Page 114 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

Maybe that’s what hurts the most, how much I miss him.

Auntie Lena is busy talking with a few customers from out of town, but Melissa sees me from her spot behind the counter. Once she started seeing the family counselor I recommended, she also decided she needed a job, and as luck would have it, Auntie Lena still desperately needed the help. What started as a situation of convenience turned out to be the perfect fit. They both read the same celebrity gossip rags. They both love to rearrange items to achieve some sort of perfect visual balance that no one but them can envision. They both adore adopting alley cats.

Now, Melissa snags a box of barware from behind the counter and begins unwrapping it for me. The pieces are pretty – cornsilk-colored wine goblets in pristine condition – and while I like them, I certainly don’t love them. That’s always been my threshold for taking anything home: can I live without it? In the case of these goblets, unfortunately, that’s a definite yes.

“No problem,” she says. “I’m sure we can find just the place for them.”

She gathers the glasses with a small smile and begins strategizing where to place them on the shelves. I grab the extras and follow her into the part of the store that’s set up like a small kitchen. Turns out, she used to do merchandising work for a high end retailer and is a master at placing items to sell. She’s also done amazing things with the window display. The family of mannequins currently occupying the space have never looked happier.

“He’s still asking about you, you know,” she says.

I know without the use of a name which he she’s referring to. I pass her another glass from the box.

“He’ll move on, eventually,” I say. “They always do.”

“Maybe,” she says, giving me a wistful smile. “But do you really want him to?”

***

I slide the framed photo off my desk and tuck it into my bag. The only thing left is my bird of paradise plant, which was a birthday gift from the team a few years ago. I figure I’ll grab it on my way out, but for now, all I can do is admire the view from the office that will no longer be mine.

A couple of weeks earlier, when Mariah Wilson answered the phone, she laughed and said, “I’ve been wondering when you’d call. What’s the occasion?”

“Officially tired of playing their game,” I admitted. “Does your offer still stand?”

Fortunately for me, it did. I’m moving into shared office space in the employee-owned firm right after Meg and I return from Paris. It’s going to be different. No partnership to aspire to. No high rise office with a riverfront view. But there’s an opportunity there to do more than deal in family law, to dig deeper and branch out, especially without the opinions of the board hanging over me. This new firm has a lot of nonprofit affiliations and community accounts. I could explore new avenues. I could do some real good.

Still, my leaving feels bittersweet.

“You have to admit you’ll miss the view,” a voice says from the doorway.

I turn to find Erving Maxwell leaning against the frame. He nods to the scene behind me. The clouds across the river are stretched thin, the thick trees on the opposite banks are a vibrant line of green against blue. It’s a pretty day that’s hinting of a late summer storm that most would welcome at this point in the season. The air outside is thick and humid, like the city itself is holding its breath, waiting for the moment it can finally let go.

“Is there something you want?” I ask.

He adjusts his tie. “I want to say I’m sorry.”

This is the very last thing I expect him to say, so for a few moments, I’m speechless. What is it with these Maxwell men? It takes a long beat to collect myself.

“That’s really not necessary,” I say.

“No, it is,” he replies. “You’re a talented attorney, Heidi. Possibly one of the best we’ve had. You’re compassionate and concise. You work hard. What happened – what I did – wasn’t fair to you.”

Anger flares in me. This conversation only serves to stoke the embers of a fire I’ve done my best to let die.

“Then why did you do it?” I demand.

“It was never about you,” he says, shaking his head. “When you get my age, you think a lot more about what you’ll leave behind. I wanted Quentin to be it. He’s got quick wit, and he’s not afraid to work hard for what he wants; he always reminded me a lot of myself, when I was younger. And unlike the rest of them, he never takes the easy route. If any of my sons had been cut off the way he was, they would have sunk straight to the bottom, but he didn’t. He thrived. He turned it into the fuel that rocketed him straight to the top.

“So no, I don’t think it’s a secret I wanted him to continue the work I started. But I realize now that maybe what I’ve left behind isn’t the legacy I imagined. People think of me as another old man stuck in the past, whose antiquated ideas forced you out. Maybe I am. And maybe I did. In the end, none of us got what we wanted.”

“Quentin’s your replacement,” I counter. “You got exactly what you wanted.”

Erving gives me a rueful smile. “I guess you two haven’t talked. Like I said, for better or worse, Quentin never takes the easy route.”

I’m dying to know what this means, but I won’t reduce myself enough to ask.

“If you’re trying to offer me the job because he’s stepped down, you’re more of an asshole than I thought.”

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