Chapter 5
Maven
I closed my eyes, setting my bow to the strings of my violin and allowing the music to take me far away from my current reality.
When I played, there were no missed opportunities.
No passport applications that had been suspended requiring further review.
No apartments that had been sublet, forcing me to overstay my welcome at Cassandra’s.
No massive holes in my work schedule because Jean-Paul hadn’t returned my calls or emails since I’d bailed on him.
And there were certainly no unresolved marriages.
The notes vibrated through me until the last one lingered in the silence.
Slowly, regretfully, I lowered my violin.
“That was beautiful.” Cassandra watched from the open doorway, the wrinkles in her lovely face deepening with her smile and her short white hair perfectly styled.
She wore black loose-fitting trousers with a tan blazer over a champagne blouse.
Pearls peeked out from the loosely tied scarf around her neck, and her boots were to die for.
She was forty years my senior, but I wished I could be half as stylish as she was.
A perk that came with old money, I guessed. “Who’s the composer?”
“Maurice Ravel.” I set my violin inside the case, which was laid open on the bed. “The piece is called Tzigane.”
“It was truly… moving.”
Besides my mom, Cassandra was my biggest cheerleader. I could play the theme song for The Office and she’d tell me how masterfully I’d performed it. “Thank you.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’m headed out for a couple of hours. I know you have your hearing soon, so I was going to say, if you want to use my office for the video call, you’re welcome to.”
“I should be fine in here.” I’d already set up my laptop at the desk, and the enormous windows would be a great light source. “But thank you. Again. For everything.”
When I’d not been able to convince the tenant subleasing my apartment to rescind the contract after sharing that I was no longer leaving the country, I’d thought about who I could stay with.
The friends I’d met through Colin, the ones I’d been the closest to over the last few years, unfortunately were no longer an option, and my handful of musician friends either had studio apartments or roommates, which made taking on another person for more than a day or two difficult.
Cassandra had been my saving grace, and when I shared my predicament, she’d insisted I stay with her.
Her place was beyond stunning—at least two magazines had featured the five-bedroom, seven-bathroom high-rise apartment that overlooked Central Park—but I intended to find somewhere else to rent as soon as I could manage it.
I just needed to make sure I had enough work booked that I wouldn’t drain my savings.
Something that was proving excessively difficult without Jean-Paul.
Cassandra smiled. “You know I’m thrilled to have you here for however long you want to stay, so stop acting like I’m doing you some huge favor.”
I smiled my gratitude. Cassandra was like a grandmother to me.
We’d found each other when we’d both needed it most—following the death of her husband and not long after my divorce.
We’d instantly connected, in one of those kindred spirit sort of ways, and over the years she’d become my main support system here in New York.
My soft place to land. “I’ll text you to let you know how the hearing goes. ”
“Please do.”
When the click of her designer boots faded and the sound of the front door closing echoed down the hallway, I made my way to the large desk.
Judge Rost’s court order lay open next to my laptop, and I picked it up, skimming through the provisions she’d laid out.
There were only three, but they were ridiculous considering we weren’t actually reconciling.
She had to be aware we had no intention of actually doing any of these things.
I glanced at the clock and drew in a slow breath before clicking on the link that had been sent to my email. The virtual office thankfully did not throw me in a waiting room with Ben, though in hindsight, a brief chat to make sure we were on the same page probably would have been useful.
The laptop’s speaker popped, and Judge Rost appeared. The box with my video dropped to the lower half of the screen next to Ben’s. I avoided looking at him. Not that he’d be able to tell.
“Miss Price. Mr. Walker.” Judge Rost’s eyes moved back and forth. “How did the reconciliation effort go?”
Neither of us responded, clearly not sure how to.
“That good, huh?” She gave a nod, glancing down to where our file likely sat open, just out of view. “I never received a record of attendance for joint marriage counseling from a licensed professional.” She glanced up. “Do you have proof of the two sessions?”
My gaze flicked to Ben, and I tried not to squirm in my chair. “We didn’t do any sessions.”
With the intensity of her look straight into the camera, I was suddenly very glad this hearing wasn’t in person. “What did the two of you do, Miss Price?”
I dropped my gaze to the order. “Your Honor, I assumed the court order was more of a paperwork trail required to finalize the divorce within thirty days.”
“Is that what you also assumed, Mr. Walker?”
Ben shook his head. “Not exactly, Your Honor. But with Maven being abroad, I knew it would be difficult—”
“My passport application got rejected again,” I said, pausing Ben. I now fully regretted not letting him know. I just hadn’t been in the right headspace. “I didn’t make it to Prague.”
Ben rightfully looked confused by my admission.
“So, let me make sure I’m understanding this,” Judge Rost said.
