Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Zoe
“This is not how I wanted to spend my Sunday morning,” I say as I step into the bistro. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the sizzling scent of bacon as I slide into the booth next to Cleo.
Warm sunlight streams through the wide café windows, illuminating the trendy exposed brick walls and rustic wooden tables. Bright, colorful plates piled high with fluffy omelets, crispy waffles, and vibrant fruit dot the tabletops around us.
“Can you believe this place?” Mom gushes as she scans the extensive menu. “I haven’t seen lines this long for brunch since that speakeasy-style place downtown.”
Dad chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Leave it to Cleo to find the hottest brunch spot in Boston.”
Yes, leave it to Cleo. I love my sister, but I was happier when she was MIA searching for herself. Or at least, that’s what we thought was happening while she was gone.
Lily and I were hoping she’d come back a changed woman—whatever that would entail. All she did was travel to luxurious places using the money she got from a settlement with Dominic, her ex-fiancé. She can’t give us any details because it’s part of an NDA.
We’re curious about the reasoning and that agreement, but decided not to dig into anything just in case it affects her. After all, she’s our big sister and we love her.
“Well, my girlies told me all about it,” Cleo gushes, as if finding a trendy restaurant is better than ending global warming.
“What’s good here?” Mom asks while staring at her phone. “I should’ve brought my tablet. This menu is impossible to read.”
That’s when I find out I need to scan a code with the camera on my phone to open the menu. I can see how that’s a problem when magnifying things on the screen cuts out a lot of words. Okay, next time I’ll bring my tablet too—if I ever come back here. Thankfully, Dad is prepared for everything, and we get a larger screen. We discuss the menu and finally agree on eggs Benedict, a fruit salad, and a cactus juice cleanser. Cleo is going to have just a green salad—she’s eating raw vegetables to eliminate all the toxins from her trip.
I don’t understand how that works, it’s not like she has dietary restrictions like I do. Toxins from what really? Since I refuse to listen to nonsense today, I just smile at her.
Unfortunately, once the server is gone, everyone looks at me. “So, how’s the new firm going? I can’t believe my little girl is doing this. Maybe after you get the word out, you can start representing famous artists,” Mom starts the conversation sounding supportive, but is she really being supportive or just easing me into an intervention?
“Yeah, Zo, give us names,” Cleo insists. “Any hot artist giving you their assets to manage.”
Ha, I cough, covering the snort. Who do they want me to represent? And what assets to manage? We live in Boston for fuck’s sake, and I do corporate law for small businesses. I doubt anyone famous will come all the way here and require my services in the near future—or ever. Of course I don’t want to come off as clueless or lost so I say, “Let’s just say it’s . . . a work in progress. More to come once I’ve got all my ducks in a row.”
Mom stares at me dumbfounded and obviously she has nothing to add to the conversation. What was she expecting me to say? I can say almost anything except how things actually are . . . my business is on life support and waiting for a miracle.
My fingers absently trace the surface of my coffee mug as my mind drifts to everything I have to do so that this firm stays afloat. Sure, I have a year’s worth of savings to cover me while I’m trying to make it work. But so far, I’ve only had one client and he’s not paying for my services. Pro bono for the win? God this is a disaster.
I take a sip, savoring the rich, slightly bitter flavor of my coffee, and push those thoughts aside for now. Today is about enjoying this time with my family. Not that they’re going to let me, are they?
Mom leans forward, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Well, we’re all so proud of you, Zoe. It takes guts to strike out on your own like this. I can’t wait to hear more about your plans.” She then clears her throat. “You just need to find a man. Let’s be honest, sweetie, you’re not getting any younger.”
Oh great, now we’re going to the next item on their list—my failed love life.
“What does that mean?” Cleo says, appalled and upset. “We already talked about this. You need to stop pressuring us about getting married. Because of that, I almost ended up married to Dominic, Mom. If you’re calling her old, well, I’m a spinster now.”
