Page 35 of Getting the Grinder
The door closes, blocking her from my view. But just like when I was on my road trip, I’m still thinking about her, even when I can’t see her.
Chapter Twelve
Mara
* * *
I really need to eat a vegetable every now and then. Unless salsa counts, I’m fucked on veggie consumption.
Coffee, wine, Taco Tony’s drive-through burritos and turkey sandwiches from the deli near the courthouse make up most of my diet. And the seat of the used Peloton I was so excited about picking up on Marketplace last year has a thick layer of dust on it.
Curling up on my couch with my phone and a fuzzy blanket, I turn on Netflix, not paying close attention to the show I resume.
Law school was stressful, but it was a different kind of stress. I worked part-time jobs and studied a lot, so keeping my bills paid and doing well in school were my main worries.
My first job out of law school was also stressful, mostly due to the hours. A twelve-hour day was considered light, and I’d usually have work to catch up on at home, too. It was a cutthroat culture where billable hours meant more than anything and no one cared who they had to step on to win or move up.
I send my mom a text, telling her work is good and I’m seeing someone. Neither of those things is true, but I don’t want her to know the truth. Surprisingly, Leo made me feel a lot better.
Suki would have hovered and insisted we talk it to death. Talking about it at length would have made me feel worse. I need time and space.
Leo caused me to boil over, but I actually felt better afterward. Like a steam valve had been turned to lessen the pressure inside me. Now I just feel heavy and weary.
When I saw Libby Harn, I thought I’d be able to get through to her. I overestimated myself, I guess. Figured a woman-to-woman talk would help her see things more clearly. But I was wrong. She got angry at me and accused me of judging her. I think that hurt more than her refusal to testify did, because it’s true.
I do judge her for staying, and I don’t like myself for it. I took a class on domestic abuse and learned about the many layers of manipulation it often involves. Some men are even able to convince their victims that they hurt them because they love them.
It’s sick. I thought my toughness would help me shatter generational cycles of abuse in cases like this, but instead, I have to accept that I can’t win every case. I can’t convince every victim to testify. I’ll eventually lose criminal trials that mean a lot to me.
I left the law firm about a year into my job there because of a case I was assigned to. A partner was handling it, but I was assisting. Our client was a big insurance company that had denied coverage to a baby who needed corrective surgery for its mouth so it could latch on and eat. The insurance company said the condition was preexisting because the baby was born with it. The parents had to sell their home immediately, below market value, to secure enough money for the hospital to agree to perform the surgery.
I sat through one meeting with representatives of the insurance company, packed my few personal belongings into a box when it was over and resigned.
Fuck that. My parents lost everything because of what happened to my dad. I’ll go back to waitressing before I help an insurance company fuck innocent people over.
My eyelids are getting heavy, the day catching up with me, when my phone buzzes with a text.
Mom: You’re seeing someone? What’s his name? How many dates have you been on?
I’ll have to disappoint her when I eventually tell her it didn’t work out, but I might as well give my mom some false hope. It won’t hurt anything, and it’ll make her happy.
Mara: His name is Leo and he’s a hockey player on the team Suki’s husband Carter is on. We’ve known each other for a while. Just a couple of dates so far.
Mom: Tell me more! How old is he? Is he Catholic?
I smile at the screen. My parents are devout Catholics. Even though they can’t attend church easily in person, they watch services on television. I have to turn on my profanity filter when I go home, because they’d lose their minds if they knew how many f-bombs I drop every day.
I’m not even sure how old Leo is, so I make up a number.
Mara: He’s thirty, and I don’t know if he’s Catholic.
Mom: How can you not know? You haven’t talked about your religion with him?
I evade the question by sending her the prank selfie and another photo of us at the ugly sweater party. She’s not on social media, so she wouldn’t have seen them when I posted them.
Mom: Oh honey, he’s so handsome! So tall! You make a beautiful couple. But why is he wearing that sweater vest that’s too small for him?
I can almost hear her voice, which helps soothe my aching heart. My mom is everything I’m not: sweet, nurturing and kind. Even with everything she’s been through, she’s never faltered.
