1. Mae: Busy Lawyer Life

Mae – Busy Lawyer Life

Chapter one

"Mom, what's for dinner tonight?" my fourteen-year-old daughter, Mina, calls out as soon as I shut the front door.

I kick off my heels and lean against the wall momentarily, taking a deep, calming breath. Today was a particularly grueling day at the office, and all I want to do right now is take a nice hot bath.

At first, when my firm appointed me as co-chair on one of the most notorious cases our defense firm has ever handled—the tax evasion committed by Lil' Scrap, the top charting rapper—I was thrilled. All my hard work and late nights were finally being rewarded. Or so I thought. Today, it was made perfectly clear to me why the firm had chosen me to be a part of the defense. And it wasn't for my years of experience and dedication to the team.

"So, Mae," Glenn Shoemaker, the firm's president, says as soon as I enter his corner office. "At the trial, if you could act…friendly with Marcus, that would be great." He sits behind his teak desk, sipping on a dark amber liquid in a crystal glass. It looks too much like whiskey for 10 a.m. on a weekday, but he's the boss.

"Friendly?" I push back. "Or flirty?"

"Yeah, same thing."

It most certainly is not. I think to myself.

"And if you could loosen a few buttons—metaphorically, of course. You know, just to show that you're really comfortable being around him."

A metaphor? Please. You're only saying that to protect yourself from being sued I think, as I shift uncomfortably in my chair.

I know he's only bringing all of this up because there is another spousal abuse case against the Grammy-nominated musician. If I play everything off like he is a gentle and innocent man, the defense team working that case could play back video footage of our interactions as evidence in their proceedings.

I can just see it now. They'd say, "See? Now, does he seem like a man who scares women? Did she seem scared?"

Well, there is no way I'm doing that. I decline as politely as I can.

"I appreciate the advice, Mr. Shoemaker, but I'll conduct myself just like any other lawyer on the team." All the other lawyers are men, which, unfortunately, should have been my first sign that something fishy is going on. "I didn't go to law school to stand before a judge with my assets out and flirt with a client like some kind of airhead," I snap, and then quickly leave his office before he can respond.

"Mom," I hear Mina call out again. "Did you bring home any dinner?" My daughter is standing in the hallway, her attention on her phone.

I shake my head and return to my current reality…and adversary. No relaxing bath for me tonight.

"I'm sorry. I left some casserole in the fridge for you," I say to Mina, as I frantically try to untangle myself from my purse and briefcase straps.

"Seriously? That casserole went moldy like last week." She briefly looks up from her phone, but then she continues down the hallway to her room. Her dark hair with golden flecks of blonde and red, the same as mine, sways over her shoulders as she walks. Unlike my hair, though, hers almost reaches her butt.

"You liked me when you thought you and your friends could meet Lil' Scrap," I mutter.

"I heard that!"

Hmph. Teenagers.

I go to investigate the allegedly moldy casserole, and it turns out that she's right. So, I dump it in the trash and call Camdyn my favorite pizza guy.

He picks up before I say a single word. "Hello, Miss Dale. The usual?" He must have my number memorized by this point. If I wasn't so tired, I'd probably wonder if the pizza guy knowing my number by heart meant I'm a bad mother.

"Hey, Camdyn. Yes, please."

"Okay, so that will be one medium cheese—"

"Wait a second, sorry." I put my hand over the phone and yell out, "Mina! Are you vegetarian this week?"

"Yes!" She makes it sound obvious, even though she seems to flip-flop from vegetarian to a die-hard carnivore every few days.

"Sorry about that, Camdyn. Yes, to the medium cheese."

"Okay, great. And then a large garbage pizza with half banana peppers?"

"Perfect."

"I should have that to you within the next thirty minutes."

"Thank you. You're the best."

I hang up and collapse into one of the kitchen chairs. I begin to massage my foot, trying to ease the ache that's been a constant presence for the past week.

If only I could find a man willing to do this. But that's as likely to happen as me becoming an astronaut. Or a farmer. As a single mom working a demanding job, I don't have time left to date.

"Who was that?" Grandpa Bob asks as he walks into the room. He is my dad's father. He's in his eighties but still as strong as an ox. Recently, though, he's had some health scares that worry me a little.

Grandpa Bob comes over to our apartment when I have to stay late at the office. Mina thinks she's more than capable of staying home alone, but it makes me nervous to leave her by herself for so long. So, he always comes and watches over her and the apartment on days when I have to work late, which seems to occur more and more frequently. I won't tell either of them this, but they're actually looking after each other.

"Camdyn, the pizza guy," I say.

"Oh. I hope you told him not to put those weird fruit peppers on mine."

"Yep, sure did, I told him only to put them on my half."

"Good, good." After that, he hunkers down on his chair, a ratty armchair he insists I keep for when he comes to visit, and turns on the news.

"Why do you watch that stuff? It's so depressing," I ask. I hear enough terrible news at the office. I don't need any more in my life.

