Chapter 28 Emma
Iwas making pasta when my phone rang.
Not ordering takeout, not reheating leftovers. I was actually cooking. Boiling water, chopping vegetables, doing something with my hands that required just enough focus to keep my brain from spiraling.
It had been four days since I'd sat across from David in that conference room and admitted I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that I didn't hate him. Four days of trying to work, trying to sleep, trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with that information.
The phone rang again. Unknown number. I almost let it go to voicemail.
But I was on call for the clinic this week, and unknown numbers sometimes meant patients in crisis.
I turned down the burner and answered. "Hello?"
"Hi, is this Emma Peterson?" A woman's voice, professional and chipper. "This is Jennifer Paulson from Morrison & Klein Executive Search."
I blinked. Executive search. That was recruitment. Headhunters.
"Yes, this is Emma."
"Great! I'm so glad I caught you. I'm actually trying to reach David Harrison. I understand you two work together? His office phone keeps going to voicemail and his cell seems to be off."
My stomach dropped.
David. A headhunter was calling about David.
"We work together occasionally," I managed. "On some cases."
"Perfect! I'm just trying to coordinate a time for him to fly out to New York next week.
We have a very exciting partnership opportunity with Morrison & Klein, and the managing partners are eager to move quickly on this.
" She laughed lightly. "Between you and me, they're being very aggressive with the offer. They really want him."
Partnership. New York.
I gripped the edge of the counter.
"If you happen to see him," Jennifer continued, "could you let him know we really need to hear back by end of week? Friday at the latest. I've sent several emails but haven't gotten a response, and we don't want to lose him to another firm."
"Another firm?" My voice sounded strange.
"Oh yes, I'm sure he's fielding multiple offers.
With his background and experience, everyone wants him.
But Morrison & Klein is prepared to make a very competitive package.
Significant base compensation, full benefits, clear partnership track within eighteen months. It's really a phenomenal opportunity."
I was going to throw up.
"Ms. Peterson? Are you still there?"
"Yes. Sorry. I'll—if I see him, I'll let him know."
"Thank you so much! And please emphasize the Friday deadline. We're hoping to have him out to New York early next week to meet the partners. The firm is very excited."
She hung up.
I stood in my kitchen, phone still pressed to my ear, listening to dead air.
The pasta water was boiling over. I turned off the burner without looking at it.
New York. Partnership. Morrison & Klein.
I knew that name. Everyone in the legal world knew that name. Top-tier corporate firm. The kind of place that made you a millionaire by thirty-five if you were good enough to make partner.
The kind of place David would have killed to work at five years ago.
The kind of place he'd destroyed our marriage trying to reach.
My phone was still in my hand. I pulled up Google with shaking fingers.
Morrison & Klein New York. Partnership compensation.
The search results loaded. Articles about the firm. Rankings. Prestige. Average partner compensation: $2.3 million annually.
Two point three million dollars.
I sat down hard on the kitchen floor.
He was going to take it. Of course he was going to take it. Why wouldn't he? Everything he'd ever wanted, everything he'd chased, everything he'd sacrificed us for—it was being handed to him on a silver platter.
And I'd been sitting here for four days, agonizing over whether I could trust him again. Whether the change was real. Whether I could risk letting him back into my life.
While he'd been fielding offers from New York firms.
Multiple offers, the headhunter had said.
The burned pasta smell finally registered. I pulled myself off the floor, dumped the pot in the sink, opened a window.
Then I called Jess.
She answered on the first ring. "Hey, I was just about to—Emma? What's wrong?"
"A headhunter just called me." My voice sounded hollow. "Looking for David. Partnership offer in New York. Morrison & Klein. She said they're very excited. Significant compensation package. She needs his answer by Friday."
Silence on the other end.
"Jess?"
"That motherfucker."
"She said he's probably fielding multiple offers. That everyone wants him."
"Emma—"
"He's going to take it." I was pacing now, from the kitchen to the living room and back. "He's going to take it and move to New York and I've been sitting here trying to decide if I could forgive him, if I could trust him, if I could—" My voice cracked. "And he's already got one foot out the door."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." I stopped pacing. Stared at the wall. "This is who he is, Jess. This is who he's always been. Ambitious. Driven. Chasing the next big thing. I thought he'd changed, I thought the DV work and the small practice and all of it meant something, but—"
"Emma, stop."
"But it was just temporary!" The words burst out of me.
"Just something he was doing while he figured out his next move.
And now the next move is here and he's going to take it because that's who David is.
He doesn't turn down partnerships. He doesn't turn down money and prestige and everything he's ever wanted. "
"You don't know what he's going to do."
"I do, though." I felt something breaking in my chest. "I know exactly what he's going to do. The same thing he did three years ago. Choose his career over everything else. Choose ambition over—"
I stopped myself before I could say it.
Over me.
"Come over," Jess said. "Right now. Don't sit there alone spiraling. Come over and we'll order food and you can—"
"I'm fine."
"Emma—"
"I'm fine. I just—I need to think. I'll call you later."
I hung up before she could argue.
My apartment was too quiet. The pasta water had stopped boiling. The vegetables I'd been chopping were still on the cutting board, abandoned.
I looked at my phone. At David's contact information, still saved from the courthouse cases, from the professional emails, from four days ago when I'd texted him the clinic report.
My thumb hovered over his name.
I could call him. Ask him about the offer. See what he said.
But I already knew what he'd say. Some version of "it's complicated" or "I'm still deciding" or "let me explain." Some way of making it sound like he wasn't already mentally packing for New York.
I put my phone face-down on the counter.
Four days. Four days since he'd sat across from me and said he was in awe of who I'd become. Four days since he'd looked at me like I was the most important thing in the room.
And the whole time, he'd been planning his exit.
I should have known better. Should have trusted my instincts. Should have remembered that people don't really change, they just get better at hiding who they are.
I cleaned up the kitchen mechanically. Threw away the ruined pasta. Put away the vegetables. Wiped down the counters until they gleamed.
Then I went to my bedroom, climbed into bed fully clothed, and stared at the ceiling.
Somewhere in New York, a partnership was waiting.
And David was going to take it.
Because that's what he did. That's who he was.
And I'd almost been stupid enough to believe otherwise.