyway. Being thirty-nine weeks pregnant was one of those things a person needed to experience to understand, so she just nodded in agreement, and started hauling herself up the steps.
    Naya zoomed around her, passing her halfway up the staircase, which seemed unnecessary. What she did next was even odder. When the older woman reached the hallway that led to McCandless & Volmer’s reception lobby, she turned around and planted herself in the middle of the corridor, effectively blocking Sasha’s path. The look on her face was determined, almost grim.
    Uh-oh. Now what?
    Having worked with Naya for a dozen years (had it really been that long?) and having seen that expression more than once, Sasha knew that whatever Naya was about to tell her was bad news. She continued up the stairs, not slowing her already-slow pace, but hoping that whatever it was Naya was about to tell her, it would be a short conversation. Because her swollen feet ached in her four-inch heels. Having to wear cutesy maternity suits adorned with big floppy bows and ruffles was bad enough—she wasn’t about to sacrifice her footwear, too. But she did desperately need to get off her feet.
    She stepped up into the hallway and stopped. “What is it?”
    Naya’s mouth was a tight line. “I want you to promise me that you’ll be nice.”
    “Be nice? About what? To whom?” She had no idea what Naya was talking about.
    Naya jabbed a finger at her. “I can’t tell you. Just remember, people care about you.”
    Sasha exhaled loudly, letting out a great whoosh of breath. “Okay, sure. Whatever you say. If you’re not going to tell me what you’re talking about, can we please go inside? I want to sit down.”
    Naya eyed her cautiously. Then she walked to the end of the hallway and yanked open the door. “Remember,” she stage whispered as she held the door open for Sasha, “be nice.”
    As soon as Sasha stepped foot into the lobby, Caroline leapt up. “Sasha, Naya! Will needs to see you in the big conference room. Urgently,” she said, hurrying out from behind the reception desk. She strode ahead to the conference room, presumably to let Will know they were on their way.
    “Wonder what that’s all about?” she said half to Naya, half to herself. “And why was Caroline covering the desk?” She turned to face Naya. “Oh, no. Please tell me the new receptionist didn’t quit.” She had too many loose ends to tie up before the baby came and she went out on maternity leave to spend