Free A Clean Slate by Laura Caldwell

name Ben’s brothers used to make fun of him. Both of his brothers were much bigger. They excelled at football and other bone-crunching sports, while Ben had been relegated to running and tennis.
    Ben sent me a look as if to say, Shut up, please. I tried to quell the giggles.
    â€œI’m ready to go,” Therese said, shooting me little knives with her eyes. “It’s getting way too uncomfortable in here.”
    â€œHow about one more and then we’ll head out?” Ben said.
    Therese’s bottom lip dropped a little. I got the impression that she wasn’t used to Ben saying no to her. “I want to go now. We’ve got to be at my mother’s for brunch tomorrow, remember?” She sent me a look of triumph, clearly expecting me to be crushed by this news. Strangely, I wasn’t. Infact, I felt so much better now that Ben and I had had a normal conversation.
    â€œSure,” Ben said, “I was just updating Kelly on what’s going on at Bartley.”
    â€œGreat. Did you tell her that you made partner?”
    Ben sent a quick, guilty look in my direction.
    My good mood, my ease at talking to Ben, evaporated like steam. “What? When?”
    â€œLast week,” Therese bragged.
    I fought hard not to smack her.
    â€œIs that true?” I said to Ben. I was the one who was supposed to make partner first. Me. Ben had started at Bartley two years after me. I was next in line. How had I gotten the ax while he was elected to goddamn partnership status? I felt my neck go red.
    Ben nodded sheepishly.
    â€œHe deserves it,” Therese said. “He’s worked really hard and—”
    â€œExcuse me,” I said. “Could you shut up for one minute?”
    Her eyes narrowed, and she sent a glance at Ben as if to say, Are you going to let her talk to me like that?
    â€œKell,” he said. “Take it easy. It just happened. I didn’t even know it was coming.”
    Something about the way he had said that, the way his words got incrementally softer at the end of the sentence and the way his mouth became tight, told me that he had damn well known it was coming. He probably knew back in May. For a horrified moment, I wondered if he’d known that I was going to be fired, too. I stood there, completely stumped for words, wishing my temper would take over and do something rash that I would later regret—something like head-butting Ben—but nothing came. Finally, Therese tugged on his sleeve.
    He drained the rest of his beer. “I’m sorry, Kell. Good to see you.”
    I searched my brain for a witty comeback, something that would erase the smirk from Therese’s face, but once again I came up blank. A pregnant quiet enveloped us.
    â€œBen, let’s go,” Therese said.
    He hesitated, still standing before me as if he might say something else.
    â€œOh, please,” Therese said, before he got the chance. She clamped a hand on his arm and dragged him away.
    When they reached the door, Therese disappeared through it, but Ben turned around and for the longest moment held my eyes.
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    My temper flared after Ben left, obviously the wrong time, but I was immune to a cure, and so I sat at the bar, boring poor Jess and Steve and Laney about the manipulative machinations of Bartley Brothers and the treachery of Ben, all the while trying to douse my anger with cocktails. Laney eventually wrenched the conversation away from me and back to Jess and Steve’s wedding, and they were happy to prattle on about place settings and invitations and the band vs. DJ debate until we got the “last call” shout from the bartender.
    After Tarringtons closed, and Laney had convinced me that no convenience store in the city sold margarita mix, she and I lay snug in her king-size bed, gossiping maliciously about Therese, giggling about Ben not recognizing me, and rehashing—at least fifty times—my conversation with him. Although still