Chapter 1
Joanna looks up at the building, squinting against the sunlight. It seems like exactly what she expected.
She shouldn’t have come, she starts to think. What does she expect once she gets inside? To be greeted with open arms? Like the past three years of zero contact didn’t happen? She doesn’t have the energy to pretend. She knows they don’t either.
That’s what scares her. Coming back, wanting things to be the same, knowing they can’t be, knowing she’s going to have to deal with those feelings and all their complexities.
Yeesh. It’s all a bit much for eight-thirty in the morning.
She goes into the building and heads up the stairs. The door with its pane of frosted glass is half-open. There’s a nice copper sign mounted on the wall to the left, with raised letters and Braille text below it: Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law.
Once, during one of their typical study sessions in her dorm room, she asked him why it was phrased “at” law. “Like the law is something you can be physically present for,” she said critically, probably waving a Cheeto in her hand.
“Is it not?” Matt had retorted, a smile playing at his features. This was part of what made their friendship so easy--the way they could code-switch, slipping from jokes to sincerity and back again with comfort. Was that symptomatic of their good friendship, or the cause of it? Another which-came-first, chicken-or-egg situation she didn’t feel qualified to confront back then, let alone in the present day. But anyway--the easiness between them. Yes. It had just been so easy, from the beginning, that she’d never really needed to consider whether they were friends because it was easy, or it was easy because they were friends.
The comfort, the way she felt more sure of herself when they talked, and how existing in her own skin was made easier just by being around him. That’s probably what she misses most of all.
As she stands outside the office door now, Joanna rocks on her feet, her head spinning. She knocks gently on the door, her knuckles making a tinkly sound against the glass.
“Come in,” calls a friendly voice inside.
The door creaks as it opens fully. Joanna pushes it with one hand and takes a single step over the threshold. There’s a woman--the owner of the friendly voice--slim and pretty with blonde hair, standing behind a desk and stacking some file folders.
“Hi,” the woman says, smiling. “My name is Karen. Can I help you?”
Karen’s eyes flick to Joanna’s sling, and concern settles in the wrinkle between her eyebrows.
“I’m Joanna Celion,” Joanna says, taking two more brave, teeny steps. “I’m sorry, I don’t have an appointment or anything--I’m kind of seeking some legal advice, at the moment.”
“Absolutely,” Karen replies, nodding. She bites her lip and glances at the sling again, and then at Joanna’s face.
She tried to layer on the concealer and distract from it with extra coats of mascara, but Joanna knows that the cuts and scrapes are still really visible. Add in the slight limp from her injured ankle… She feels a little too Frankenstein-y for comfort. Scarred, swollen, and limping.
Karen continues, “May I ask--are you alright?”
Joanna’s breath catches in her throat. Lately, tiny tendernesses have the power to just about knock the wind out of her. Something as simple as being asked if she’s okay is like an incredible feat of kindness.
“Yes, I’m fine. Medically.” Joanna lets out a nervous laugh. “It is definitely related to the reason why I’m here, though.”
“Of course. I’m sorry for asking--I shouldn’t--”
“No, no, no, please. I’m… it’s nice, to have someone ask after me.” Joanna waves her off. “I was in a car accident last week. I’m okay, seriously, I had my MRI and the pain has really subsided. I just, um…” She considers for a second, and decides she might as well explain how exactly she decided to come to this particular attorney’s office. “Matt and Foggy are old friends. I haven’t seen them in a really long time, but we went to Columbia together. And I just moved back to the city, and I needed some help. And I’m hoping they won’t be too upset with me to talk.”
Karen’s look of concern softens into… pity, perhaps. “Here, take a seat,” she says, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk. “They’re not in yet--Foggy is usually on time, Matt might be a few minutes late. But you’re totally welcome to sit and wait.”
“Thank you so much.” Joanna gently shrugs off her backpack, expertly untwisting it from around her sling.
Karen lurches forward slightly, ready to help at any moment, but Joanna has the bag off and on the floor in seconds. “Thank you,” Joanna repeats as she sits. “I’m getting a little better at that.”
Smiling and looking more relaxed now, Karen eases into her own chair. “Matt and Foggy have talked a little bit about college, but I still don’t know a whole lot,” she tells Joanna “I know Foggy has mentioned a close friend of Matt’s, that… worked at the library?”
Joanna can’t help but smile, too. “Um, yeah, that would be me.”
“Were you studying law, too?”
“No. God, no.” Joanna half-laughs and half-sighs. “I’d be hopeless as a lawyer.”
“Me, too.” Karen gets back to her paper-shuffling and note-writing, but does it quietly with her attention focused entirely on Joanna.
