CHAPTER 2
FIVE MONTHS AGO
AVERY
“You have to come out tonight,” Tasha insists as she looks at me with puppy dog eyes and her lip all pushed out in a pout.
Tasha is the closest thing I have to a friend, and her pitiful look does make my resolve weaken. Just not enough. My gut is screaming at me that going out is not going to help me. Not when the burden on my shoulders feels so fucking heavy.
Sure, I could ignore my problems for a minute, an hour, maybe even the whole night. And then tomorrow it’ll all be there again. I sure as hell won’t be any closer to figuring out how to get out of this life, one I don’t want, after going out.
Going out tonight won’t change how I’ll wake up tomorrow to find everything the same with the addition of a headache.
No thank you.
“I can’t, Tasha,” I keep my voice soft, not wanting to offend her.
She’s coming from a good place. A sweet place. I know it, but that doesn’t mean I’m capable of letting her do it.
Or letting her in beyond us working together.
And if my father has anything to say about it, my gut keeps reminding me, one day she’ll be my sister-in-law.
It’s almost impossible to keep the cringe off my face with that lovely thought, but I manage it. Barely.
“You have to,” she begs, her hands coming together like she’s praying.
As she tilts her head to the side and bats her eye lashes at me, I almost give in. It would be so easy to say yes. Admittedly, I’d probably have a good time.
“I really can’t,” I insist. I lower my voice and lean toward her slightly, “You know I’ll probably be called in to work tomorrow even though it’s the weekend.”
It sounds reasonable and it’s not a lie.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been expected to work Saturday, and far more Sunday’s than I even want to think about, since I started working at my father’s law firm.
But I guess it’s just what happens when being a lawyer here doesn’t mean much since I also happen to be a woman.
My father being a founding partner certainly doesn’t matter. He’s the one who treats me like a paralegal with a law degree. And everyone follows his lead.
The culture in this firm is a misogynistic nightmare.
I walked right into it with my eyes open, but it wasn’t like I could really avoid it. The expectations wrapped around me have been there for so long and I can’t remember a time when they weren’t my burden to bear.
I’ve never been stronger than those expectations. Never been able to find my voice when it mattered to tell my father about how I wasn’t interested in the life he envisioned for me.
And here I am.
“Fine,” Tasha holds the word out, a whine in her voice.
The ironic thing, the thing I’ll never say out loud, is that Tasha is a paralegal here at the firm, but she’s never worked on Saturday or Sunday. Her father, the other founding partner, treats her like window dressing and expects everyone else to as well.
Tasha gives me a glimpse into what my life would have been like if I weren’t an only child. If I had a brother, the burden would have been put on his shoulders. Then I would have just been expected to become like my mother.
A trophy.
A clone.
A woman with no agency for herself.
At least I have an education I’m capable of using. For the last thirty years, my mother let her paid for and forgotten degree live in squalor, while steeping it in alcohol and prescription drugs.
She’s no role model to me.
Her silence was deafening in the spaces when I needed her to speak up, when I needed her to just try. She never did and loneliness became my second skin. It wouldn’t have been easy for her to defend me, to protect me, but I guess what she could have lost was worth more than me.
At least that’s how it has felt like. With the way she’s paraded around in her designer clothing and her expensive bags while dripping with jewelry she never needed, she’s never refuted the assumption.
I swallow hard and force a smile at the way Tasha’s still pouting. She’s not used to being told no and not getting her way. Usually that makes someone mean and rots them from the inside out. Tasha is different. She’s spoiled, no doubt, but she’s sweet and thoughtful when she doesn’t have to be.
“You’ll have fun without me,” I insist.
“Not as much,” she grumbles, and it warms my heart.
“This way you don’t have to worry about ditching me when some man sweeps you off your feet,” I point out.
Tasha’s eyes light up. She’s a hopeless romantic.
Another thing I envy.
I’ve never had the freedom of the promise of love. Not that I didn’t take full advantage of the freedom I found in college and law school, since I was expected to follow in my father’s footsteps and attend both Harvard and Yale, respectfully.
