Cocktail Hour by Tara McTiernan Page B

fresh-out-of-the-can gravy?”
    “Mmm, good! Nothin’ like home cooking,” she said and rolled her eyes around while smiling as if delighting at the thought of something delicious.
    He turned his palm outward in a brief wave. “See you tomorrow.”
    Then he walked away and she was left staring at the blue fabric of the cubicles outside her office. She could hear someone typing in one of them and voices beyond in conversation. She could not hear any of the whispers and irate tones of dissention that usually accompanied a re-org, though. Perhaps they were all still digesting it. The firings would certainly set things off tomorrow. Alan’s firing alone would be enough to cause doors to slam and screeches of disbelief to pierce the air. If only she could let one out now, a shrill shriek of dismay, then maybe it would give her something to hold on to, because she really would be adrift now at work, the constant rising and falling waves of change breaking her loose from her moorings.
    She turned back to her computer screen, saved her work, and then packed up to go. Maybe Ibiza and a cocktail with the girls would be just what she needed. For the first time ever she could actually say she craved a drink: a nice extra-dry vodka martini, clear and cool and straight up.
     

 
     
    Corona
     
    Kate smiled at Bianca even as she walked away, the pharmaceutical sales representative’s long flowing dark hair swishing back and forth as she crossed the reception room and pulled open the door to leave. She couldn't believe her luck. That beautiful and charming woman, Grant's old friend from back-when, wanted to include her, Kate, in her girl's night out. There was hope after all.
    Ever since she and Grant moved to Darien she'd felt like a duck on the ocean. This was not her world, and she'd known that when they moved from Vermont to Fairfield County. At least she'd thought she understood. But then she got here and it was so...fast. And sharp, full of edges. And shiny-sparkly like a fancy Christmas ornament. It was overwhelming. She missed her family and all her friends back home every day. Maybe tonight she’d start making new friends and it wouldn’t be so hard anymore.
    Every time she yearned for the mountains that shouldered every view in Vermont, the coziness of being known and knowing almost everyone, she reminded herself that Fairfield County presented opportunities for them not available back home.  In Vermont, Grant’s patients had presented flimsy paper insurance cards and they had to fight for every last dollar they had earned; here the patients proffered shiny credit cards, gladly paying for expensive beautifying procedures and prescription miracle creams. Darien was where women spent the kind of money on their skin that could make all the difference for Grant and Kate's children, money that would pay for things like summer camp and braces if they were needed and, eventually, college. 
    Kate felt a faint flutter in her lower abdomen, as if a ghost-child turned over there, knowing it was being thought of. If she hadn’t seen the disappointing result from a pregnancy test that morning, she’d have taken it as a sign. Instead, she put her hand on her belly and closed her eyes to make a wish. I know you’re not there, not yet. But I’m not giving up on you.
    Just as she was opening her eyes and moving her hand back to the keyboard of her computer, Grant appeared with his last patient, walking her out personally and assuring her that the sunburned look and feel of her face from the Fraxel laser treatment would disappear in a few days.
    “Re:fine was the best choice for you, with your sensitive skin. I think you’ll be very happy with the results after we’ve done a few more treatments,” he said, guiding her up to the reception desk.
    “Oh, thank you, Dr. Palmer. I really thought the big heavy-duty laser was my only choice. But have you seen how those people look? What a massacre!” Mrs. Klein said, bugging out her