The Lawyer (7 page)

C
hapter 15

              Word of my parents' divorce spread throughout the firm. No one treated me differently, but everyone knew who I was now. I was the girl with the "batshit-crazy mom." I was the girl whose father "couldn't hold his liquor." I was the one that couldn't even keep her parents from utilizing the same law firm where she worked. I was the one who couldn't separate business from pleasure.
              I had, at least, found a place to live. Alex helped me load my belongings into my car and move into my new apartment.
              "It's not as good as the apartment at your place," I admitted. "But at least you're just a few blocks away.
              "You don't have to go," he told me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "I could be just a few doors away."
              "I think it'll be better," I said for the millionth time, closing my eyes, still questioning my decision, still not quite believing myself. Part of me wondered if I was being ridiculous and unfair. After all, it wasn't Alex's fault that I had lived with someone and that we had broken up. At the same time, I wanted to be committed to someone before I lived with a partner again. And by committed, I meant married. Obviously feeling committed to someone wasn't enough to keep them faithful. I knew, realistically, that marriage wasn't enough, either, but it made me feel better to know that I was setting a standard for myself.
              "I think it's good," Molly told me over dinner one night. I had invited her over for pizza so that we could cram for finals together. "It gives you both your own space. When you're always around someone, you never get the chance to
miss
them. I think this way, you actually start to crave each other."
              I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn't know if she was right or not. It seemed like no one really knew what was right or not. I had finally reached the point in life where I'd discovered that not everything was black or white. Sometimes things really
were
grey. Sometimes they really
were
murky. Sometimes things were even downright confusing. But then again, I supposed it was all part of becoming a real adult.
              I liked my new place. The blinds were tattered and the carpets were worn, but it was mine. I bought a bed and a couch and a new comforter. I didn't have a table, so Molly and I sat side-by-side on the couch while we ate our pepperoni pizza and drank our Miller Lite. And for just a little while, things felt normal. For just a little while, I thought that I might be okay.
              I'd had four beers too many when Tim texted me.
              "Don't do it," Molly said. "Don't you dare text him back. He had his chance." She took my phone and changed the password so that I couldn't unlock it.  "Tomorrow," she promised. "When you're sober."
              "It just figures," I said, staring at my locked cell phone, wondering what she had changed the PIN to. Maybe my birth date, but probably not. "It just figures that as soon as I start to feel okay, something like this happens. And then nothing is okay anymore."
              I laid back on the floor of my new home and stared at the popcorn ceiling. I thought, for a moment, about how stupid popcorn ceilings were, how they made hanging posters or pictures on your ceiling impossible. Molly rubbed my ankle. "It's going to be fine," she told me. "It's going to be okay."
              That was what people were supposed to say, though. They were
supposed
to say things like, "It'll be okay" and "Everything will be fine." They were supposed to say, "You deserve better" and "He was a jerk." The truth was, though, that I had loved Tim. I had loved him deeply. And love wasn't just something that you could shut off when a relationship ended. Love wasn't something that you could just forget about. Love wasn't something that you
wanted
to forget about.
              It just was.
              "It hurts," I said out loud. "And I feel like the pain is never going to go away. It hurts when I breathe, it hurts when I don't. And when I'm with Alex, I still think of Tim, even just for a moment. And I wonder what he's doing. And I wonder if he misses me. And I wonder why I was so easy to forget about. And I wonder why I wasn't as special as he said I was."
              All it took was cheap beer and good company to get me to open up. Molly popped open another bottle and handed it to me. She didn't say anything as I cried and drank. There wasn't really anything
to
say, not really. We drank in the silence, in the dimly lit apartment , in the room where I had finally been honest with myself about my feelings. And after awhile we both passed out on the couch beneath a tattered quilt that I had once shared with a boy that I loved.