The only reason I didn’t argue is because it got me out of Denver. It got me away from my parents. Feeling like I could breathe, even with all the academic pressure I was under, was a gift and I was grateful for every second.
I didn’t go feral when I found some freedom. That would have gotten back to my dad. But I did date a little bit, and I lost my virginity. What I didn’t do is fall in love.
I saw far too much of my father, and the men surrounding him while I was growing up, in the men I went to school with. It made it so I wasn’t able to trust any of them completely. Vulnerability wasn’t an option, but a little sexual exploration with the best of them was another matter.
Still, it was perfunctory in a way, a transaction we both understood and accepted. There was a clinical aspect to it which I don’t miss.
I was searching for passion but found I would be better off if I stopped trying.
Then I graduated and my presence was requested, which is just a nice way to say demanded, back home. It was always the plan. I was allowed to escape for school, but then I had to return to Denver, to my family, and take my place at the firm.
While I was expecting to work hard and prove myself, and my worth, to my father and Mr. Prescott, I thought my education and how well I performed throughout school would have garnered me a little respect. I’m not sure why I ever thought that.
It’s not like I didn’t know what my father thought about women, in general, and me, specifically.
This is a man who doesn’t know affection or praise.
He never let anything slide, and he always placated me as if my problems and my feelings weren’t worth more than the time it took him to appear like he was listening to me.
For the past three years I’ve worked hard at Page and Prescott. It’s gotten me nowhere.
With a wave to Tasha because my throat feels tight as my reality, one I’m not sure I can escape, crashes down around me. As much as going out with Tasha doesn’t sound like a lot of fun, part of me wishes I could say yes.
But I can’t.
Not only will tomorrow morning come far too early, but I’m sure it would make its way back to my father. I earn enough looks of disappointment all on my own, for simply breathing. I don’t need my actions to make them worse or more frequent. No, thank you.
Slinking back to my desk, which isn’t in an office, I keep my head down.
I know it’s just a matter of time before someone asks me to do some research or, to my mortification, file something.
There are times I’m amazed that my father paid for my elite Ivy league education just to make me a paralegal for all intents and purposes.
It seems like a bad investment, but I’m sure that he’ll figure out a way to capitalize on it sooner rather than later. Like he’ll find a way to get me to pop out some kids and become more like my mom than him.
The thought has my stomach clenching as I take some deep breaths to ward off the panic.
It’s not easy to do, considering it feels like I live everyday holding a live grenade and counting down until it explodes.
“Miss Page, please come to Mr. Page’s office,” the intercom on my phone blares loudly in my glorified cubicle.
My back goes ramrod straight as my eyes widen before I look toward my desk phone where the proclamation has come from. I know the edict can’t be ignored, but I wish it could.
It doesn’t take me nearly long enough to make my way to his office.
It’s huge and a mirror image of Mr. Prescott’s office next door.
The number of offices I had to walk by, all filled with lawyers with the same credentials I have, is staggering.
Thankfully, Tasha’s brother and another lawyer at the firm, Eric, has an office on the other side of the building.
I didn’t have to see him, which is always preferred. The way he looks at me, like he owns me, makes my skin crawl. Eric has no reason to be possessive toward me, and he never will.
Try as I might, it’s impossible for me to mentally prepare for whatever my father is about to demand. Panic licks at my skin and I have to swallow a few times to keep myself from getting sick while standing next to the desk my father’s secretary occupies.
Even though she looks up at me and nods, I don’t just walk into my father’s office. I know better than to make that mistake. After knocking, I have to wait at least a minute before he calls out for me to enter.
Enter.
I desperately want to roll my eyes, but I refrain as I open the door just enough for me to slip through the crack. With my eyes down, I make my way toward my father’s desk. After placing myself in front of one of the desk chairs, I remain standing.
My voice is crisp and professional, “You wanted to see me, Mr. Page?”
“Sit,” he motions toward the chair I’m standing in front of as he lets out a huff and leans back in his chair.
The silence stretches between us. Even though I know it’s a tactic, it does get to me. Lies and truth reside in the silence in equal measure. Lies I need to tell myself start to fade and the truth finds the cracks pushed by the hope to be exposed.