“I was a creative writing and journalism double-major,” Joanna says. “I wrote for the school paper, and I was planning to look for a job in arts reporting after graduation. Probably staying in the city, or at least in New England somewhere. But… my grandma got sick, and I decided to move home to Texas indefinitely. But still hoping to come back.”
Karen’s already put the pieces together. “I’m guessing you didn’t.”
Joanna shakes her head. “No,” she answers. “My grandma died about six months later. I worked at a few papers, and then ultimately did a little turn--not a complete 180, I don’t think, but I wanted a change. I went to pastry school.”
“Pastry school,” Karen echoes. “That’s really, really cool.”
“Yeah, I thought so.” Joanna shifts awkwardly in her chair, crossing her legs and trying to rest her slinged arm more comfortably on her thigh. “I’ve always loved baking, and I never really thought about trying to turn it into a career. And I still use my actual degree, sometimes--I’m trying to write a food memoir. And maybe someday a cookbook, if I’m lucky.”
Karen’s quiet for a moment, and then speaks carefully, as if she’s selecting each word individually by hand before she says them. “I don’t want to pry, or anything--you haven’t seen Matt or Foggy in a long time, then?”
“No,” Joanna says, her voice small and tired. “Matt and I stayed in good contact for a long time. I came back to visit a few times while they were in law school to see old friends. But it’s been about three years since I’ve even called.” She shakes her head. “I feel really awful about it. I didn’t mean for us to… grow apart.”
“It happens,” Karen says sympathetically. “It’s not really anyone’s fault--not yours at all. I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you again. And glad you’re back in town.”
Joanna shifts in her seat. “I hope so.” She tilts her head, watching Karen’s hands fly as she sorts her paperwork. “Do you like working here?”
Karen smiles. “Oh, yeah. Matt and Foggy are great to work for. I feel like I’m getting some good work experience. I wanna stay here for a while, of course--but I know it’s equipping me to do more, someday.”
The two talk for a few more minutes, about nothing really serious. Karen starts asking about pastry school and what that was like. Joanna explains that she’s been at a bakery in Baltimore for the past year and a half, and now she’s got a job lined up at a bakery here in Manhattan. She prefers bakeries, much prefers them, to a restaurant setting, which feels incredibly high-pressure and less creative for her personally.
It’s about five after nine when a commotion rises up the staircase. Joanna’s heart jolts in her chest.
“I’m just saying, it’s not the worst--”
“I didn’t say it was the worst, Foggy--”
The half-open door is pushed all the way open and two people come in. Joanna turns slightly towards the door, feeling like her bones are vibrating, she’s so nervous. Karen stands up. “Good morning,” she says.
“Hey, Karen,” says Foggy. It only takes a second for his eyes to fall on his old friend. “Holy shit. Joanna, hi!”
“Hi, Foggy.” She stands up slowly, partially because of the nerves and partially because that’s about as fast as she can stand right now. “It’s really good to see you guys,” slips out. Maybe that kind of platitude-ish thing is the only thing one could possibly say in a situation like this.
There’s a soft smile on Matt’s face. “Hi, Joey,” he says.
Immense relief floods her veins. He called me Joey. I didn’t think he would, not right away. Maybe not ever again. “Hi, Matt.”
His glasses are new, but the same electric kind of red that he liked. And he’s wearing a suit--warm grey, tailored so it clips his shoulders and shows how… built he is. Is Matt Murdock buff now?
Now that they’ve all said hi to each other, there’s the other hurdle to cross. Foggy’s analyzed the scratches on her face and then moved his gaze to her sling. “What the hell happened to you?” he asks.
“Oh, it’s, um… Car accident. Long story.” She exhales a long breath through her nose.
“Are you okay?” Matt asks quickly.
“Yes. I’m… feeling better.”
Foggy is shaking his head. “I hope so. Jeez.” He turns to Matt, and he speaks softly. “She’s got a sling on her left arm and a lot of scratches and bruises.”
Matt’s eyebrows knit together.
Thankfully (because the uneasy, vibrating feeling has moved from her bones to her chest and Joanna doesn’t know what to say next), Karen intervenes gracefully. “Joanna just moved back to the city, and she’s seeking some legal advice,” she informs the boys.
“Well, that’s our specialty,” Foggy says. “Let us get situated for a minute, and then we can talk.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose--I told Karen I’d be glad to make an appointment--”
“Nonsense,” Matt cuts in. He’s walking to the office on the left. “We’re glad to help.”
“And glad you came to us,” Foggy adds. He drops his bag on the floor outside the other office door, before following Matt inside and gently closing the door behind him.
Joanna turns to find a smiling Karen, who sits down and starts back on her paper-sorting. “I told you they’d be glad to see you.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Joanna tries to keep her face flat, expressionless, but she can’t help it. She feels a dull pain as the bruise on her cheekbone strains with her smile.