Page 16 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?

SIX

Attacking Cupid

“ T he 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?”

“I just finished the crossword puzzle in today’s Times .”

She smiled. “Did you use ink this time?” It was practically rhetorical.

“Yes. I’m calling because you never got back to me about the networking group I mentioned. Jeanette swears that her son saw his business triple once he joined.”

“Mom. My practice is doing great, remember? Better than okay.” In fact, she had to refer several potential clients to a colleague when her schedule didn’t allow her to handle them personally.

She was considering hiring two additional attorneys in the coming months and expanding her practice.

Her mother knew all of this, but had some block when it came to acknowledging that Max had done anything favorable.

“Can it hurt to improve?” She plowed forward without pause. “There was a feature on him in The Journal . Did you see it?”

“I didn’t see it. No.” The implication was that there had not been a feature on Max or her practice.

“A feature is a big deal, Maxine. We could send something like that to Lola. She’d love it. I’ll send the link to your email. Then maybe consider joining the group.”

“Maybe.” She had no such intention.

“I’ll tell Jeanette you’ll be at their next cocktail hour, and her boy can be on the lookout.”

“Oh, let’s not leap too far ahead.”

The line went quiet. “Okay. You make whatever decisions work for you. I won’t ever mention it again.”

Mom guilt had arrived front and center. This woman was a pro. “Mom. I’ll look into it, okay?”

“Thank you, my sweet girl. Come by for dinner on Thursday. I’m making chicken tinola.

” It sounded like an offer, but it wasn’t.

If Max didn’t at least swing by and eat a couple of bites of that food while her mom tried to influence her life, and her dad checked out of the conversation via a football game, she’d hear about it for months.

“Yes, Thursday. See you then,” she said quietly and clicked off line two. She sat back in her chair and shook her head. “Just another day in the life of Max Wyler,” she said to no one.

“Told you not to take the call,” Sonya said from out front.

“Maybe listen to me once in a great while.” The stress ball came flying back through the door just in time for Max to catch it at the last second.

It was a metaphor. Her life lately had been anything but predictable.

She picked up her book and went back to highlighting, planning to arrive prepared for the next meeting of the Weepers. Because Ella Baker certainly would.

BeLeaf Foods, two blocks from Rachel’s place, was perhaps the swankiest grocery store Ella had ever set foot in.

Had she realized how fancy it would be, she might have selected a store a little more …

in line with her financial position. She strolled the aisles slowly, taking in towers of exotic vegetables without a single blemish.

Prices advertised on wood-framed chalkboards.

Warm lighting that made everything glow as if sanctioned by heaven itself.

Yep, she was a little out of her food league right now.

And what was one supposed to do when their bank account was slowly dwindling to nothing, but they still had to eat?

Shop with a phone calculator in hand, that’s what.

Ella typed in the price of each item as she added it to her basket.

She also winced as the number on the readout grew and grew, edging up to the maximum amount she’d allotted for the month.

Ella stared at the price tag on the carton of grapes in her hands and balked.

Nearly seven dollars? No, thank you. She sadly placed the package right back on the refrigerated shelf.

“Not the season for grapes?”

She turned to see Max leaning over the handle of her own cart.

She wore a forest-green belted coat more suited for a runway than a grocery store and slid a strand of hair that had escaped her perfectly tousled ponytail behind her ear.

Ella was now wildly aware of the rip in her jeans that had seemed casual and unaffected until this very moment.

“The rip is intentional,” she said, pointing to the exact spot on her knee.

Max glanced down, and the edge of her mouth pulled a touch, but she didn’t give in to the smile. “Non sequitur.”

Ella lifted a helpless and embarrassed shoulder. “How I roll.”

“Is that a calculator? Very thorough shopping.”

“I’m unemployed. I have to be.” Her tone was flat, matching her afternoon.

Realization must have crept in. Max flicked a glance at the grapes and back to Ella. “What is it you do again?”

“I’m a graphic designer. Sometimes people forget to fire me.”

“Not sure I follow,” Max said, squinting.

Ella nodded. “And that is for the best.” Why was she saying so much?

“Let me guess.” Max placed an index finger on her cheek. “You design covers for romance novels.”

Ella paused. “Very funny. No. I’ve done everything from corporate logos to print ads to social media campaigns, and most recently, app interfaces, which I can attest, are not the most inspiring.”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

“But do you really think so?”

Max looked at her, lips parted in disbelief. “Why do you consistently question my intentions? I promise they’re good. I just don’t understand instant conviction. Don’t I at least deserve a firsthand chance?”

Ella blinked, relenting. “It’s not like I think you’re completely awful.”

Max straightened, one arm bracing against her cart. “Wow. Not helping.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Ella pinched the bridge of her nose, fending off guilt. “I realize you’re not a bad person. But I’m a loyal friend and I remember Rach crying on the phone over things you said or did and?—”

Max held up a hand. In the flash of motion, Ella saw that her nails were done. Short and manicured with a mauve polish. They’d been a paler pink last week. “Like what? Just for learning purposes.”

Ella snatched the first available memory. “Well, you left her at that birthday party with no way to get home.”

Max frowned. She looked back and forth as if piecing together the meaning.

“ Christine’s birthday? Is that what you’re talking about?

I did leave, but only because Rachel announced to the room that I wasn’t paying enough attention to her because I greeted a former client.

She then informed me she never wanted to see me again. ”

“I don’t think that’s?—”

Max continued calmly. “She literally told me to leave in front of everyone, which was one of the more embarrassing moments of my life.” Max frowned and shook her head, a new thought hitting. “And she drove us there. I was the one who had to call for a ride.”

Ella paused, not sure what to do with that information. Rachel was prone to hyperbole. They stared at each other. “I heard it differently.”

“I can tell,” Max said quietly with a lacing of disappointment. “And that’s okay. I’ll let you shop.”

“All right,” Ella said, her brain foraging for understanding.

It was clear that the details she’d just imparted had hurt Max’s feelings, and when she balanced that with the sad version of Rachel, she wasn’t sure which one deserved her sympathy.

Feeling out of her depth with Max and depressed about her meager bank account, Ella finished her shopping and made her way to the front of the store.

One of the three cashiers with open lines waved her over immediately. “A woman left these here for you.”

“Me?”

The young cashier nodded and handed her a bag.

“Oh. Well, thank you,” Ella said, accepting in confusion.

She peeked inside and paused at the sight: a large carton of plump green grapes.

She tried to swallow against the uncomfortable guilt.

Max didn’t owe her anything. Yet, even amid their uncomfortable conversation, she’d offered an olive branch.

“She bought me grapes,” she murmured. What the hell was she supposed to do with that?

Ella paid for her remaining groceries with a shaky hand and an uncomfortable lump in her throat.

She was thrown and floundering in more ways than one.

She didn’t have a grip on her place in this world or even her professional trajectory, but maybe the picture she’d constructed of Max wasn’t entirely accurate.

No one was all bad, right? She held the carton of grapes to her chest, humbly realizing that maybe she didn’t have anything figured out. Anything at all.