Now that Josie has agreed to cover for me on Saturday night, I can spend as much time as I'd like with Ms. Mabel over dinner. Not that I'd want to spend more than an hour with her, but it would be a drag to have a delicious meal and then have to go to work. It's also nice to have an entire day to myself. I've either been on the schedule or covered for someone almost every day since I arrived in Columbus. There will be one slightly work-related thing today, and that's chatting with Zodiac's mom, hoping she can help Alex. I know it's a long shot, but I'll try anything.

I write Alex a long letter in the morning, stick it in the mail on the way to the Ohio State Law Library, and then head inside to begin my legal research. I'm not sure where to begin, but perhaps the librarian can help. I'm sure I won't be able to check out any books, but I intend to spend the better part of the afternoon here.

"Hi, I'm not a student here, but I wonder if I could peruse the aisles to help me with a case," I say to the woman behind the desk.

"You're not an Ohio State student?"

I shake my head. "No, but maybe one day I will be."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't let you in."

"Why not? This is a public university," I try.

"You don't pay tuition," she offers.

"I pay taxes," I attempt again. "Your university wouldn't exist without my contribution." I've lived here for almost two months, so my contribution is pennies, but she doesn't know that.

"I don't make the rules, ma'am, but I do enforce them."

I sigh. "Fine."

I walk down the hallway and stop in front of a bulletin board. There are more than 20 flyers for everything from unpaid legal internships to LSAT prep courses. I see one that announces free test prep, so I tear off the tab at the bottom of the paper, then get on my way.

Instead of going home, I take the bus to the public library, where I'm now a proud card-carrying member. I spend two hours looking up legal terms and cases that are somewhat related to Alex's case. They don't have the kind of specifics I need, but there's nothing wrong with being generally informed.

At 3 o'clock, I arrive back home after a quick stop at a bakery to buy a loaf of French bread for my dinner with Ms. Mabel. My phone chirps as soon as I step inside.

"Hello?"

"Is this Piper Chapman?"

"It is."

"I'm Mary Jane Timmons, Zodiac's mom," she says.

"Hi, thank you so much for calling." I set the bread on the counter. "I've enjoyed getting to know your son since I started working at Starbucks."

"He's a good kid," she responds. "He just needs to focus a little more on school so he can graduate this year."

"Ah," I reply not quite sure how to respond to such a statement. "Did he tell you the reason I wanted to talk?"

"He mentioned your wife is in prison and recently suffered a medical incident."

"She's not technically my wife." I'm getting tired of explaining this and wish we could actually tie the knot legally, but it feels so good to refer to her like that—it never gets old. "We were in prison together, and we got married by another inmate."

"I see."

"Anyway, here's the story from what I understand…" I fill her in on everything Alex told me about the weeks leading up to her incident, and then I tell Mary Jane about Alex having to spend the night in medical, including the part where a lawyer from the penitentiary paid a visit the next morning.

"Do you know if anyone witnessed this Shot Alex received?"

"I don't know, but I can tell you from my time behind bars, it's likely another inmate or two was in the room when it all went down."

This whole time, I've heard her typing notes, which makes me hopeful that she's considering taking the case.

"Here's the thing, Ms. Timmons…"

"Call me MJ," she suggests.

"Thank you, MJ. Neither Alex nor I have money to pay you," I start. "I'm working 25 to 30 hours a week at Starbucks, which is barely enough to cover rent, groceries and a bus pass. If this case sounds interesting and you think you might be able to help, I'm asking if you'd consider doing it pro bono." I didn't think I'd feel so embarrassed about asking for free legal services. "I could pay you back in very small increments."

"Tell you what," she says. "I'm going to talk to my law partners and see how they'd like to proceed. There's no doubt Alex has a few legitimate concerns; it's just a matter of where the firm wants to spend its time and resources."

"Of course." I continue pacing in the living room. "When should I expect to hear from you?"

"Most likely by the end of day on Monday," she says. "I'll give you a call."

"I look forward to it."

"Thank you, bye." I hang up and sigh, hoping this works.

Alex calls shortly after I hang up with MJ, and I relay the information to her. She seems eager to get answers, but neither of us wants to get too excited about something that might never happen. Additionally, we're not even sure what we're seeking other than Alex getting transferred to unit 3B as well as a new job assignment.

"How are you getting around on crutches?" I ask.