I’ve never been more thankful for my sister’s selfishness. It’s all about Cleo, and right now it’s a blessing in disguise. Though, she’s right, our parents have to stop pressuring us about hitting some milestones that are archaic and only make us feel like failures when we’re still trying to figure out what life is all about.
While Mom and Cleo are discussing how she’s not old or a spinster, Dad reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “We’re proud of you. I know it’s hard to start all over again, but you’re brave and a go-getter, even when you were a kid. Remember when you insisted on organizing that lemonade stand fundraiser for the animal shelter?”
“I roped in half the neighborhood kids, and we raised over two hundred dollars,” I say proudly. Since my parents wouldn’t let me get a pet from the shelter, I decided to at least help the place for those puppies who couldn’t find a home.
The food arrives, and I’m relieved the conversation is over, at least for now. Maybe I can leave before they remember that I’m single and the only blind date I went on—thanks to dear Lily for introducing me to A . . . What was his name? Alex maybe? It doesn’t matter, thanks to Max it was a bust.
Max. The guy I miss just too much. So far, he has respected my request and yet, some days he sends lunch to my new office or flowers to my studio—just to brighten up my day. And how I wish his good intentions were because he felt just a smidge of what I do for him. I should ask him to stop, to just erase himself from my life because instead of getting rid of the crush I’m slowly falling for the idea of him.
At least, I’m aware it’s just an idea and not something real. We can’t exist the way I want and I can’t be what he needs from me. Isn’t that sad and pathetic? And here I thought that my breakup with Tom had been it. I didn’t even break up with Max because we were nothing. Nothing at all.
“So, Zoe, tell us more,” Cleo says, setting her fork down before asking. “What’s your new office like? Have you hired a bunch of hotshot lawyers to work for you yet? I can always help with the hiring process—make sure they’re really qualified .”
I stare at her in horror. Does she think I’m running some kind of dating service? Instead of Magic Mike it’s Magic Lawyer—free lap dance during your first appointment. Obviously, I can’t say any of that. “It’s not quite like that, Cleo. Right now, it’s just me in a tiny little office downtown. I’ve got a desk, a couple of chairs, and well, me.”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “But surely you’ve got clients lined up, right? I mean, with your reputation . . .”
I shift in my seat, my smile feeling a bit forced. After I quit Hoffman, Roger & Associates, I had to sign a non-compete agreement. If I had even mentioned to my clients that I was leaving, things would’ve gotten ugly. Of course, bringing something like that to Mom would open Pandora’s box and I don’t want to go there.
“It’s early days yet, Mom. I’m working on building my client base, but these things take time.”
Mom clears her throat, her expression serious. “Zoe, honey, you know we’re proud of you no matter what. But are you sure this is the right move? Starting your own firm, especially in this economy . . .” She glances at Dad. “You could get her something, couldn’t you? ”
Dad looks uncomfortable, clearly put on the spot.
I meet his gaze, my resolve unwavering. “You don’t have to worry about me, Dad. I know it’s a risk.” Then I look at Mom. “But it’s one I have to take. I can’t spend my life working for someone else’s vision. I need to create something of my own, something that reflects my values and passions.”
Dad reaches over and pats my arm, his touch gentle and reassuring. “We understand, sweetheart. And we’ll be here to support you every step of the way. Of course, if you ever need financial support, know that you have it—unconditionally.”
I blink back the sudden sting of tears. “Thanks, Dad. That means everything to me.”
And I really don’t know what is happening to me lately. Everything is making me cry. Everything.
Yesterday, I was strolling by Faneuil Hall Marketplace and this kid dropped his ice cream. When the mom promised to buy him a new one—a double scoop—I was sobbing like a child. It was somehow embarrassing. And don’t even get me started on that commercial with the puppy finding his way home. I practically had to mop up my tears with a towel.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. Maybe it’s just all the changes catching up with me. Or maybe I’m just a bit overwhelmed. Either way, I need to get a grip on my emotions—they are the last thing I need while I’m going through so many changes.