Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jackson
I knew my boss, the firm's managing partner, Alexander Newport the Third, was rich, but I didn't know he was this rich. His house is far into Malibu Canyon, nestled on top of a hill with a view of the valley, the ocean, and most of Los Angeles and Ventura County.
No. It's not a house. It's a mansion. An estate. Formerly property of his grandfather, the original Alexander Newport, and the original owner of the firm.
I park in the massive driveway, open the door for Daphne, attempt to rein in my nerves. Sure, he has the wrong impression of our wedding. Sure, he thinks Daphne is my long-term girlfriend, not my sister's best friend. Sure, he thinks we eloped romantically instead of drinking enough to say I dare you to marry me , but we are married.
And I do care about her.
As lawyers, we respect those sorts of technicalities.
Some counselors would appreciate me more for using the facts to my advantage. They'd say that makes me a great litigator.
Others would consider such acts unscrupulous.
But which sort of guy is Alexander?
He always seems upstanding. Plain. Boring, actually. The sort of guy who follows the rules, does the best for the company, goes home.
That makes him a great managing partner.
But it also makes him less likely to see my quickie wedding as a blessing.
Daphne wraps her arm around my waist and nestles into my chest. "Are you okay?"
I pull her closer. I nod into the crook of her neck. She's wearing wedge sandals. She's taller than I am in them.
There's something about the angle—
It's right.
"I will be." I'm not sure how. Or how I know. But I do. As long as I'm with her, I'll be okay.
Another two weeks.
Almost.
She squeezes me and then releases me. "Ready?" She looks up at me with wide eyes. She's nervous too.
I nod. "You look great."
"I know." She smiles and brushes a long hair behind her ear. "You too."
We look like opposites—she's in a pink cotton sundress and matching shoes; I'm in my usual linen neutrals—but we fit better because of it. We complement each other in a strange way.
The same.
And complete opposites.
She takes my hand and leads me up the stone pathway.
Alexander answers the door. After quick introductions, he gives us a tour of the house. It's as neutral and understated as he is. White walls. Bamboo furniture. Bookshelves filled with fresh paperbacks.
"You two match." Daphne laughs as she draws a line in the air between our almost identical white linen shirts.
"No, Ms. Steele." He laughs. "Or is it—"
"Ms. Webb, thanks," she says.
"Doctor Webb," I correct.
She blushes.
He beams, but I can't tell if he's proud of me or her or himself. "Doctor Webb, you need to call a colleague to check your eyes. This is natural. That's off-white."
"Of course. How could I be so foolish?" She points to the white walls. "And I imagine that's ecru. And the other is eggshell."
"No. Never. All ecru," he says.
"Who would mix shades of white?" I ask.
She motions to my off-white pants. "How does he not stain them?"
"Your husband is a man of many talents," my boss says.
This time, she beams. This time, there's no doubt why. She's proud of me. She's proud she's married me.
I don't remind myself it's not forever. I let the feeling sink into my skin. After all, we're not here to explain the situation to Mr. Newport.
We're here to seal the deal on my partnership.
The thing I've been working for my entire life.
"But you can call me Daphne, Mr. Newport," Daphne says. "And these are different shades of pink. The dress is fuchsia. The shoes are magenta."
"Of course," Alexander says. "I have two daughters. I know shades of pink."
"Are they here?" she asks.
"No, no." Alexander shakes his head. "They hate this place. One is in San Diego. The other is in New York."
"Oh." Daphne swallows hard. "How lovely."
"It's a wonderful city." There's something in his voice, but I can't place it.
What the hell does New York City have to do with anything?
"Well. What are we waiting for? Let's drink." He leads us through the living room, out to a massive backyard with a view of the canyon and the endless blue sky.
Pacific paradise.
There's no other way to describe it.
"My brother and his wife," Alexander motions to an older couple in matching orange sweaters. They're both standing at the bar, fixing cocktails that match their clothes. "They live in France, but they stay here when they visit. If they visit. They hate California."
Daphne gasps in pure horror. "Who could hate California?"
Alexander smiles, endeared. He starts to speak but stops himself.
He looks at Daphne closely, finding something in her dark eyes. Something he doesn't share with me.
What the fuck?
What could my boss possibly know about my wife?
Whatever it is, I pretend I know. I pretend I'm married to my long-term partner and not my sister's best friend. I pretend I made this choice after careful consideration. And not on the high of fan-fucking-tastic sex and the thrill of discovering more of Daphne.
That's what he wants, isn't it?
Someone who follows his head, not his heart.
I smile back as if I understand his meaning. I throw out a joke. "Maybe someone who hates avocados."
Again, Daphne gasps with pure, honest horror. "Could such a person really exist?