"Not well," she replies. "They hurt my hands, so I've been using a wheelchair."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but I have to do most of the pushing myself," she adds. "Teeny helps when she can, but I don't want to be a burden."

"You need to tell your CO to assign a guard to you or something." I plug in my phone charger as the battery is about to die. "You shouldn't have to rely on the kindness of others to get you around."

"Wheeling is much easier than attempting to walk with crutches," Alex says. "And showering…well, I'm doing more of a sponge bath thing."

"Talk to me about this sponge bath…" I respond in a sultry tone, hoping it leads to another round of phone sex.

"I'd love to, but I know our time is coming to a close," she mentions. "I don't want to get all riled up and have to hang up when we get to the good part."

You have one minute remaining on this call.

"See?" she notes.

"Rain check then." I put her on speaker phone while searching my fridge for something else to bring to dinner. I have no idea if my landlord drinks, but perhaps I'll bring a bottle of wine just in case. "Did I tell you Ms. Mabel invited me to dinner tonight?"

"No!"

I smile. "She's making Bouillabaisse."

"Do you remember that time we had bouillabaisse in Marseilles?"

Kubra clinked the tines of his fork against his Champagne flute. "Attention everyone."

The four of us turned our attention to our host. "Welcome to Les Bords De Mer, one of the finest restaurants in Southern France." He gestured to his right. "If you look through that window, you'll notice a spectacular view of the Mediterranean Sea, which is where the seafood we'll enjoy tonight was harvested less than 24 hours ago."

The sweeping view of the sea looked like something on a postcard.

"I'd like to take a moment to thank my right hand men, Fahri and Aydin," Kubra noted. "Our operation wouldn't be a success without you." He turned to my girlfriend. "To Alex, whose brilliant mind and logistical talent has increased our efficiency as well as our bottom line." Finally, he raised a glass and stared at me. "Here's to her beautiful companion. Piper, I hope you've found that we've treated you excessively well over the last two months. I know Alex is thankful for your company, and when Alex is happy, we're all happy."

She rubbed my thigh under the table after the toast, and I hoped her fingertips would travel just a little higher under the hem of my brand new Dior dress that she surprised me with earlier that day.

That was only my second dinner with the leaders of the international drug cartel, and I learned after the first experience that Kubra spared no expense when it came to the finest food and wine in the world. When I asked Alex what she thought dinner in Jakarta cost, she surmised it was well over $5,000 not including the rare Italian Barolo that he sprung for with the filet mignon.

The server presented each of us with a bowl of bouillabaisse, then Kubra spoke. "Does anyone know the difference between cioppino and bouillabaisse?"

He liked to do that occasionally—test everyone's intelligence, knowing his was likely superior. The man didn't need an ego boost; his confidence was already exceedingly high.

Everyone around the table shook their heads.

I set my spoon down, a little hesitant to answer, but I figured maybe this was the moment to impress Alex's boss. "Cioppino is an Italian dish with a purely tomato-based broth, and bouillabaisse is French and includes saffron with its fish stock-based broth as well as chopped tomatoes added in."

He grinned at me, clearly impressed. "At least one of you has some impressive culinary knowledge."

"One of the reasons I was looking forward to dinner tonight is because Marseilles is the birthplace of bouillabaisse," I continued, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'd only eaten it a few times in New York, so this is a real treat."

He lifted his glass towards me. "I hope it lives up to your expectations."

Everyone dug in and raved about the flavor of the French dish as Alex leaned over and whispered, "You earned some major brownie points tonight. I'll thank you appropriately later."

I blushed, knowing exactly what she meant.

"That might've been the best meal of my life," I offer, remembering every last detail of the French restaurant.

"There were so many to choose from," she sighs nostalgically. "But I do remember what we did in the hotel room afterwards—it might've been the best sex in my life."

I blush as I recall the way she pinned me down to the bed and had her way with me.

"The phone is going to disconnect, so have fun at dinner and—"

And just like that, the call ends. I hate prison phone rules.

I take a shower, then pick out the perfect spring dress to wear for my first dinner party. I suppose I shouldn't refer to it as a party since it's just me and my 82-year-old neighbor, but it's the first time I've dined with someone else since moving to Columbus. Now that I think about it, that's pretty sad. I vow to reach out to my friends from Smith again tomorrow. It would be nice to have brunch or something once a month—not that I could afford it at most restaurants, but perhaps there are inexpensive, hole in the wall places that serve delicious meals without breaking the bank.

