Page 2 of Thankful for My Orc
“Connection. Destiny. The kind of earth-moving, life-changing, write-songs-about-it love that makes all the Disney princess movies make sense.”
I stare at her. My best friend since college, a smart, successful paralegal at my firm, is sitting in my office talking about feeling destined for an orc she’s never met based on a news clip.
Riley knows legal work as well as anyone—she’s been my paralegal for three years and handles everything from case research to client prep. Which makes this romantic delusion even more concerning.
“How many times have you watched this news segment?”
Her cheeks flush pink. “That’s not relevant.”
“Riley.”
“Maybe… fifteen times? Twenty? I have it bookmarked on my phone… and laptop.”
“Good Lord!”
“Don’t judge me! You know I’ve been in a terrible dating drought since Derek turned out to be married. This is the first time I’ve felt any spark for anyone in months. I just need moral support. Someone to stand next to me so I don’t look completely pathetic when I inevitably make a fool of myself.”
I lean back in my chair, studying her face. My best friend has had a front-row seat to all my emotional ups and downs and isn’t shy about calling me out on them.
She’s been my rock through the divorce, through every late-night crisis and career victory. When I cried over David, sheheld my hair back; when the divorce papers were finalized, she showed up with ice cream; and not once did she say, “I told you so” about any of the red flags I’d ignored.
The truth is, I’ve been worried about her since the Derek debacle. Eight months of swearing off men, throwing herself into work, and pretending she’s fine when I can see the loneliness in her eyes. She’s been so focused on taking care of me through my divorce that I haven’t been paying enough attention to how she’s handling her own heartbreak.
“I agree that it’s high time you got back into the dating market, if that’s what you want, but why can’t you go alone?”
“Because I’m terrified,” she admits, her voice smaller now. “What if he’s not there? What if he is there, but he’s already partnered? What if I say something stupid? What if—”
“What if the sky falls and we’re all crushed by debris?”
“This isn’t funny, Jordan. I’m putting myself out there for the first time in eight months. I need backup.”
My gaze drops to the stack of divorce files, then to my best friend’s hopeful face. The smart thing would be to say no. I have briefs to write, depositions to review, and a strict policy against anything resembling romantic optimism. Plus, I have zero desire to pretend that love is anything more than a temporary chemical imbalance that leads to expensive legal proceedings.
I fire off a short email to get Persall up to date. Emails I can handle. Love? Not in the job description.
But Riley’s eyes are bright with possibility for the first time since her ex-boyfriend’s wife called to suggest they “work out a schedule” for sharing him. And despite my cynicism about romance, I do believe in friendship. Riley has earned my loyalty a hundred times over.
“What exactly would I be signing up for?”
Her face lights up like Christmas morning. “Just stand there and look supportive. I guess you’ll have to participate in a few rounds. And the flyer said something about activities. Jordan, it’s only three hours.”
“Three hours of speed dating with Others.” Because nothing says “romance” like a stopwatch and a name tag.
“Three hours of helping your best friend pursue her first genuine romantic interest since the Derek disaster. Think of it as research. Professional curiosity about another culture.”
It’s a weak argument, and we both know it. But there’s something in her voice that gets to me. The hope mixed with terror, the way she’s trying so hard to be brave while clearly being scared out of her mind.
“What kind of activities are we talking about? Please tell me it’s not trust falls and name games.”
“I don’t know exactly. I’ve heard of these kinds of events having games of trivia, Pictionary, or a craft like card-making.”
“Be still, my heart.” I lay a hand on my chest, playing it up. “You had me at trivia. Really, Riley? You want to drag me to the Integration Zone to play games? If I agree to do this, you’ll owe me big time.”
“You’re just there for moral support. You don’t have to emotionally invest. In the back of your mind, you can be rehearsing closing arguments, right?”
I think about my evening plans—Chinese takeout food, a glass of wine, and catching up on case files while binge-watching one of my favorite series. Not exactly a thrilling Friday night, but safe and predictable.
Then I look at Riley—heel tapping, shoulders tight, hope bright in her eyes—and I feel something shift inside me. Maybe it’s time to step outside my carefully constructed bubble of cynicism and predictability and be there for my best friend.