A laugh falls from my lips. "I don't usually think of her as a California girl. But she is in so many ways. She loves the ocean and the easy access to kale and oranges."
"Does kale grow in California?" Alexander asks.
"In some places," Patricia says. "In the winter."
"We love to eat it though." Alexander laughs. "I can't say I jumped on that trend. Trish is always trying to get me to eat more vegetables."
They share a knowing look. A look that comes with decades together. The love and comfort of sharing your life with someone.
I want that.
Usually, I don't. I expect to find it. I assume I'll end up here. But I don't want to spend my life with anyone, much less a specific person.
I want this with her. I want to tease colleagues in my backyard and complain Daphne pushes me to eat spinach and end the workday too early.
No. That doesn't fit us.
I'd push her to eat spinach, and we'd both work too many hours.
"Cassie didn't like avocados when she was a kid," I say.
Daphne nods. "Right. I tried to block that out of my mind. Gosh." She taps her chin. "I might need to rethink our friendship."
"Fair," I say.
Alexander and his wife watch politely.
"Cassie is my sister," I offer. "And Daphne's best friend."
"Oh." Alexander's expression gets knowing. "I didn't realize you let things get complicated."
His wife laughs.
What the hell?
They note our clueless expressions, trade another knowing look, and finally decide to throw us a bone.
"It was much more complicated for us," Patricia says. "I was his brother's best friend."
Daphne looks to the man in the orange sweater.
Patricia shakes her head. "His other brother. And I didn't realize he had a crush on me."
"Alexander or the brother?" Daphne asks.
"Both of them, actually." Patricia blushes. All of a sudden, she's not a refined married woman. She's a young woman who didn't know whether or not she should follow her heart.
When I blink, I see the two of them, thirty years ago. Teenagers dressed in their parents' finest clothes. Dancing at some cotillion on the pier. They were young and in love once, the way we are.
Love.
The one thing I've never been able to accomplish.
I don't shrink at the word. It feels right. It feels as big and beautiful as the Pacific Ocean.
Is it really possible I've fallen in love with my sister's best friends?
Is it really possible I've fallen in love in a week?
It sounds silly in those terms, of course.
But when I say is it really possible I fell in love with my wife—
It sounds silly in a different way.
My head spins as Patricia relays the story to Daphne. Once upon a time, she and Alexander's younger brother were best friends. The sort of platonic best friends people say don't exist.
A girl and a guy who do everything together, who have sleepovers and trade secrets, and have absolutely no interest in love.
That's what she thought anyway.
And since she kept coming around to the house to hang out with his family, she developed a crush on Alexander.
One summer, they all spent time by the pool. She spent every afternoon asking him to apply her sunscreen or trying to lick ice cream from a spoon seductively. But it was almost Labor Day, and he hadn't figured it out yet, so she confessed her crush.
The same day, his brother confessed his love for her.
For a while, she thought it was hopeless, and then his brother moved on to someone else. And she and Alexander started seeing each other in secret.
Then out in the open.
There was a happy ending for all of them. The brother is married to someone else now. They have three kids, and they live in California. In Newport Beach, actually.
"But I swear the city isn't named after us." Alexander laughs. He looks to the barbecue. "I forgot to ask if either of you is a vegetarian."
Patricia laughs. "You always do. But we're always prepared. We have portobello mushrooms, zucchini, and veggie burgers."
"No one wants those veggie burgers," he says.
"My sister loves them," Patricia asks.
"Your sister humors you," he says.
She bats her hand you're ridiculous . "How about a drink? Daphne, would you give me a hand?"
"I'd love to." Daphne follows her to the bar inside.
I stay on the grass with Alexander as he surveys the backyard.
His kingdom.
His home.
"Do you like the place?" he asks.
"It's beautiful," I say.
"And married life—how do you like it so far?" he asks.
"It hasn't been very long." My eyes go to Daphne. I can see her through the sliding glass door.
I watch as she laughs at one of Patricia's jokes.
The two of them fall into an easy rhythm, trading stories and fixing drinks.
She pours a gin and tonic. Then a vodka soda.
They do fit into some stereotypes of wealthy people.
Alexander cuts in before I can finish my thought. "You really love her."
"I do." It hits me all at once.
I love my wife.
It shouldn't feel like a revelation, but it does.
I've never loved anyone before.
Not like this.
I want to hold her close. I want to keep her with me.
And I want to let her go. Let her free.
Two more weeks.
Two more weeks, and I have to let her go.
There is this old episode of ER my grandma loves to talk about. A couple calls off their wedding.
The woman walked out.
Later, she meets the man on a bench, and she can't believe he's happy, but he is.
Because she's the one who lost something.
She's the one who lost someone who loved her.
For the first time, I understand why Grandma loves the sentiment. It's not because men are fools who think women live and die by a man's love.
It's because she understands the nature of love.
