Page 34 of Dial L for Lawyer (Curves & Capital #2)

Caleb

M ichaela opens the door before we can knock, already in her dinosaur pajamas despite it being only six o'clock.

"Uncle Caleb!" She launches herself at my legs. "Dad said you were bringing your girlfriend!"

"Hi to you too, monster." I ruffle her hair. "This is Serena."

Michaela pulls back, studying Serena with the intensity of a judge reviewing evidence. "Are you the one who makes Uncle Caleb smile at his phone?"

Serena blinks. "I... maybe?"

"Dad says Uncle Caleb only smiles at contracts and his phone lately, and contracts are boring, so it must be you." She extends her hand formally. "I'm Michaela Elizabeth Kingsley. I'm seven and three-quarters."

Serena shakes her hand solemnly. "Serena Ann Morgan. I'm... older than that."

"How much older?"

"Michaela," I warn.

"What? You said always ask direct questions to get accurate information."

"I said that about depositions, not dinner guests."

She rolls her eyes—a gesture she definitely learned from me. "Fine. Do you want to see my closing argument for Mock Trial club?"

"You're in Mock Trial?" Serena asks. "At seven?"

"Seven and three-quarters. And technically it's pre-Mock Trial. We're practicing for when we're old enough for real Mock Trial." She grabs Serena's hand. "Come on! I'm prosecuting a witch for building a house made of candy without proper permits."

Serena shoots me a helpless look as Michaela drags her toward the living room. I follow, trying not to laugh at how quickly my niece has commandeered my girlfriend.

The nanny rushes into the entryway, coat already half on, every muscle in her face tight. I recognize the type from a hundred desperate conference calls—polite, professional, and seconds from collapse.

"Thank you so much for this," she breathes.

"The car's waiting right now. Here's the full list—bedtime is seven-thirty, but it's OK if you push it to eight.

Emergency numbers are in the red folder.

Michaela has a cashew allergy, and she's already eaten but not much because she was certain you'd be ordering pizza.

" She thrusts a clipboard at me, and I don't even blink at the inventory of responsibility.

"It's fine," I say, steady and warm. "Go see your mother. Don't worry about us."

"Thank you," she says again, then bolts, leaving behind a faint trail of Chanel No. 5 and existential distress.

The front door barely clicks shut before Michaela whips out a manila folder and shoves it under Serena's nose.

"So the witch—her name is Gladys—she built this house entirely out of gingerbread and candy canes," Michaela explains, pointing to her surprisingly detailed legal notes written in red crayon.

"But she didn't file for building permits, AND she used it to lure children, which is definitely entrapment. "

"Entrapment is when law enforcement induces someone to commit a crime," I correct automatically.

"I know that," Michaela says with exaggerated patience. "But in fairy tale law, it applies to candy houses too. I asked Grandma."

"Your grandmother's a pediatrician, not a lawyer."

"She watches Law & Order."

Serena's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. "What's the witch's defense?"

Michaela's eyes light up. "That's the best part! She says the house is art, not architecture, so it doesn't need permits. And the children were trespassing when they started eating her walls."

"Strong argument," Serena says seriously. "What's your counter?"

For the next twenty minutes, my seven-and-three-quarters-year-old niece walks Serena through her entire prosecution strategy, complete with witness testimony from the three little pigs because, "They know about building codes.” And expert analysis from the Big Bad Wolf since, "He's reformed now and works in insurance. "

Serena asks questions, listens to strategies, and treats the whole thing like an actual case. When Michaela practices her closing statement—complete with dramatic pauses and finger-pointing—Serena applauds.

"That was amazing," she says. "The witch doesn't stand a chance."

"I know." Michaela beams. "Uncle Caleb, your girlfriend is smart."

"I noticed."

"Is that why you like her? Dad says you have a thing for women who are too smart to take your bull-poop—I’m not allowed to say the ‘S’ word."

"Hmm. Sounds like your dad talks too much."

"Yeah. In his sleep too. I heard him telling Grandma that you're emotionally constipated and that's why you're still single."

"Michaela."

"What? I don't even know what that means. Is it about poop too?"

Serena loses it, doubling over with laughter. Michaela looks pleased with herself.

"OK, prosecutor Kingsley," I say, steering us toward safer ground. "What do you want on your pizza?"

"Pepperoni and mushrooms. But not touching. They have to be on separate sides."

"Why?"

"Because they're in different food groups, obviously."

I call in the order while Serena helps Michaela set up her 'courtroom' in the living room, which apparently involves arranging all her stuffed animals as jury members.