**

              "Mr. Smith wants to see you," Isabelle told me when I walked into work the next morning.
              "Okay, I'll be right there," I told her.
              "No, not him," she grabbed my arm. "The
older
Smith." I cocked my head to the side, wondering what Alex's dad could possibly have to say to me.
              "What does he need to see me for?" I asked her. While I had met Alex's dad before and spoken with him on occasion, our work rarely intercepted. He had certainly never requested to see me personally before.
              Isabelle lowered her voice. "He knows."
              "Knows what?"
              "He knows," Isabelle insisted. "About you and Alex."
              "What?" I squeaked. "How?"
              Isabelle leaned closer and told me, "I've worked for the Smiths for a long time, Liz. After awhile, you start to figure things out. And Alex has figured one thing out for sure: you. He hasn't been this crazy about someone in a long time. His father noticed the change and they talked last night for almost two hours after closing. He told his dad he loves you, Liz."
              "He loves me?" We hadn't gotten there yet. We hadn't said those words yet. I had only said them to once person before and that person had ripped my heart out of my chest. I still felt raw. I still felt the pain. I didn't want to go talk to Mr. Smith. I didn't want to hear him say that I needed to stay away from his son. I just wanted to go into my office, sit at my desk, and do my job. I had been hoping for a monotonous day of paperwork and clients. I didn't want anything exciting. I didn't want anything that required me to think too hard.
              "I've never seen Alex like this," Isabelle told me. "Not even with Tabitha." The door to the office opened and a client walked in. The stout, elderly man mumbled a faint greeting as he took a seat.
              "Good morning, Mr. Holt," Isabelle greeted him with a cool, professional smile. To me, she simply nodded, letting me know that I was no longer needed.
              Taking the cute, I headed down the hallway. It normally took me only a few steps to get to my office. Today the narrow hall seemed to stretch on for miles. Images from horror movies and snippets of scary music played in my head as I made my way to the office at the end of the hall.
              Lifting my hand, I hesitated. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to hear him say that I was damaged goods, that I shouldn't be dating his son. I didn't want to hear that I wasn't good enough. I didn't want to hear that my mom was crazy, that my parents were a huge mess, and that I wasn't the right type of girl for Alex.
              But then I took a deep breath.
              And then I knocked.
              "Come in," Mr. Smith's deep voice  called.
              I entered the ornately decorated office slowly, carefully, deliberately. I closed the door softly behind me before turning and greeting Mr. Smith.
              "Good morning, Sir. Isabelle said that you wanted to see me."
              "Yes, take a seat, my dear."
              I sat down in one of the burgundy chairs that faced the oversized mahogany desk. Smoothing my skirt, I glanced up at Mr. Smith, whose eyes had never left me.
              "My son tells me that he loves you," Mr. Smith said. For a lawyer, he didn't beat around the bush. I appreciated the fact that he didn't keep me waiting or listening to a lengthy dialogue about love and propriety, but I still didn't know what he wanted.
              "Well, Mr. Smith, he hasn't said that to me yet."
              "He doesn't have to. It's obvious, isn't it? He's crazy about you, and I can see why."
              I looked up sharply. Was he complimenting me or lecturing me? I still couldn't tell.
              "Okay, Sir. I'm still not entirely sure why you wanted t o speak with me."
              Mr. Smith folded his hands and leaned back in his chair for a moment. Then, like in any good horror movie, he started telling me a story about his son. He started telling me a story about love and pain and destruction, and he ended the story with, "So you understand why I have to ask you to leave."
              "To leave, Sir?" I didn't understand. I'd been a fantastic employee. I'd never been late. I'd never so much as skipped out early. I was always on top of all of my duties. I was a fantastic secretary.
              "Elizabeth, you're fantastic at your job. You make my son happy. You brighten up the day of everyone who comes into this office. Believe me: I've heard only good things about you from everyone. The fact of the matter is, though, that you're a distraction. And if my son is going to take over my firm one day, distractions are something that I cannot afford. So if you plan to continue your relationship, you'll need to find another job."
              It didn't take a genius to figure out that I wasn't exactly being given a fair shot. Who said I was going to be the distraction that would ruin Alex's career? Who said I was going to be the one who brought him down? I felt like I was being punished for the mistakes of another woman. I felt like I was being judged too harshly.
              "No offense, Mr. Smith, but you're not my boss. As far as I can tell, the person who
is
my boss is quite pleased with my work. As you mentioned yourself, I've had no complaints. And as far as Alex's work is concerned, none of his clients have suffered or been neglected since I started working here. No one has complained about him being distracted. No one has lost out. So it seems to be that you aren't so concerned about your son being distracted as you are about the possibility that I could break his heart, in which case, I doubt that me not working here would make it any less painful."
              The older Smith opened his mouth to say something, but I stood and held up my hand.
              "I'm not done yet," I told him. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk with my supervisor about this situation. After all, he's the one that I answer to: not you. And yes, I do realize that you are the head of the company; however, you have no authority to fire me when I've done nothing wrong except love your son. And if you're looking for something that's wrong with me, there's plenty. I'm not perfect, but I don't pretend to be. Love is something that you work for. Love is something that takes time. And if time is what Alex needs to tell me himself that he loves me, then I'm quite prepared to give that to him."
              Without another word, I turned and walked out the door, letting it close loudly behind me, not bothering to catch it. I scurried into my own office and sat down, waiting quietly at my desk for something to happen. The phone could have rang, though, and I wouldn't have heard it. My thoughts were too overwhelming to handle. I bit my bottom lip, wondering what I had just done. It had felt right, and I was proud of myself for finally being strong, for finally being willing to stand up to someone, but had my timing been off?
              I didn't have a chance to worry about it. When I arrived at my desk, a client was waiting and Alex wasn't in his office yet.
              "Good morning," I greeted the woman. "Mr. Smith isn't in just yet. Can I get you a cup of coffee while you wait?"
              With a smile, I turned around to get the woman a drink. Here I was: making coffee again. I hadn't moved as far up the corporate ladder as I liked to think that I had. I hadn't changed my life that much. I tried to smile as I brought her the warm drink and assured her that Alex would be in soon. All I really wanted to do was curl up in the corner and cry.

