Page 8 of Tides That Bind

And failing.

Twice.

What Finn doesn’t know is I’m sitting at my desk instead of out catching the best and earliest waves of the day because I’m waiting for my results to see if the third time is the charm or I should just give up.

My phone vibrates against my desk.

“Why is your wife calling me?” I ask Finn as he comes out of the bathroom, arm raised and bent to tug the zipper of his wetsuit up.

“Riley, she’syoursister.”

“Pity that didn’t end after you married her.”

Finn gives a half shrug. “She’s been up since the middle of the night. Had some conference call with clients in Beijing. Some big deal is on the table. I’m not sure she slept at all. And she’s on a red-eye tonight to New York.”

“Of course she didn’t. When money is on the table, she can turn into a zombie. She got that from Dad. He’d be proud.”

I’m kind of joking. But sell out or not, Caroline is the favorite child. What I mean by that is she earned a law degree in an appropriate amount of time, passed the Bar on the first go, and began to work for my father’s corporate firm that was left entirely to her when he died three years ago.

“All good?” I ask Finn. He’s staring at my phone with a distant look on his face.

During my best man speech at their wedding, I took an oath I’d never involve myself in their marriage. But something about Finn’s look and ambivalent tone tells me he isn’t all that happy with my sister’s workload and frequent travel. I don’t know why. If I married someone like Caroline, I wouldn’t mind time away from her.

“All good,” Finn offers lamely.

“You sure? Nothing you need to tell me?”

“Nothing to talk about.” He taps the door frame. “See you out there?”

I let him have this one because guy code is a lot easier than girl code. If a guy says he doesn’t want to talk, he means it. If a woman says the same thing and you respect it, she suddenly will have a lot to say. Usually it’s about how much of an ass you are even though three seconds ago she was upset about something else.

Finn leaves and my phone vibrates again, notifying me of Caroline’s voice message.

Did you check yet?

It’s times like these I’d prefer Caroline justtextme because that would make it easier to ignore her tone. I get she’s doing me a favor with the voice note. I normally prefer it over text since my forte happens to be listening over reading.

In comes another message.

I know you don’t want to hear it, but Dad would be really proud.

Caroline is an excellent attorney because she’s an excellent bullshitter. I almost believe her. But I never made Dad proud one day in my life. Instead of dishing out praise for accomplishments, I got served with reminders of all the things I should do differently.

Do better in school.

Sit up straight at the table.

Tuck in your shirt.

Don’t believe them about this dyslexia nonsense. You’re seventeen for god’s sake. Just focus more while you read.

I was a senior in high school when I was finally diagnosed with dyslexia. Until then, I thought I was what everyone, including my dad, told me I was—lazy, unfocused, undisciplined, even stupid.

You can still go to law school if you work hard enough.

The irony is that even though they called me stupid, I was smart enough to understand—dyslexic or not—since one third of the LSAT is reading comprehension, my worst subject, I had to be damn near perfect in the logical reasoning section to have a high enough score to get into law school. And I did that.

I mean, I did flunk out after the first semester due to frustration. But after a long break, I enrolled in a part time program. It might have taken me five years instead of three, but I do have a law degree under my belt. I just have no interest in using it.

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