Page 32 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

There he went again. “What does that mean? Hm?”

“Maybe that’s the problem. Look, I don’t know your parents, but communication problems contribute to over twenty percent of divorces. If you consider underlying causes, that number is probably significantly higher. Sure, that can often mean fighting too much, but a lack of communication can be just as lethal to a relationship as poor communication.”

She scowled. “I understand the significance of communication.” She wasn’t new. But in what universe was conflict an indicator of relationship success? “Are you seriously telling me you think it’s a bad thing my parents don’t fight?”

Coming from the guy who claimed to like her better rude, maybe she shouldn’t be surprised.

“I’m not suggesting your parents ought to be having screaming matches,” he said. “But disagreements are natural. Normal. The fact that you’ve never seen them fight makes me think they’re either keeping those arguments behind closed doors or sacrificing communication for the pretense of peace. But peace doesn’t mean the absence of conflict. That’s not realistic. It’s about being able to have those inevitable disagreements without being contemptuous or defensive. You’re telling me you and your ex—Jake?—never fought?”

At first, no, they hadn’t. For the first year, year and a half, she’d have been hard-pressed to name a single meaningful flaw of Justin’s, a flaw she couldn’t see past or couldn’t embrace as a perfect imperfection. His snoring? Charming. His inability to match his socks? Adorable. The fact that he was often late, claiming the need to scribble down a new chord progression? A sign of his creative genius.

Of course, the honeymoon period had ended, just like she’d known it would. His snoring had gotten old, his mismatched socks started to look sloppy, and his constant tardiness led her to buy him an absurdly expensive watch with her first-ever book advance, a watch that gathered dust on his desk because it wasn’t metal enough. Still, she shrugged off how, on occasion, Justin would party with his friends all night and be so hungover the next day that he’d cancel a date. Or how he’d still been drunk the morning he met her parents or how he hated going anywhere he couldn’t wear jeans and that he always bitched about how expensive going to the movies was and why couldn’t they just torrent something at home?

Choking down the little things didn’t make them go away; the problems snowballed, and her frustration mounted, ire leeching out in eye rolls and snark and passive-aggressive quips, pretending to be asleep when Justin would stumble home at three in the morning because she didn’t want him touching her when he was wasted and reeking of bottom-shelf tequila and cheap perfume, but she didn’t want to argue, either. Especially when he wouldn’t remember in the morning, when she’d be the only one weighed down by the aftermath of a fight.

Because when they did fight? Those fights never led to any sense of harmony let alone to resolution. Change. Growth. They only left her feeling like a failure because happy couples? Happy couples didn’t fight. Her parents didn’t.

“His name’s Justin,” she said. “And we’re hardly a great example. Clearly.”

Colin held up his hands. “Fair enough.”

Fair enough wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t just make her question what she thought to be true and leave it at fair enough.

“What would you say?” she asked. “If my mom or dad walked into your office? Or any other couple who was... considering their options.”

Colin pressed his shoulders back against the couch and sighed. “By the time most people are ready to seek legal representation, their marriages have been effectively over for months, if not years. But sometimes that’s not true. You’re right. Sometimes people do just want to understand their options. They don’t always know who else to talk to. Which is why I always ask my clients if they’ve gone through any marital counseling. If they think there’s a chance of reconciliation. Because if there is, even a small one, I always encourage them to consider.”

“Couple’s counseling, huh? You actually recommend that to your clients? Doesn’t sound like a great business model to me.”

Colin laughed. “If I was in it strictly for the money, I’d have gone into corporate law.”

“Because divorce law is so altruistic.”

“Family law. And I never claimed to be a saint. The divorce cases I handle are my least favorite, but they’re what allow me to take on pro bono adoption and child custody cases while still paying my rent.”

Pro bono adoption cases? Well, she’d be damned. Maybe this man was a saint.

“Look, I appreciate the insight. Really, I do. It’s good advice. But I already suggested they talk to someone. And they shot me down.” Technically, she’d implied they should speak to a sex therapist, but she had a feeling they wouldn’t be keen on going to the regular sort, either. “I’m just frustrated. They belong together. I know it. I only wish I could make them see it.” Remember it. “If I thought I could lock them in a room together until they worked things out, and get away with it? I probably would.”

Colin laughed. “Bet you wish you were the one with the twin right about now.”

“I—what?” She didn’t follow.

“You know, The Parent Trap? Lindsay Lohan? Twins separated at birth who meet at summer camp and switch places?”

“I’m familiar with Nancy Meyers’s oeuvre. I just don’t know what it has to do with me or my parents.”

“You know! They, uh...” He snapped his fingers twice before shooting finger guns at her. “They re-create the night their parents met on the boat to rekindle the”—he razzle-dazzled his fingers, putting Sparky Polastri’s spirit fingers to shame—“spark and later, they refuse to reveal who’s who until the whole family goes on a camping trip and—I sound crazy.” Colin palmed his face and laughed. “Sorry, it’s just, you were talking about locking your parents in a room together and my brain jumped to The Parent Trap.”

“Better that than Gerald’s Game, I guess.”

He laughed, a rich, deep sound that did not make her shiver. “Yeah, I’m going to have to advise that you don’t handcuff your parents together. That would be crazy.”

“No crazier than having some secret identical twin from whom I’d been separated at birth.” She sighed. “And seeing as I don’t have one of those—”

“That you know of.”

“Cute.”

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