Chapter 16

              After a busy morning of dealing with clients and cases, Alex called me into his office. I closed the door, locked it, and settled into the chair across from his desk. We had barely spoken all morning. There simply hadn't been time. I didn't mind that we didn't get to spend a lot of time together while we were working. That was part of the job after all.
              "No," he told me. "Come here." He patted his knee and I obliged, sitting as close to him as I wanted to. We were alone and I was allowed.
              He leaned up and kissed me softly, pulling the hair back from my face. His hand was gentle as it grazed my cheek and I couldn't hold it in any more. The tears started to fall and I bit my lip to keep from sobbing.
              "My dad talked to you today," Alex said, knowingly. I nodded, unable to speak. I wanted so badly to let him know that I loved him, that I cared for him, that I wanted us to have a good relationship. I was just still recovering from my breakup, still trying to find my place in the world, still trying to figure out what it was that I had to offer someone like Alex, someone who had everything.
              "What did he say to you?"
              I stopped crying and simply leaned in to Alex's shoulder, curling my head in close to his. He smelled masculine, like aftershave and cologne. I just wanted to breathe him in. I just wanted to stay in that moment forever. I had too many emotions swirling around inside of me to deal with my life. It didn't seem fair to anyone. I felt like I was ruining my future. After talking with his dad, part of me wondered if I was ruining Alex's, too. Finally, after letting me sit for a moment, Alex lifted my chin softly so that I was looking at him.
              "Tell me," he said.
              "He said that you love me."
              Unblinking, Alex said, "I do."
              I nodded, but didn't say it back. I wasn't ready to speak those words. I wasn't ready to make that promise, even if I felt like it was right.
              He kissed me, but I pulled away.
              "Your dad said I can't work here anymore," I told him. "He said I'm a distraction, a liability."
              "That's not his call to make," Alex said.
              "I know, but do you think he's right?"
              "No. No, I don't think he's right, and I think he was wrong for cornering you alone. You're all I think about. I think about  you more than I should, really."
              "I think about you all the time, too," I whispered. "
              "Everything is going to be okay. I promise. I'll talk to my dad, okay?"
              "Okay."
              The phone started to ring and without another word, without looking back, I left the room to return to my desk. As I closed Alex's door behind me, I heard him pick up the receiver.
              "Smith and Smith. This is Alex."
***
              "Sometimes I feel so lonely without him I think that my heart is going to explode."
              "Explode?"
              "Or collapse."
              "Neither one is good."
              I was sitting on my couch talking to Molly. She really was the only reason that I was sane these days. And to be honest, even that was questionable. I felt like I was going crazy with pain. My heart was being pulled in every direction and then pushed back.
              The only problem is that when you stretch something out, it doesn't always return to its original shape.
                 "It's not that he made me feel that good about myself. It's that he made me feel
so
good and then he made me feel
so
terrible. Why was I so easy to replace? Why was I so easy to forget?" Even as I spoke, the words hung in the air like moths dancing around a light.
              Months after the breakup, was it still supposed to hurt? Were the dreams still supposed to haunt me? Were the conversations still supposed to replay in my head daily? There were so many things that I wished I had said, so many things I wished I had done differently.
              He was my first regret.
              "You know what?" Molly said, finally breaking my thoughts.
              "What?"
              "You need to cut the crap."
              Taken aback, I stared at her. Was she serious?
              "You're being a real whiner," Molly told me. "It needs to stop. I know you're hurting, and that sucks, but everyone is hurting, Liz. Everyone has pain an issues and sadness. You need to get over it or it's going to destroy the relationship that you have now. I'm sorry that Tim hurt you, and while I can certainly sympathize, you need to let it go."
              "It's not that simple."
              "Yeah, actually," she said, "it is that simple. Stop bitching about bygones and start living your life with Alex. He doesn't deserve to be the one who is sitting around picking up the pieces of your broken heart. Man up, Liz. Love Alex fully and stop worrying about some loser who crushed your heart. Tim isn't worth your time. Move forward."
              I picked up my Miller Lite and sipped it, not making eye contact, not wanting to admit that she was right. I knew she was, though. It was obvious. I couldn't keep letting the past dictate how I lived. I couldn't keep letting every bad day lead to more thoughts of Tim. I couldn't keep wondering if he was still with Sandy or if he had moved on. I couldn't.
              "Drink the beer," said Molly. "Tomorrow's a new day, a fresh day, and you're going to use it to start moving forward."
              Without another word, she flicked on the TV and put on a mindless comedy, one that didn't require thinking, contemplating, or addressing hard issues. We sat in the silence as the light flickered across the room, and in the darkness I felt thankful to have someone as bold and straightforward as Molly.