I haven't drunk much alcohol since being released from prison mostly because I don't want to spend money on something so wholly unnecessary, but I keep a bottle or two of wine and a six pack of cheap beer just in case the mood strikes. Tonight, I'm glad to have a bottle of pinot gris to offer Ms. Mabel. I take one last look in the mirror, and then head next door at 4:58 p.m.

She opens the door. "I'm happy to see you're on time."

"Thank you for inviting me." I sniff the air. "Wow, it smells really good."

"It better." She ambles back to the kitchen. "The bouillabaisse has been simmering for six hours."

"I brought some French bread from that bakery on Langely." I follow her. "And I don't know if you enjoy wine, but I brought a bottle of pinot gris for us to share. I figured I'd stick with the French theme."

"I haven't had a glass of wine in years…" She looks up as if jogging her memory. "I had a glass of white at my pastor's daughter's wedding two years ago. I remember it being very good."

I smile. "May I open it?"

"You may." She pulls down two rocks glasses, but I don't question her choice or offer to get a couple of wine glasses from my house. (I bought a set of four at Marshall's last week for $9.99.) "Have you ever eaten bouillabaisse?"

"I have," I begin, treading carefully so as not to seem like the stuck up bitch she might already think I am. "I had it in Marseilles a long time ago."

"Believe it or not, I've been to Marseilles," she states. "But I didn't try the bouillabaisse. I was young and stupid."

I pop the cork. "What were you doing in France?"

"I'd just graduated from Spelman and one of my sorority sisters was from a town just outside of Marseilles. I think she was the only French student at my school."

"Nice." I pour the wine. "Did you stay with her family?"

"We were there for a good week," she replies. "Then we took the train to Paris and London. It was the first and only time I've been to Europe."

"I love traveling." I hand her a glass. "I spent about nine months exploring Europe and parts of Indonesia. It was amazing."

"Family vacations?"

I debate whether to tell her the truth or settle for a vague lie. "Not really." I lift my glass. "Thank you again for inviting me for dinner."

She taps her glass against mine. "Ooooh this is good! You better stop me after two."

I laugh. "If you say so."

Thankfully, Ms. Mabel doesn't ask any follow up questions about my days as a world traveler. We talk about her time at Spelman, and I share a little about my time at Smith—we have the all-women colleges connection going if nothing else. She shares what it was like being a principal at a Title I school for 40 years, and I hang on her every word. Ms. Mabel still has a strong memory and is a great storyteller. I'm guessing the students found her to be harsh but fair.

We eat the bouillabaisse and I make sure she knows exactly how delicious I find it. In fact, I express my appreciation so much that she comments, "Don't your mama feed you?" after the third time. I tell her it's been too long since I've had a homecooked meal.

As promised, I keep her to two glasses of wine and finish the bottle myself. I'm a lightweight, so it immediately goes to my head, and I start missing Alex more than I have since moving here. Ms. Mabel serves a piece of homemade pecan pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and it's so fucking good it makes my eyes roll back in my head.

"I have a wife in prison," I blurt out.

"Excuse me?"

"She's not legally my wife," I continue, not heeding my words or my manners due mostly because I've had too much wine. "We got married in prison." I leave it there; Ms. Mabel knows I'm a felon because of the application she made me fill out before renting half of the duplex.

She wipes her mouth with a napkin. "I see."

"Does it bother you that I'm gay?" I tilt my head. "I'm bi, actually, but I'd rather not bore you with the details."

A little sound escapes her mouth and it's like she's staring right at me but doesn't see me.

I lean forward. "Ms. Mabel, are you ok?"

She's clutching the napkin in her right hand so hard that her knuckles are white.

"I take it you have a problem with my sexuality." I glance away. "Or is it that I'm with a woman who's still in prison?"

It's so quiet I can hear the hum of her refrigerator and the ticking of the antique clock in the other room.

"Clearly I've made you uncomfortable. I'll clean up a bit and get out of your way."

I push my chair out, but just as I'm about to stand, she speaks. "My son…" Although she's wearing glasses with thick lenses, I notice tears hanging in her eyelids. "Earnest James…" She takes a deep breath. "He was a good boy—got straight As all through high school. I thought maybe he'd end up being an electrician like his father or a school administrator like me." She slowly shakes her head. "Earnest died of HIV in 1982. He was 21."

