March 2, 2020

Rebecca's early, which is almost unheard of at Rebetzel's, and AJ rubs his eyes in disbelief when he finds her in the back room at seven thirty, removing a baking sheet from the oven.

"Either I'm dreaming or...no, I must be dreaming. I've never seen you here before nine. When did you get here and what exactly are you doing?"

"Good morning, my esteemed colleague," she says, chipper, setting the tray down and removing the oven mitts from her hands. "What I'm doing is debuting a new recipe today. A grand unveiling. I worked on it all weekend."

"I already told you that peanut butter and cheese is gross. Stop trying to make it a thing. It's not a thing."

"First off, I am ahead of my time with that particular taste combination and the history books will reflect that in due time. Secondly, this is a brand new creation."

AJ sighs. "Fine, I'll bite. What is it?"

"A gluten-free pretzel," she says, holding both her hands out toward the sheet in a ta-da motion.

"A gluten-free pretzel," he deadpans. He pinches himself in the arm. "Nope, definitely not dreaming. Somehow I'm conscious and you just said you made a gluten-free pretzel, which you once said you would make, quote, over your dead, carb-stuffed body? I don't believe it."

"Believe it!"

She tears off a piece of the hot pretzel and splits it in half, presenting one half to AJ while popping the other in her mouth. He takes a bite with considerable skepticism.

"Ah yes," he says, while chewing, "I'm getting notes of cardboard…"

"I know, I know. It's not perfect yet. I'm still working out the kinks."

"This recipe answers the question: What if we recreated our normal pretzel but made it worse?"

Rebecca pins him with a venomous stare. "Listen, this could be a way to bring in different customers. Ones with, I don't know, dietary restrictions."

"And how much did that gluten-free flour cost?"

"Irrelevant."

"Seems like cost of goods would be relevant to a business owner."

Rebecca grips the edge of the counter. "Hey AJ, honey, can ya go up front and get ready to open? Put these in the display case and label them. Asking you as the business owner and the person who's going to help you pass your torts test, lest you forget."

AJ rolls his eyes but does what he's told, rearranging the display case up front to make room for the new offering and sticking a tented card in the case, strategically pricing the item at two dollars more than their plain pretzel.

In the minutes before they officially open, Rebecca is a restless. She adjusts her apron, untying and retying the strings around her back, compulsively smoothing her hands over the front pocket. When that doesn't expel enough nervous energy, she shifts her attention to repositioning all the items on the counter - pen, notepad, salt shaker - several times, all while glancing at the door every few seconds in anticipation.

AJ, observing her behavior, asks, already exasperated, "What is with you today? Are you on something? Because, if so, please share with the rest of the class."

At exactly eight o'clock, Nathaniel strides into the lobby in a sharp, tailored grey suit and purple tie, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, perfectly clean shaven, as if he hasn't missed a beat in the year he was absent.

Rebecca straightens up her posture as soon as she sees him, and AJ shoots her the most judgmental sidelong glance she's ever received from him. Which is saying a lot. "Oooh," he coos, "oh, I see what's happening."

"Just get him a coffee and be normal, OK?"

Nathaniel approaches the security desk first and Leonard is delightfully surprised to see him. He stands and gives him a hardy handshake. "Nathaniel! Holy shit. Welcome back! Has it been a year already?!"

Rebecca's face falls with the realization that the security desk guy, of all people, knew the details of Nathaniel's sabbatical better than she did. She patiently waits, pretends to be busy by wiping down the counter with a washcloth, while the two make small talk about Leonard's daughter, who apparently is named Kylee and won MVP on her soccer team this year.

After he wraps up with Leonard, Nathaniel approaches the Rebetzel's counter with a reserved smile.

"Hi."

"Hi," she squeaks, her voice coming out a full octave higher than normal.

AJ's eyebrows raise so high they might burst through the ceiling.

"You know, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I missed this place. West Covina, I mean."

Rebecca clears her throat and her voice returns to its normal pitch-level, "It missed you too. The town, I mean."

Everything about his expression is soft and thoughtful and her stomach lurches like she's gone over the first steep hill of a rollercoaster. She swallows. "Well, welcome back to the human world. Did all that time with the monkeys lose its appeal?"

Nathaniel squints, confused.

"You know, a peel. Like a banana," she quickly explains, her cheeks flushing embarrassment.

"Oh! Right," Nathaniel says and laughs politely.

"Wow, that was barely even a joke," AJ mutters under his breath.

Rebecca forcefully grabs the takeaway cup out of AJ's hands and passes it to Nathaniel. "Well, here's your coffee, on the house, as promised."

"On the house?" AJ interjects.

"Thank you," Nathaniel says, accepting the cup as he surveys the rest of the display case. "Is that...a gluten-free pretzel? It can't be."

Rebecca gives him a sly smile. "Maybe."

"Did you make that for me?" he asks, his voice trailing up in genuine surprise.

"I concede that maybe you had a point about the gluten-free option. It could open up a whole new segment of customers for us."

"Thank you. That's really thoughtful," he says as if he still can't believe it.

AJ retrieves a pretzel from the display case and offers it to Nathaniel, "Yes, so thoughtful of her. That'll be five fifty."

"AJ," Rebecca scolds.

"No, he's right," Nathaniel reaches into his pocket to pull out a credit card. "Let me pay. Put the coffee on there too."

AJ runs the card and then sing-songs, "OK, nice of you to stop by. Have a nice day!"

"Right, I should get to work," Nathaniel says, awkwardly juggling the coffee and pretzel while trying to put away his credit card. "It's really nice to see you again."