“The two of you came to this courthouse without an appointment, agreed to a thirty-day good faith reconciliation effort, proceeded to not follow the order at any point in the last thirty days, but still showed up for your hearing? Am I missing anything?”
“Your Honor, being that I live in New York, even if I wanted to”—which I very much didn’t—“eating a meal together once a day isn’t a possibility. Neither is taking part in a shared activity weekly.”
“We live in a digital world, Miss Price. I’m certain you could have figured out how to meet the requirements long distance had you cared to try.”
“This was clearly a mistake.” I was no longer able to subdue my irritation. “I’m sorry for taking up your time, but I think we’ll reopen the case here in New York instead.”
Judge Rost smiled, not a happy or excited smile, but a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me-I’m-not-paid-enough-for-this smile.
“You can’t have a divorce case open in two states simultaneously.
You can file a motion to dismiss the Vermont case, which, if accepted, would allow you to file a petition for dissolution of marriage elsewhere, but it will add several weeks, at minimum, to the process. ”
Of course it would. Not that I wanted to drag this out, but it felt like Judge Rost was going to allow my past indiscretions to bias her and make this whole process a lot more difficult. “Do I just file the motion with the clerk?”
“Yes. Though if it’s not a stipulated motion—meaning both you and Mr. Walker sign and file it together—it’s rarely approved.”
My gaze shifted to Ben expectantly.
Ben leaned toward the camera. “What happens if I don’t sign it?”
I nearly choked on my sudden intake of air. He had to be kidding. Right?
“Being that the Court has clear jurisdiction in the case,” Judge Rost lifted one finger, then another, “we’ve already begun proceedings,” one more finger lifted, “and it would be extremely difficult to prove forum non conveniens—that one party’s convenience of venue matters more than that of the other party—the motion would almost certainly be denied.
In which case, we’d continue the divorce proceedings here in Vermont. ”
“Ben,” I said, drawing his attention. “Can we just do the divorce here?”
His head quirked to the side. “I’d actually rather not. You know how I feel about New York City.”
My entire body stiffened. “I doubt you’d even need to come here.”
I could have sworn the corners of his mouth twitched. “But on the off chance I do, I think I’d just prefer to keep the case in Vermont.”
I shook my head, attempting to form words with my racing, incoherent thoughts.
“Well, then,” Judge Rost said before I could respond, lifting our file into view and straightening it with a few hits on her desk, “let’s discuss how to proceed.
I’m willing to allow a second attempt at the thirty-day reconciliation effort.
Daily meals can be done virtually, but the weekly shared activity must be in person.
Also, in addition to the two sessions of joint marriage counseling, I’m strongly encouraging a seventy-two-hour period spent in one another’s company. ”
What?! “Can we just forego the reconciliation effort?”
Judge Rost’s lips formed into a straight line. “Being that the Court cannot force couples to undergo reconciliation, you are welcome to resume typical proceedings. It will, of course, add time to the process.”
“How much time?”
“Once you submit the new paperwork, I’ll need to review it, along with the case again, but we can probably get you on the calendar for your initial hearing in sixty to ninety days.”
I could see my mouth hanging open in the video feed, but I couldn’t convince it to close. “The initial hearing? Can this not count as the initial hearing?”
“Miss Price, I fear our previous interaction gave you an incorrect impression of how this all works. If you don’t want to accept my generous and, might I add, rare offer to rush the case along, we will put your file back in the docket, and you can wait your turn like everyone else. Is that what you’d prefer?”
“No,” I said, even surprising myself. Instinctively, I knew I’d tried Judge Rost’s patience to her limit.
If I didn’t accept her offer, she would probably take a fine-tooth comb to our file simply to make it take longer.
My best bet was to speak with Bennett again about moving the case to New York, where an unbiased judge would preside over it.
“I’m fine to continue with the reconciliation effort. ”
Judge Rost gave a nod of acceptance. “Mr. Walker?”
“I’m fine with that as well.”
“Good.” Her gaze shifted between us. “Is there anything else?”
“I’ll need Maven’s new phone number so we can coordinate,” Ben said.
“Why don’t you both type your current contact information in the chat?”
Ben had the same number since high school, and I couldn’t forget it if I tried, so I disregarded his message and typed my number.
My phone lit with a text notification. I glanced down at it.
Unknown Number: Hey. It’s Ben.
Unknown Number: Looking forward to our reconciliation effort.
Me:
He kept his head lowered, covering his mouth with his hand. Did he think this was funny? Is that why he was doing this? It definitely wasn’t because he thought reconciliation was a possibility.
“Are we good, then?” Judge Rost asked.
Ben nodded. I just scowled.
I was so far from good.