My brows rise. "I'm so sorry."

"He came out to me and his father the year before," she begins. "I could understand it a bit better than Milton, but I still wasn't happy about his life choices."

I sit back and listen, trying to ward off my often pre-disposition to judge.

"We had this long meeting with a mental health counselor and all…That's when he told us he'd had feelings for boys since childhood. Earnest said he was sexually active with men who were about his age if not a little older, one man from San Francisco in particular who'd recently moved to Columbus." She pauses. "We were appalled—me not so much because he was gay but because we raised him in the church—he was supposed to wait for sex until he was married."

I don't bite my tongue. "He couldn't be legally married back then."

"I'm aware."

I return to silence.

"My husband kicked him out of the house, and we were estranged for nine months," she sighs. "He wrote a letter to us on his 21st birthday, saying he had AIDS and things didn't look good."

I clench my teeth, hurting for the woman next to me.

"Apparently things were more advanced than he let on, and when we finally had dinner with him on a sweltering July evening, he didn't even look like the same boy—he'd lost about 80 pounds and his skin…It was pale and he had lesions on his neck and arms." She glances up and a tear ripples down her face. "I was glad to be with him over the next three months before he passed."

I place a hand on her forearm. "I am so, so sorry."

"There's no pain like losing a child," she lets out an ironic laugh. "Mm mm—no pain like that."

"I can't imagine how difficult that was—how difficult it still is."

"Not an hour goes by when I don't think of my husband and my son; both taken too soon."

I squeeze her arm but remain silent.

"I don't tell that story to just anybody," she says, dabbing her eyes with the napkin she continues clutching. "Matter of fact, only about 10 people know the real reason my son died. I'm not proud to tell people he was a homosexual."

"I think that was hard for most parents to grapple with back then," I try. "It probably made matters worse because your faith led you to believe that being gay is a sin."

"If I would've accepted Earnest sooner, we wouldn't have been separated," she begins. "Even if he continued his sexual exploration, I would've seen him more often during those nine months. I regret that—not letting our boy live his life while still being a part of ours."

I nod.

"I don't think homosexuality is right based on the Bible, but I sure as hell am not one to judge," Ms. Mabel continues. "And after what I went through with Earnest, I decided to focus on love instead of fear or hate."

I give her a small smile. "You have a good heart."

"So, if you're gay or bi or whatever, I'm not here to cast judgement—that's for the good Lord to decide. You do you, Ms. Chapman."

My smile grows. "I will."

"Your wife is welcome here any time." She starts to stand but wobbles a bit, so I quickly grab her elbow. "If she can ever get herself out of the Big House." There's that sassy tone I've come to appreciate. "What'd she do to get herself locked up anyway?"

"She worked for an international drug cartel a long time ago," I confess. "That's who I traveled the globe with."

"Did you work for the drug company, too?"

"No." I carry both our bowls to the sink. "I was just there to keep her company."

She follows me with the breadbasket. "Sounds dangerous if you ask me."

"I was young and stupid," I say. "My life was so vanilla; so boring. I wanted adventure, and Alex provided that. I just wish she had a legal job that allowed us to travel together. That would've made things a lot cleaner."

"There's one thing I won't stand for and that's drug use." She looks me in the eye. "You do any of that nonsense, Ms. Chapman, and you're out."

"I would never." I shake my head. "Both of us have learned our lesson."

"Good." She runs the faucet and begins rinsing the bowls and silverware.

"Thank you for an amazing meal."

"I'm glad you liked it."

I wipe the table with a damp paper towel. "Maybe next time I can cook for you."

"That would be nice." She places the dishes on the drying rack. "That's all I have the energy to clean up tonight. The rest can wait until morning."

"You sure? I don't mind washing our glasses and the dirty pot."

"No but thank you. These old bones are tired." She shuffles to the living room. "Thank you for listening to my stories all night—especially the one about Earnest."

"My pleasure." I grab both her hands, squeezing them. "Thank you."

Author's Note: I know this wasn't the most riveting chapter, but there have to be some filler chapters to move the story along unless I want to jump time. Like in The Slopes & The Sticks, I wanted this story to feel rounded out by developing original characters. OITNB did this to the extreme by adding far too many characters as the years went on, and I think they lost some of the intimacy of the show by doing so. Other than Zodiac and Ms. Mabel, there won't be any real original character development in this one.