"Yeah," she agrees, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I'll see you around. Here, I mean. Of course."

"Great."

"Great."

"Great," AJ chimes in. "Enjoy your weirdly early morning pretzel!"

Taking his cue, Nathaniel heads for the elevator and Rebecca punches AJ in the arm once the doors ding closed.

"Ow!"

"Can't you just be nice for like two seconds of your life? It's his first day back."

"That was the saddest excuse for flirting I've ever seen in my life."

"That's because it wasn't flirting."

"And also, what about Greg?"

"What about Greg?"

"All I know is every since that you made your little declaration at the open mic about being ready for love, he's been buzzing around you like an annoying housefly. I doubt he'll be happy about this little development. So tragic."

"Shut up, you're tragic," she snips as she brushes past him into the back room.

A few hours later, Rebecca is surprised to see Paula enter the lobby. Since she started at Eastbriar, Paula rarely ever stopped by Rebetzel's anymore - a consequence of the establishment only being open during normal office hours.

"Paula!" she exclaims, rushing out from behind the counter to hug her, "I can't believe you came all the way across town to surprise me during your lunch break!"

Paula squeezes her back and says into her shoulder, "Oh honey, I'm sorry, I'm not here to see you."

Rebecca pulls away, confused. "What? You're not?"

"I'm meeting Nathaniel for lunch, actually."

"Nathaniel? Huh? Why?"

Paula's brow furrows as if it must be obvious. "I'm getting him up to speed on our cases." Rebecca shows no recognition. "For our pro bono work. At the prison."

"Oh!"

"Not trying to make you feel guilty, because I know you're focusing on Rebecca right now, and you know I think that's great, but I can use the manpower. As it turns out, convincing lawyers with a full caseload to work pro bono is not as easy as I anticipated. And Nathaniel wants to get back involved. He negotiated with his father to allow him to work part-time on these cases as a condition of his return."

"Really? Wow. Huh, I wonder why he didn't tell me about that."

Paula takes Rebecca by the shoulders. "Sweetie, I mean this in the nicest way possible. Not everything is about you."

Rebecca shrugs out of her hold and defensively crosses her arms in front of her chest. "I know that. It's just I got him into this racket and now he's gonna walk around like he owns the place and not even tell me what's going on?"

The elevators open and Nathaniel grins when he sees Paula. "Wow, Paula," he says, marvelling at her appearance, "If only I could get this band of misfits to look this put-together, maybe we could actually impress a client for once."

"Ready to go?"

"Oh, you aren't staying here?" Rebecca asks, instantly feeling left out.

"No, we're going out. Someplace fancy. Expensing it on my firm's account," Paula says with enthusiasm, wiggling her eyebrows. "God that never gets old."

"Oh OK," Rebecca says, saddened, her eyes dropping to the floor.

"Hey," Nathaniel murmurs to her, his eyes tracing circles over her face, "why don't I give you a call tonight. Catch up? You can tell me about your new life as West Covina's beloved singer-songwriter."

"And you can tell her all about what you're up to too," Paula adds.

At that, Rebecca brightens, "Yeah, I would like that."

As Nathaniel and Paula leave together, she overhears him asking for updates on Hanifa and Sybil and the other women at the prison with an enthusiasm that makes her ache. She set her volunteering aside to focus on songwriting, a conscious choice she made with eyes wide open. Writing, learning an instrument, performing, and running a business is hard, hard work. And costly, at that, in both time and money. So while she considers herself happy, sure, it doesn't stop her from missing the satisfaction that comes from work that she is empirically, undeniably good at. Work that comes easy. While rewarding, all her new endeavors are a slow, uphill climb.

And Nathaniel's detachment from her - which, again, is what she wanted - makes her ache in an entirely different way. His renewed zest for life is palpable. He's energetic, focused, and...happy. Yes, that's it, she muses. He's happy. Without her. When it was an abstract concept, knowing he was out in the universe finding his bliss, unseen, it was one thing. But to see him now, in front of her, practically glowing, all self-assured and positive, makes her feel somehow simultaneously both happy for him and sad she missed all the intervening steps of his transformation.

"Hey!" AJ yells, clapping his hands once in front of her. Unsure how long he was trying to get her attention, she snaps back to life in time to see Greg coming through the door.

"When did this lobby become Grand Central Station?" AJ remarks as an aside.

"Greg," she says, in shock, as he approaches the counter, "what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be prepping for dinner?"

Greg looks all around the lobby like he's searching for something. "I was, uh, in the neighborhood and wanted to see how you're doing today."

"Oh. I'm good, I guess. How are you?"

Greg barely registers her answer because his gaze has landed, afixed, on the display case. "Gluten-free pretzel," he states, self-satisfied, as if he's solved all the world's mysteries.

"Want to try one? I'll give you a free sample."

He scowls. "I bet the air in my mouth tastes better than that," he snarks, but then immediately back tracks, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...not because...I'm sure it's great if you like that kind of thing."

Rebecca says nothing and purses her lips, annoyed.

"I'm sorry. Can we start over?"

She considers this, but decides she's not in the mood to deal with a brooding Greg today. "AJ and I need to get back to work, actually, so can we talk later?"

For a few moments Rebecca and Greg lock eyes, caught in a visual stand-off, until Greg nods slowly, reluctantly accepting her request, and leaves.

Rebecca lets out a frustrated sigh once he's safely out of earshot and AJ joins her, expelling a breath, "Tragic."