Ready to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Don’t get mad. I just asked.” Alvarez ignored her iced tea. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“Oh, for the love of . . .” She wanted to argue, to rail at the heavens for all that was wrong in her life, all the frustrations. She glanced at a booth near the window and spied a couple in their seventies. They were having coffee while holding hands across the table, as if they were in love as much today as they had been fifty years ago, or whenever it was that they first met. Never in her life had she experienced anything so obviously deep and committed. No, her loves had always been white-hot in the beginning, filled with passion that spilled from unleashed ardor in the bedroom to fiery anger when things weren’t going right. She suspected the fights and frustration had more to do with her than the men she chose.

Stirring her shake, she looked up and found Alvarez staring at her, near-black eyes assessing. “I didn’t mean to unload,” she admitted, “but you did ask.”

“I did.” Alvarez finally tasted her tea.

“Okay. Sorry. I have been a little edgy lately. I didn’t mean to snap. So, seriously, how are things with you?”

“I’m fine. O’Keefe and I are good . . . we just don’t get to see each other much. He and Gabe came over for dinner.”

“Everything cool?”

“Yeah, I think so. It’s a little strained with the parents. They’re not so sure him connecting with me is such a great idea, but we’re working on it.”

Terri returned with their orders. Pescoli’s stomach rumbled at the sight of the thick sandwich, Swiss cheese melting over the corned beef and sauerkraut.

“Anything else?” Terri asked, then when Alvarez said, “I think we’re fine,” she danced away to the next table where a family of three was being seated. From the looks of it, their teenaged son wasn’t all that excited to be having lunch with his folks. As Mom and Dad took off their jackets and tried to engage him, he sulked, keeping his own coat zipped, his watch cap pulled low over his forehead, his arms crossed belligerently over his chest. As Mom removed her hat, her blond hair falling around a face just starting to age, she smiled and chattered, trying to jolly the boy. Dad, more stern, cast him a don’t-embarrass-your-mother glare as he plucked a menu from its holder. The kid responded with grunted monosyllables guaranteed to send his parents orbiting into the stratosphere.

Pescoli had been there.

Way too often.

She picked up half her Reuben and took a bite. The succulent blend of cheese, Thousand Island dressing, corned beef, and kraut exploded in her mouth.

God, it tasted good.

“So, are you going to marry Santana?” Alvarez asked.

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“Don’t know,” she answered honestly as she dabbed dressing off the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I’m torn.”

“Why?”

“Not my first rodeo.” She took another bite and thought as she chewed. “And it’s not that easy. I’ve got kids.”

“Almost grown.”

“ ‘Almost’ being the operative word. And then there’s the job. Not exactly conducive to wedded bliss.”

“He’s a big boy. Knows what he’s getting into.”

Pescoli nodded, ate a little more and felt better, her blood sugar stabilizing, her temper no longer at flash point. “This didn’t come at a good time.”

“There’s never a perfect time.”

“Look who’s suddenly the marriage counselor.”

“I know you’re not looking for advice, but from my perspective, it seems you’re overthinking it. Looking at the downside rather than the up.”

“This? From you?” Alvarez had always been reined in, her emotions well under check, her private life just that: private. She wasn’t one to talk about feelings and emotions, and that suited Pescoli just fine. While Pescoli was apt to fly by the seat of her pants, Alvarez was always more cautious and thoughtful.

“I’ll ignore that. And as for Jeremy, I wouldn’t worry too much about him. I know it’s weird, but under Joelle’s tutelage, Jeremy’s doing great. I’ve run into him a couple of times in the department and he seems to be able to handle the phones or some of the people who come in asking for information. He shows up on time, dresses according to department code, and does what he’s supposed to. What more do you want from him?”

“I know.” Pescoli set her sandwich onto her plate again. “I was probably wrong about that. I’ve always said he needed a purpose, something to do with his life, I just never figured it would be as a cop.”

“He’s not a cop yet.”