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"Isabella. Are you there?" Dad's voice is snippy, but there's concern in there too.
I have to say something. "Daddy, you know I prefer to go by Bella." I slink to my feet and pull my knees into my chest. I already feel like I'm back to being fourteen, like I just got caught making out in t
he living room with the high school bad boy. Only I was never cool enough to kiss any bad boys.
"Your sister tells me he's in some rock band," Dad says. "Where in the world did you meet a musician?"
I can't say that I met him in Las Vegas. But I can tell him most of the truth. "At a bar. I was blowing off some steam. We had a great conversation, and one thing led to another."
"How long have you been serious about this man?" His voice fills with concern. "I suppose that doesn't matter. You two are getting an annulment."
He says it like it's a fact, not an order, but it still catches me off-guard.
"We are?" We can't, not legally. Not unless one of us wants to allege the other was not of sound mind. And I'm not about to do that to him.
"Your sister was reading some article about your impending divorce. It was on that awful gossip website. It had a lot to say about your husband."
Joel may be sporting tattoos and a bad reputation, but he's also sweet and funny and supportive. Those aren't things Dad can see, but he can see that Joel is successful.
He could trust my judgment.
He could want me to live my own life.
"Bella, honey?" Dad clears his throat.
I press my lips together. It should be easy to say of course I'm divorcing Joel, even if Dad is being judgmental.
I open my mouth but the words don't fall.
Dad continues. "You're young. You want to have fun. I understand that. I felt the same way when I was your age. But this guy is a fling. You don't marry a fling."
"Of course not." Dad's facts are objectively correct, but they feel wrong. Hell, even the fling part is technically correct. Joel and I agreed to a week of fun. That's all. My stomach shouldn't be twisting. My heart shouldn't be heavy. Dad's words shouldn't feel hollow in my ears.
This is a mess.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. It doesn't help me find clarity.
"Are you two getting an annulment?" Dad asks.
"I don't know. We probably have to get a divorce."
"Do you have a settlement conference?"
"After Christmas."
"I have a few friends in Los Angeles. I'll send someone to represent you."
"I don't want his money. It's going to be simple and clean. Neither of us is asking for anything."
"I hope you're right, but just in case—"
"I don't need a lawyer."
"Sweetheart, all lawyers and future lawyers think the 'you always need a lawyer' rule applies to everyone but them. I'm sending a lawyer."
Right. I'm still a future lawyer. That's still the family plan. That's still what I want.
Good law school, good job, well-mannered husband, well-maintained penthouse in Manhattan.