It's not a tight leash.
It's an open cage.
Love means letting someone free. The more space you give, the more space your love has to grow.
Even if it gives them space to leave.
Alexander waits until I release my gaze. "I guess I don't have to ask how the two of you met."
I nod. "Our families have been friends forever. She's been in my life since I can remember. She's been Cassie's best friend since I can remember."
"How does your sister feel about it?" Alexander asks.
"She's happier than I expected." She's completely without reservations. She embraced us. Which is a lot more than I can say for my feelings about her relationship.
I'll never apologize for looking out for her—
But I need to give her space too. I need to give my entire family space to grow into themselves, make their own mistakes, shape their own lives.
"She's happy," I say. "She always wanted Daphne as a sister."
Alexander smiles. "That's sweet."
It is. "No one would describe Cassie as sweet, but she is. She just hides it."
"Like you." He doesn't say it is a question.
I nod anyway.
"You're an interesting young man, Jackson. You have a firmness to you. An authority. You have the potential to be an excellent trial attorney. But you have a softness too. Clients trust you to hold their hand."
"I try."
"I know it gets tiring, sometimes, but don't lose that," he says. "Don't forget, this job isn't just about winning and losing or enforcing rules. There are people on the other side of those contracts."
Sure. But why is he talking about the philosophy of law? A lot of law students were philosophy majors, yes, but I've never heard him mention Aristotle or Plato. Didn't he study English literature?
Or maybe this is how he starts all his you're a partner speeches.
Maybe this is it.
The thing I've been working for my entire life.
Only I'm not excited about it. I don't want to stand here and talk shop.
I want to go inside and kiss my wife.
But she won't be my wife for long. I need to follow my head. For the next hour, at least.
I nod as if I understand why Alexander is offering advice.
"You probably know why I asked you here," he says.
It's the new marriage, isn't it?
I don't know anymore.
I nod, but he doesn't see it. He's fixed on the domestic scene inside.
Alexander watches Daphne and his wife laugh as they sip drinks. "It's a magical thing, marrying the woman you love. It starts a whole new phase of your life." He blinks, and a tear catches on his lashes. "It's hard saying goodbye to that last phase, but it's worth it."
I nod, though I'm not quite following. There's some implication in his words. Something I don't understand.
"I'm going to miss you when you move to New York," he says. "But you'll be good there."
New York.
Why would I move to New York?
My brain works too slowly. I don't put the pieces together.
He plows forward with the confidence of someone fully informed. "Have you already lined up a job?"
What the hell is in New York?
Why is he talking about New York?
He notes my confusion and pats me on the shoulder again. "It's okay, son. You don't have to play coy. Patricia's best friend works at the hospital where Daphne is doing her residency." He watches his wife sip her clear drink. "She's from New York, originally. She moved when she was a kid. But they've stayed friends all this time."
That's lovely.
But what the hell does it have to do with me?
No. That's not the important part.
Daphne's residency.
She's been dodging specifics all this time. She's never once said yes, she'll be at UCI.
Because she won't.
She'll be three thousand miles away.
That's why she has three weeks. That's why she didn't fight me about the other details.
Because she wouldn't be in my life whether we divorced or stayed together.
My boss sees the confusion and sadness on my face and decides it's about leaving my job. He keeps his voice soft. A caring mentor who only wants the best for me. "I don't take it personally. Your wife has the opportunity of a lifetime. Of course, you're going to follow her. I would do the same. If you need help finding a job—What am I saying? Of course, you won't need help. You're a fantastic attorney."
I'm good, but I'm not that good. I'm not find a job in another state, where I'm not licensed in no time flat good.
He continues, "If you want to do me a favor, a friend of mine runs a firm in Manhattan. They always need top talent. You'd have to start over, but you wouldn't start from zero. You'd be partner in a few years."
Right. I could start over. At a new firm.
I could claw my way up again.
Give up everything I've worked for.
All those years of undergrad, law school, eighty-hour work weeks as an associate.
All for nothing.
"I'm not going to New York." The words fall from my lips without passing through my brain.
Surprise spreads over his face. "You're not going to follow your wife?"
I don't know what to say. I don't know what there is to say.
This is why she's so scared.
This is the thing she's been holding back.
"We haven't worked out the specific details yet," I say. "But Daphne wants to return here when she's finished. Her family is here. Her life is here."
"Of course." He nods. "Long distance is hard, but it goes fast. A few years is nothing in the grand scheme of your entire life."
I nod. I say something about how amazing my wife is. I excuse myself.
I move across the space to Daphne.
She sees it in my eyes immediately, but she doesn't say anything. She follows me through the house, through the front door, all the way to the car.
She waits until we're out there alone. She waits until I ask the only question I can ask.
"When were you going to tell me?"