"Mr. Fluffington is the foreman," Michaela explains seriously. "He's very fair but strict."

"What about this one?" Serena holds up a bedraggled teddy bear.

"That's Exhibit A. He got partially eaten by the defendant's dog, which proves the candy house is an attractive nuisance."

"You know about attractive nuisance doctrine?" I ask.

"Duh. You taught me when I wanted to build a treehouse at Lake Forest last summer."

"That was different?—"

"You said anything that might attract children and cause injury could be a liability issue."

Serena looks at me. "You taught a seven-year-old about premises liability?"

"Six," Michaela corrects. "I was six then. Now I'm?—"

"Seven and three-quarters," we say in unison.

The pizza arrives, and we eat while watching Michaela's approved shows—some animated thing about teenage spies that seems wildly inappropriate, but apparently David signed off on it.

"So," Michaela says during the credits, "when are you getting married?"

I nearly choke on my pizza. I was hoping we skipped this part. "What?"

"You and Serena. When are you getting married?"

"We're not—we just—" I look at Serena for help.

"We're dating," Serena says calmly. "Marriage is a big decision that takes time."

"Why?" Michaela asks. "You like each other, right?"

"Yes, but?—"

"And you're both old enough. Uncle Caleb is super old. Look at those wrinkles by his eyes."

"Those are called laugh lines, but thanks, kid."

"So why wait? In fairy tales, people meet and get married the same day."

"Fairy tales aren't real life," I point out.

"I know that. But still." She turns to Serena. "Do you want kids?"

"Michaela—"

"Because Uncle Caleb would be a good dad. He taught me to jump rope, tie my shoes, cross-examine witnesses, and make really good closing arguments."

"Those last two are definitely important parenting skills," Serena says, fighting a smile.

"Plus he's rich, so you wouldn't have to worry about money. My dad is rich, but he says Uncle Caleb is way richer than him."

"OK, that's enough," I say. "Time for episode two."

But Michaela's on a roll. "And he's not ugly. Hannah's mom—Hannah is my best friend—says he's a 'total smoke show,' whatever that means."

Serena bursts out laughing. "Hannah's mom has good taste."

"So you do think he's cute!"

"I do," Serena admits, winking at me. "He's very cute."

"Then you should marry him. I could be the flower girl. Or the ring bearer. Or the judge—I could get ordained online!"

"You're seven!"

"Seven and three-quarters! And the internet doesn't check ages."

We finally get her settled with episode two, and she curls up between us on the couch, occasionally providing legal commentary on the teenage spies' various crimes.

"They didn't read her Miranda rights," she points out during an arrest scene.

"It's in France," I explain. "Different laws."

"That's stupid. Miranda rights should be universal."

By 7:15, she's fading, her head drooping against Serena's shoulder.

"Bedtime, monster," I say.

"I'm not tired." She yawns massively. "And Serena hasn't seen my legal library yet."

"Her legal library?"

"It's three books," I explain. "My old Constitutional Law textbook, a 'Law for Dummies' book David got her as a joke, and something called 'Legally Blonde: The Novel.'"

"Essential reading," Serena says seriously. "But you can show me next time."

"There's gonna be a next time?" Michaela perks up.

"If that's OK with you."

Michaela considers this. "Can you come to Lake Forest with us this summer? There’s a rope swing that’s really fun. And I need someone who'll back me up on the treehouse issue."

"I'll do my best."

"OK. You can share my room. Uncle Caleb farts really bad when he drinks too much beer."

"That's not exactly the detail you share when you're campaigning so hard for us to get married," I say, but I'm smiling, and Serena's trying not to laugh.

I carry her to bed despite protests that she's not even a tiny bit tired. She's asleep before I finish tucking her in, right after whispering, "I really like your girlfriend, Uncle Caleb."

I smooth the hair back from her forehead gently and smile. "Me too, monster. Me too."

When I come back to the living room, Serena's cleaning up pizza boxes, looking domestic and perfect in David's space.

"She's amazing," she says. "Like a tiny, terrifying little you. She’ll make a great lawyer some day."

"Runs in the family. Dad's a lawyer, David's a lawyer, I'm a lawyer."

"But your mom's a pediatrician?"

"She is. And probably the only sane one out of us all." I pull her against me and kiss the tip of her nose. "Thanks for being so good with Michaela."

"Are you kidding? She's hilarious. And brilliant. And absolutely going to destroy opposing counsel someday."

"God help them all."

She tilts her head up and presses a soft kiss to my mouth. "So... Hannah's mom thinks you're a smoke show, huh?"

"Jealous?"

"Maybe a little."