“I said I’d do it,” I shoot back, immediately pissed at his lack of confidence. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Tank.”
“You sure?” He peers at me.
“I’m sure.”
Tank exhales. “Okay. Thanks, brother. Oh, and the lawyer chick is off limits. And she’s married. So keep your dick tucked firmly in your pants. You got me?”
I raise a brow. “She’s that good-looking, eh?”
“What do you mean?” He juts out his jaw.
“You wouldn’t be telling me to keep my dick in my pants if she was a dog,” I snicker.
“Striker,” he warns.
“Okay, okay.” I hold up my hands. “Jesus, don’t worry about it. I got enough pussy around here to keep me busy.”
“Don’t make me worry,” Tank gives me a piercing stare, and thrusts his finger at me.
I toss him an innocent grin and shrug. He gives me one more glare, then reaches out to shake on it. As I do the same, I notice the slight tremor in my right hand. Quickly, I glance at Tank’s face, but it doesn’t seem like he noticed.
It ain’t the first time that has happened lately.
Looks like I need some of the hair of the dog that bit me, after all.
3
Ember
“Is this seriously how you’re planning to spend your evening again?” Margot asks me, wrinkling her nose.
I scoop the documents and manila folders into my briefcase. “Yep. I’ve got a hot date with a divorce file. Jealous?”
Margot eyes me skeptically. “You’ve been putting in eleven- and twelve-hour days all week. Here you told me earlier that you might not be staying late tonight, and I got all excited, only to find out you’re taking work home. Couldn’t you leave your job at the office for once?”
“Let’s re-frame this,” I suggest. “Look at it as an improvement that I’m actually going home at a decent hour, instead of staying here in the office until bedtime. Progress, right?”
My receptionist-slash-secretary Margot is sweet but annoying, the way she worries about my workaholic tendencies. I know she means well, of course. And I’m lucky to have her as not only a co-worker, but as my friend. My best friend, to tell the truth.
Which is pretty unusual, considering she’s also my soon-to-be-ex-cousin-in-law.
Are cousin-in-laws a thing?
Or is it cousins-in-law?
Anyway, Margot is my husband’s cousin. And in many ways, she’s like the sister I never had.
“You need to get out and socialize.” She shakes her head. “Come on, Ember, you can’t spend your whole life working.”
“I like working,” I insist. “Besides, how am I going to go out and socialize right now? You know it’s not easy for me. All of my girlfriends except you think Mark and I are still together. It gets tiring, you know? ‘How’s the hubby? Any fun vacations planned? Have you two decided to start trying for kids yet?’” I make a face. “How is that better than spending a quiet evening at home with Bert and my case files?”
“Point taken,” she concedes. “But speaking of which, what’s the story with you and Mark? Are you any closer to filing for divorce yet?”
“No,” I murmur, embarrassed. “I’m just… letting things stay status quo right now.”
I know I should be pushing harder to get the ball rolling. I want it all to be over, more than anything. But pushing Mark in a direction he doesn’t want to go can be harder than Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the mountain. After months of shouting and screaming matches that turned scary more than once, I finally succeeded in getting him to move out of our house and into a studio apartment on the south side of town. In exchange, I agreed to keep up the façade that we’re still together with our friends and connections, at least for the time being. The resulting quiet has been like the relief that comes when you stop hitting yourself repeatedly in the head with a hammer.
I need a break before I plunge back into the conflict and file for divorce.
Margot purses her lips but doesn’t argue. “I just want you to move on to lead a happy, fulfilling life, Em.” After a second, she hastily adds, “And I want that for Mark, too, of course.”
I give her a small smile. I know that Margot deals with feelings of guilt over her divided loyalty between me and her cousin. It’s true that the two of them have never been particularly close. Mark’s father, the older of the two brothers, is rich and important, having inherited the bulk of the family wealth from Mark’s grandfather when he died. Margot’s father, the younger one, got stiffed in the will, and scraped by with no help from the family until he died of heart failure at fifty-four.
As a result, Mark and Margot grew up with very different experiences of their family. Margot’s side has always been treated as the black sheep by Mark’s side. Accordingly, when I first met Margot at a relative’s wedding back when Mark and I were dating, she was cordial but distant. Over the years, we’ve grown much closer, especially because her little boy Benji has always been a favorite of mine. When I opened up my own law office last year, I asked her to come work for me, half-worried that she’d be offended. But instead, she was thrilled by my offer of a flexible schedule that would allow her to work around Benji’s school schedule, thus saving her the cost of day care.
I often wonder what Margot suspects about why Mark and I split. But she hasn’t asked for particulars, and I haven’t offered any. Instead, we continue on as good friends, mostly ignoring the awkward fact that I am married to her cousin in name only, and that for the time being, no one knows this but the three of us.
“I know, Margot. And eventually, I will get a life back,” I promise her. “But for now, just let me spend my evening with my paperwork and my dog, and hopefully a not-too-freezer-burnt pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. I promise to have a spectacular time doing it.”
“That in itself is pathetic, and you know it,” she tsks. “But fine, I’ll let you off the hook this time. If you’ll agree to come over for brunch on Sunday. Benji is dying to see his Aunt Ember.” She checks her phone screen. “Speaking of which, I have to go pick him up from karate.”
I agree to the brunch idea immediately, and not just because it means Margot will get off my back. Benji is eight years old, and I swear he is the sweetest little boy in the entire universe. I know Margot’s son is at an age where his days of being a cuddly little love bug are numbered. It breaks my heart to think that someday, he might not call me his Auntie Em anymore. (Technically, I’m not his Aunt, but “Cousin-in-Law-Once-Removed Em” doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.)
Until then, though, I want to soak up all the “nephew” time I have left.
Margot takes off to go pick up Benji from his lesson. Twenty minutes later, I finally get all my files organized into a paper ream box, put my laptop in my briefcase, and close up shop for the day.
The late afternoon sun is low in the sky as I emerge from the tiny, square building that holds my office. Lingering unpleasant thoughts about my husband are still taking up space in my head. The sun is hovering just a little above eye level, and shines directly into my eyes as I make my way to my car — which is why I don’t notice the lone figure standing next to it until I’m about six feet away.