Page 17 of Overruled

Nine

Dani

In the weeks that follow depositions, Ezra makes good on his word to keep things professional. Gone are the random flirty text messages at least once a day I’ve become used to, and when we do text—it’s curt, succinct, and completely centered on the case.

It’s what I wanted, what I asked for, sure. So why have I been so…unsettled?

It’s as if I’d gotten so used to his annoyingly constant presence that now that he’s stepped back (like I asked him to), I feel out of sorts. It might be more annoying than Ezra is, feeling this way.

“Dani, you’re crushing my nuts.”

I jolt, dropping the pastry cutter I’ve been using to break up Mom’s pecans for the bottom of her pie. When I look into the bowl I’ve been working with, it’s clear I have in fact pulverized several of them into powder.

“Sorry,” I mutter, dumping my work and grabbing another cup of shelled pecans to start over. “Spaced out.”

She frowns at me from where she’s icing her cake. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

She looks unconvinced. “Anything bothering you at work?”

“No, no. It’s going well at work.”

Well, mostly. Bianca’s second omission about her previous divorce petition and trust fund woes was a setback, one she hadn’t been too keen to talk about.

When we discussed it, she more or less went Edna Mode on me.

I could practically see her waving at me from over her shoulder saying, “I never look back, darling. It distracts from the now.”

Which is frustrating. Since she refuses to dive any deeper into the withdrawal of her petition, I’m only left with the assurance that her trust fund quickly regained its lost assets, giving her ample reasoning to go through with her petition, if money had been the issue.

She didn’t have to stick it out with him for another thirty years if that had been what she was worried about.

“Good,” Mom says. “No work stuff today.”

“That might be hard considering half of your guest list are Dad’s old work buddies.”

“And if I hear anyone talking shop, there will be no pie for any of them.”

A laugh escapes me. “You know, most people don’t continue to listen to their spouses after the divorce.”

“We respect each other,” Mom answers casually. “We don’t need nuptials for that.”

I frown, giving my attention back to the bowl in front of me. I don’t think I can handle letting my mind wander to the complexity that is my parents and stepparents today. That’s never a fun time for my brain.

“Where is Bill anyway?”

“Oh, he and Patty are out back with your dad trying to get the grill going. Leave it to your father to buy the fanciest model they make without having any idea how to use it.”

That makes me smile. It definitely sounds like Dad. I finish chopping the pecans for the bottom of the pie so Mom can add the filling, wiping my hands on my apron before pulling it over my head. “Do you need my help to finish this up? I was going to get changed.”

“Oh, I got you a new dress,” she tells me. “I left it in your old room.”

“What? Why?”

“Do I need a reason to buy my daughter a gift?”

I roll my eyes. “Is this bribery? Because I already brought the apple pie.”

“No,” she laughs. “I just thought it would be nice to see you out of work clothes.”

I glance down at my beige linen slacks, frowning. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Nothing at all,” she assures me. “Just indulge an old woman, okay?”

“Fine, fine.”

She pauses what she’s doing, eyeing me from across the kitchen. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just know how you get when we’re all together…”

“Mom, stop.” I have to shove down the roiling emotions bubbling inside. “You know I love Bill and Patty.”

“I know, honey, but…” Her teeth worry at her lower lip. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like you hardly ever smile anymore. I guess some days I can’t help but worry that it’s our fault.”

Jesus Christ, the universe is really out to get me lately.

“Mom,” I answer, trying to keep my tone even. “It’s been years. I’m over it.”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew that you could talk to me,” she urges. “I don’t care how long it’s been. You’re always working so hard, and I just worry about you.”

“We don’t have to talk about this at every family gathering,” I say softly. “Honestly.”

She nods slowly. “All right. Don’t mind me. Just being a worrywart.”

I can tell there’s more she’d like to say; there’s nothing new about my mother prodding at my emotions whenever we’re alone as if she might somehow teach me how to suddenly open up to someone, and just like every other time, I’m determined not to give her much.

I never want her to feel guiltier than she has to for the way our lives turned out.

I carry enough guilt for the both of us.

“I’ll just…go get changed.”

Mom nods again. “Good idea. People should be arriving soon.”

I leave her in the kitchen to head for the stairs toward my old bedroom; I’ve told Mom and Bill a hundred times that they should turn it into something useful, but Mom insists on keeping it as is.

I think deep down she tells herself that keeping this one small thing the same might somehow make up for the childhood I still feel like I lost.

I find Mom’s gift laid out over my bed—a bright red sundress covered in tiny little daisies that cinches at the waist. It’s nothing that I would ever pick out for myself, but I can’t deny that it’s pretty.

I move to the full-length mirror in the corner of my room, holding it against my body.

It’s weird, the last time I did this—my high school graduation, I think?