He just looks at me. "Sweetheart, when you've lived as long as I have and seen news coverage of such remarkable moments as the first moon landing, Martin Luther King Jr. being assassinated, the rescue of baby Jessica, and O.J. Simpson's famous police chase, nothing can surprise or depress you anymore."

"I suppose…" Grandpa Bob always likes to bring up the past. Sometimes, he loves the past. Sometimes, he hates it. It's always best to just let it happen. Trying to interrupt him mid-rant only results in a longer lecture.

I sit and watch with him, but I'm not as desensitized to the news as he claims to be, and after the second mass shooting, I have to walk away. I deal with enough crime at work. I don't need to hear even more about it in my private time.

Instead, I sit at the dining table and half-heartedly crack open the latest crime mystery novel that my coworker, Sarah, insists I absolutely have to read. On the cover is a gorgeous man with an unconscious woman clutched in his arms.

Behind them, a furious wave crashes against a dark, dangerous cliff. I only make it through the first chapter before I have to slam it shut, my heart pounding. There's no way some of the things in there are humanly possible. Where does Sarah even find this stuff?

Thankfully, a knock at the door saves me from my wandering mind.

My man Camdyn stands in the entryway, two delicious-smelling pizzas in hand.

"What do I owe you?" I ask him.

"Thirty-five dollars."

"Ugh," Grandpa Bob groans from the next room. "In my day, a good pie only cost you five."

"Yeah, well. That was a hundred years ago," I shout back at him. Then, I give Camdyn the money plus a hefty tip.

"Thank you, Miss Dale."

"You're welcome. I'll probably see you in a few days." I know that ordering this much pizza isn't the healthiest option for any of us, but I also know myself. And I know that work will likely only get busier and busier.

"You usually do," Camdyn says. We're both chuckling as he speeds off in his retro car.

"Mina! Pizza's here!" I call out, dumping the pizza on the kitchen table and grabbing some plates from the cabinet.

"I have to call you back, Madison," Mina says as she sits down, hangs up, and puts away her phone. "Thank goodness. I was starving."

"Starving? Back in my day, that meant you went at least twenty-four hours without food. Try being deployed in the desert and having only the sand or your fellow soldiers to eat." Sometimes, I wonder how much of Grandpa Bob's stories are true and how much is fiction. "Heck, I just saw you scarf down at least three of those beef jerky sticks."

"So much for being a vegetarian," I joke.

"Ugh! Can you two please stop abusing me!" Mina slumps down in her chair and angrily eats her slice of cheese pizza.

Grandpa Bob scoffs. "There you go again! When I was a kid, abuse involved your father's leather belt or worse. Your mother won't even spank you."

"Times are a bit different now," I say.

"Yeah, well. That's just part of this generation." He motions to my daughter, who's furiously texting on her phone. "They don't have any grit."

I can't help but roll my eyes. "I know. So, you've said thousands of times."

"Not like you're any better," Grandpa Bob says, inspecting his slice for any stray banana peppers.

"What?" I ask. "I got the wooden spoon to the behind all the time."

"Agh. That's nothing. That barely even hurts."

"I beg to differ," I argue.

"Exactly, see? You're soft. That's why you ended up pregnant in high school."

That comment hurts a little. "I didn't give birth until after graduation, thank you very much," I say, slightly defensive. Yes, I was a teen mom, but I never let that define me. If I did, I certainly wouldn't be a lawyer now.

"Yeah, with little time to spare. You were holding that baby in as you walked across the stage," Grandpa chuckles. "In fact, your graduation gown barely reached around your belly, and you waddled your way across the stage!"

"That is not true!" I defend.

"Mina, when's your birthday?" he asks.

"June eighteenth," Mina responds, still typing away on her phone. I wonder if she's tweeting this.

"And when did you graduate?" He has turned his head and is looking at me.

I grit my teeth. "June seventeenth."

He smiles. "I rest my case."

When we finish our meal, I ask Mina to collect all our dishes and load them into the dishwasher. I can tell that her instinct is to refuse, but she knows there's no way I'm letting her go to the concert she and her friends have tickets for this coming weekend if she keeps up her current attitude.

But she's fourteen. I was a teenager once, and I know demanding perfection when it comes to her attitude is unrealistic and only sets her up to fail.

After cleaning up the table, Mina walks back to her room, but Grandpa Bob stops her.

"Come here," Grandpa waves Mina close to him.

"What?"

"You too, Mae." I'd gotten up to read more of that crime book in the privacy of my room, but I change course at his request.

"What is it? Oh, gosh. Are you okay?" I know he had a recent doctor's visit. Did he get back some bad news?

"I'm fine. In fact, I'm better than ever."

"I—I don't follow," I say.

"I've decided that it's high time for us to get out of the city," Grandpa informs us, leaning back in his chair with a determined smile.

"I bought a farm."