Page 26 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?
Ella should have driven away, as any intelligent, well-adjusted woman would do. Instead, she sat there and watched Maxine Wyler walk to the double glass doors of her building, her hips swaying slightly back and forth as if she owned the world.
“Twelve weeks is still a long time,” she told the empty car. “Super long.” Her forehead fell to the steering wheel, and she clung to the one thing she knew for sure. She needed a bowl of Oatmeal Hoopties and fast.
SIX
Attacking Cupid
“The problem with that, Shawn, is that your days at the beach house align with all of the good holidays.” Patricia Monteleone eyed her soon-to-be ex-husband across the conference table, which Max had paid way too much for when opening her office. The carvings on the corners made her feel like a badass, and she’d wanted to show off a little bit, play the part of successful mediator before she actually was one.
“Then what do you propose? I’m all ears.” Shawn sat back in his chair, unflinching in the face of Patti’s rising emotion. The more upset she became, the calmer he was. Max had a feeling it drove her up the wall.
“We split them up.”
“No,” he said, sitting up again.
“I think it’s admirable of you both to want to share the beach house, but it might be in everyone’s best interest if we make a clean break.”
“Then it’s mine,” Patti said. “It’s been in my family for years.”
“That’s a compelling argument. What can we offer Shawn in exchange?”
“Nothing, because I want the beach house,” Shawn said, finger to the table. “She never even wanted to stay there. I had to drive that train. I fish. She hates it. Fuck this.”
“Okay, let’s take a step back.”
Max’s day was much like that. One stalemate after another. They were certainly making her earn her fee. After three sessions with three different couples, she was ready for a latte, a cocktail, or both. She grabbed the pesto turkey sandwich from Pete’s Perfect Pita that Sonya had dropped off on her desk instead. After unwrapping the still-warm sandwich, she reached into her drawer for this week’s romance novel,Tried and True, about a couple who fake date at a ski lodge to impress one of the main character’s group of snobby friends. Twenty minutes into her reading and eating session, Sonya’s voice yanked her back into reality.
“You spend way more of your lunch hour on those books lately. You need to get laid?”
“Yes.” She highlighted a fascinating passage. “But it’s more than that. Book club has me on my toes.”
“Hmm. Why is that? I thought it was your escape?”
“There’s this new member who has all of these opinions that I happen to disagree with.”
Sonya laughed low. “And the attorney in you is ready to shoot them down point-by-point.”
“Well … yes. I suppose that’s entirely accurate.” She set the book face down on her desk, needing to say more. She felt the variety of emotions rise without permission. “This woman has a way of getting under my skin. She’s completely falling for these stories and thinks these authors have romance all figured out.”
“And you’re the resident cynic?”
Her shoulders slumped, and understanding began to seep in. “I guess, which I didn’t see coming, but here I am, attacking Cupid. These books compared to real life? C’mon.”
The phone was ringing at Sonya’s desk, but the amusement behind her eyes said she didn’t want to walk away from this conversation. “I’m tickled. We need to get a drink soon.”
“God, yes.”
“Until then, please consider the option that your very prepared arguments for book club might be fueled by more than your desire to put Little Miss New Girl in her place.”
“Stop bringing up good points. It’s not what I pay you for.”
She tossed her head back into the room like an exotic dancer of the mediation office. “Check again,” she said in a throaty voice. Max threw her stress ball only to have Sonya catch it like a pro.
Two bites of her sandwich later, the intercom on her desk phone buzzed. She clicked on. “Yep?”
“Your mother is on two,” Sonya said, returning to her professional demeanor. The duality was impressive. “Do you want me to tell her you’re unavailable?” A pause. “Yes?” That last part was a friendly nudge. It was nice to have an assistant who had her back.
She wanted to take the nudge. Dodging additional stress sounded like a wise plan, but Max was programmed to jump when her mother asked her to, and self-awareness did nothing to stop it. “No, I have a minute.” She clicked over to line two. “Hi, Mama. How’s your day?”