—I agonized over which dress to wear, which seems silly now, given that it was going to be under that ugly gown the entire time.

The small smile on my face falters, my mind inevitably wandering to after graduation. To coming home and finding out my entire life was a lie.

We didn’t mean for you to find out this way.

We were going to wait until you went to college.

We made this decision together.

We just wanted what was best for you.

This isn’t your fault, Dani.

That last one echoes for a heavy minute, pinging around in my head like a stone puttering down a well. I keep waiting for it to inevitably fall to the bottom, to settle —but it never really does. Maybe it’s because I still don’t believe it.

My mother and father are the classic friends-to-lovers story; they went to middle school, high school, even college together, and what started as a deep friendship blossomed into something more. Until it didn’t. After one night together, they realized they were better as friends.

They didn’t anticipate me.

I’ll never fully understand why they chose to sacrifice seventeen years of their lives in a phony marriage for some convoluted idea about giving me a “normal childhood.” Finding out after so long that the people you thought wrote the book on love have been lying to you your entire life…

well. It shapes your ideas on relationships and love as a whole.

It made me stop believing they could even really exist.

Maybe that’s why it hurt so badly when I let someone in. When Grant decided that I wasn’t enough.

I take a deep breath, pushing the thoughts away like I always do.

I wish I could stuff them in a trash compactor and get rid of them for good, but I know that if they’ve stuck around this long, there’s most likely nothing that will chase them away.

I shuffle out of my clothes, slipping the dress over my head and smoothing it out to inspect it.

It really does look good on me, complementing my fair skin and dark hair.

Not that there’s anyone to impress, given that most of the people coming to this stupid party will be over fifty.

Not that there’s anyone I want to impress, I amend internally.

I have to squash that line of thought before it turns against me. I know where that one leads. It leads to tall, blond, and a handful.

I run my fingers through my hair, sighing again.

Let’s get this over with.

···

Mom and Dad’s backyard—or rather, Mom’s backyard now, I guess—is practically full within the hour.

Dad finally got the grill going, which means there is a slight scent of burnt hot dogs in the air, and based on the level of laughter I can hear happening all around me, I have to assume that Patty’s spiked punch is a hit.

These things usually end the same way, with my parents and stepparents passed out in various rooms of my childhood home, as well as a few of their friends, more often than not.

They really do act like teenagers sometimes.

I guess because they missed out on so much when they were younger, they’re determined to make up for it now.

Dad’s friend Howard, a tax attorney from a smaller firm here in town, currently has me cornered on the porch to regale me with a tale about saving some company from bankruptcy after they got into trouble over back taxes, and let me tell you—there is nothing more boring than tax law.

Seriously. I can practically feel my eyes glazing over, but I’m trying my best to nod when it’s appropriate, to smile where it’s warranted, however infrequent that might be.

“—and then after negotiations, they decided that it would be more beneficial for us to move forward, as you can imagine.”

He chuckles as if he’s said something that’s actually funny.

I have to force a smile onto my face, but in my head I’m wondering how much longer I have to hang around before I can escape without my parents noticing.

Not for the first time, I wonder why I even came.

It’s not like there’s anyone here my age.

I suspect that after another half hour, my parents will be so blitzed that they’ll be in no condition to argue with me tomorrow when I tell them I was totally here until cleanup.

“Dani!”

I turn my head to see my dad’s hand raised high over a sea of salt-and-pepper heads, trying to flag me down. Thank God.

“Sorry, Howard,” I offer without feeling particularly sorry at all. “Duty calls.”

Howard nods around his punch glass. By the hazy look in his eyes, I suspect he’ll already have another victim for his case recounting shortly after I’m gone.

I have to push through a small group of people who have started up their own little dance floor where they are attempting to do the hustle just off the deck, almost getting caught by Mom’s friend Harriet and dragged into the fray before I can untangle myself.

I finally spot my dad over by the tire swing that’s been hanging on the giant oak in the backyard since I was five—my mom, Patty, and Bill all huddled together under the sprawling limbs overhead.

They’re laughing at something someone’s just said, and based on the decibel of it, I’m thinking it’s almost time for me to work on my out. And I’m planning to do just that.

Until I see who’s standing there with them.

I pause only a few steps away, my feet seeming to be rooted in the grass as my brain tries to make sense of him being here.

Here. At a family party. In the backyard of my childhood home.

If the way I can feel my mouth gaping is any indication, I can only surmise that I am nowhere near close to catching up to what’s happening in front of me.

“Dani!” my dad says again, practically shouting even though I’m standing right next to them. “Look who showed up.”

As if I haven’t already noticed. After not seeing him for two weeks, it feels like every nerve ending in my body suddenly perks up, almost as if trying to reach out and touch him. Because there, with my dad’s arm slung around his shoulders as if they’re old friends, is Ezra Hart.

Fucking Ezra Hart.