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Now he’s wearing the self-assured smile of a man who knows I’m going to say yes.
I mean … how could I not? Literally. How could I not say yes in front of all these watchful people with happy tears streaming down their grinning faces?
My entire family is here—as well as a restaurant filled with dozens of patrons, their watchful gazes careened in our direction as our moment plays out for their entertainment.
My mother stands behind Grant, dabbing happy tears with her cloth napkin. My sisters circle us, all of them waiting with bated breaths. And my father—my father who doesn’t like anyone—is readying his phone’s camera and grinning as if the moment is one for his personal books.
None of them seem to care that our first date was a mere one-hundred-fifty days ago. Granted, we’ve been inseparable ever since, full-speed ahead. And everyone is loving this “newfound adventurous” side of me. I work less. I laugh more. I actually travel for fun sometimes—not just for work. Grant and I spend our weekends hiking, catching our favorite bands when on tour, checking out the newest restaurants and pubs, lazily ambling through farmers’ markets and art venues, hands intertwined like that annoyingly-crazy-about-each-other couple … but not once have we discussed marriage.
Marriage …
Forty-five percent of first marriages in the United States end in divorce. The average age of divorce is thirty—three years from now. There have also been studies correlating the size and cost of an engagement ring to marriage survival rates, suggesting the bigger the ring, the bigger the likelihood of the marriage ending in divorce.
Should that last statistic hold true for us, we don’t stand a chance.
“Brie…” My mother clears her throat.
Grant’s proud smile falters. His eyes shine a little less bright.
“I’m sorry.” I force myself into the present. “You caught me off-guard. I’m just … wow.”
We do family dinners all the time. Once a week at least. I had no reason to believe this was anything other than another run-of-the-mill reservation at one of my mother’s favorite Scottsdale eateries.
“Say yes!” My sister, Carly, whisper-shouts in the background.
Another sister echoes her sentiments.
I nod before I speak. “Yes…”
But the word I’ve uttered hundreds of thousands of times in my lifetime suddenly feels sharp and foreign.
And something deep inside me regrets the agreement the instant it leaves my lips.
6
Cainan
“Happy First Day Back at Work!” Claire throws her arms around me when I get to the table Friday night. An IPA in a frosty pilsner glass waits for me, and my brother-in-law, Luke, glides it in my direction.
I remove my jacket and hook it over the back of my chair as Claire takes her seat, bouncing with glee with the most ridiculous smile on her face. The woman will find any reason to celebrate anything. I blame it on the fact that we never had birthday parties growing up. And holidays like Christmas and Valentine’s Day were forbidden in the James household. Now Claire will turn just about anything into a party if you let her.
“How was the first day?” Luke asks.
“Boring as fuck.” I reach for my beer. “Would’ve been nice if they’d saved me some work to do …”
I’ve been partners with Trey Renato and Graeme Dumont since we were wide-eyed sharks, fresh out of law school. We founded our practice together with the mindset that everything would be equally divided. But when I was decommissioned by the accident, the other guys happily stepped up to the plate. My caseloads were chum and those two wasted no time helping themselves to an easy feast, leaving nothing behind for me when I returned. Not even a crumb.
I don’t hold it against them, though. My clients needed their services. Divorcing couples don’t like to be kept waiting. God knows the New York courts make them wait long enough anyway.
“You look good,” Claire says. A tea light candle flickers between us. It’s dark in here, like the strange, cozy nightmare that has become my life.
“You saw me a week ago,” I say.
“Yeah, but this is the first time I’ve seen you in a suit since before …” She squints. “And you got your hair cut.”
“I get my hair cut every three weeks.” I take a bigger sip, scanning the room. If this was before, I’d be looking for a long-legged beauty to eye-fuck, but the mere thought of doing so holds zero appeal.
“Babe, try this.” Luke slides his tumbler toward my sister, who takes a sip.
“Love it.” She pushes it back before shooting him a lucky-in-love grin. “Want to try mine?”
I look away.
Those two have been impossibly in love, obsessed with one another since the moment he solicited her event-planning expertise to throw some gala for one of his charities.
Luke is one of those.
The silver-spooned trust fund kind.
The ones who used to try to kick my ass in high school, only to have me hand it right back to them with a side of never fucking go near me again.
