Life's Too Short Read online

  “What’s your deal today?” Becky asked unceremoniously.

  She was chewing gum. Loudly. Again.

  I liked my paralegal/assistant. She did a good job. She was driven and competent. She’d started as an intern and done such a good job that I’d hired her full-time. But as much as I liked her, sometimes it was a little like having a high schooler working for me instead of a paid professional. Becky had zero filter. She did not give a shit. Not only would she tell me I had coffee on my tie, she’d tell me she thought the tie was ugly too.

  “Lose the gum, please,” I muttered, opening the file. “I didn’t get much sleep.”

  She plucked the gum out of her mouth and stood there holding it, as I flipped through pages. “Yeah, you’re, like, more emo than usual today.”

  I took a deep breath. “I think I might cut out early.”

  She blinked at me. “Okay, you’re not gonna, like, go home and start writing depressing haikus, are you? Because that would be really unfair for me to have to read that stuff.”

  I scoffed. “No, I am not going to go home and start writing haikus.”

  “Good. Though you should know that your horoscope today said your life is about to change drastically.”

  I arched an eyebrow at her. “You read my horoscope?”

  “We’re both Capricorns?” she said impatiently, like this was something I should know.

  She put a hand on her hip. “You never go home early. You’ve been super off for like two months now. You haven’t been going to the gym—”

  “How do you know I haven’t been going to the gym?” I mumbled, talking to the file I was flipping through.

  “Because my boyfriend goes to that Life Time Fitness and he says you would go like every day and now you don’t go at all. You barely finish your lunches, you’re all mopey. What’s your deal?”

  I puffed my cheeks and looked away from the paperwork in front of me. “I don’t know. I’m not having the best year. And Rachel and I broke up.”

  “Good, I hated her.”

  I scoffed, looking at her. “Excuse me?”

  She shrugged unapologetically. “Never liked her. And her Instagram looks like a sock puppet account.”

  I wrinkled my forehead at her. “A what?”

  She made a frustrated noise. “Oh my God, you are such a boomer! A sock. Puppet. Account?” she said, slower, like that would somehow convey the meaning. “A fake?”

  I pressed my lips together with a tight nod. “Well, that makes sense,” I said. “And it would have been nice if you would have pointed that out sooner.” I closed my file. “I just need to take a personal day today.”

  Becky made a resigned noise. “Fine. I’ll clear your schedule. But I swear to God, Adrian, you’d better get out of this funk. Why don’t you, like, adopt a dog or something?”

  My mom had said the same thing a few weeks ago. Apparently dogs are the answer to all life’s problems.

  “Don’t get a cat,” she went on. “It’ll walk around pushing your drinks off the coffee table. You’re not emotionally strong enough for that.”

  I snorted. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I have a friend who runs an animal rescue. They need people to foster dogs. Want me to get you one? If you like it, you can adopt it and if you don’t, someone else will.”

  A dog wasn’t a horrible idea. I guess I could bring it to the office or something. Make Becky walk it while I was at court. I did miss feeling like I had a purpose.

  I spent a lot of time with Mom and Grandma, but they’d moved to Nebraska with Mom’s new husband in October.

  This was the event that had started me on the downward spiral Becky was picking up on. I was going to be alone for the holidays.

  They’d invited me to join them, but I didn’t care for Mom’s husband, Richard. I hadn’t gone to their wedding in August, and I refused to join them for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

  Rachel’s visits had been the only thing I’d had to look forward to.

  The sudden gaping black hole in my personal life was the nail in the coffin of my mood.

  Our junior associate, Lenny, poked his head into the office and looked around Becky, who was still standing in front of my desk on her phone. “Hey, Becky just texted me and said you and Rachel broke up. Sucks, man.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” I put the files I was taking home into my briefcase.

  He leaned in my doorway with his arms crossed. “Hey, want to grab lunch this week? You got time?”

  “He’s got time,” Becky said without glancing up from her phone.

  I gave her a look before replying to Lenny. “Just tell me when.”

  He tapped a knuckle on the door frame, gave me finger guns, and left.

  Becky still stood in front of my desk, texting into her phone. She’d put the gum back in her mouth.

  I sat there, waiting for her to notice that I was staring at her. “Becky…” I said, looking up at her, irritated.

  She popped a bubble. “I think I found a dog for you.”

  “Great. Wonderful. Please continue to find it at your own desk. And try to refrain from telling anyone else my personal business on your way there.”

  She smirked, unfazed as usual, and turned for the exit.

  Five minutes later, Marcus strolled in. “Hey, buddy.”

  Marcus Beaker was the founder of my firm and my counterpart. He was fifty-two, bald, slightly overweight, and sharp as a tack. Married, and not happily, to a doctor wife who could barely stand him and liked to take long vacations without him.

  We made a good team. I was a good front man for high-profile cases—rarely caught off guard and a favorite with the media. Marcus had a reputation for being a bulldog and was the only person I’d ever met who could match my work ethic.

  He dropped into the chair in front of my desk. “I hear you’re cutting out early,” he said.

  I knew why he was here. My going home before 5:00 was tantamount to an emergency siren wailing around the office. A prized racehorse limping around the track.

  He didn’t have anything to worry about. I funneled my stress and unhappiness into work. I always had. Even in high school. The more shit I was dealing with, the more productive I became. It’s why I’d graduated early at the top of my class and coasted into college scholarships. My depressing personal life was currently driving this firm into the top five in Minnesota. I didn’t fault Marcus for checking on me though. I liked that he was shrewd.

  “I’ve got two ex partes on Wednesday,” I said. “I can do the paperwork from home. I think I’m getting a migraine,” I lied.

  Telling him my real reason would only add to his concern.

  “I could always put someone else on the Keller case,” he said, talking to his tie as he smoothed it down.

  I kept my expression neutral.

  He did this to poke me. He was letting me know that whatever my problem was, he expected me to wrap it up quickly and get back to my job.

  Again, I did like that he was shrewd.

  I didn’t look up as I keyed in an email to Becky. “I don’t think anyone else could handle what I have going on.” I hit Send with a final tap and leveled my eyes on him.

  Marcus leaned back in his chair, his fingers threaded across his belly. “Keller and Garcia? What have those two idiots done now?”

  “Garcia violated his custody order and took his daughter over state lines to visit his mother last week. They’re asking for full loss of his parental rights until the conclusion of the trial.”

  He bobbed his head. “The guy’s being indicted for tax evasion. It’s not a violent crime. They won’t grant it.”

  “I know. Maybe a slap on the wrist.”

  “And Keller?”

  I scoffed. “His ex-wife caught him jerking off outside her window at two in the morning in violation of her restraining order.”

  “Ouch,” he chuckled.

  “She is also asking for loss of custody.”

  He
looked at his watch. “And she’ll get it. That guy cannot keep his dick in his pants. This isn’t going to help his assault case.”

  “No, it is not.” And I wouldn’t trust anyone else but me to deal with it—and neither would he.

  Marcus nodded for a moment. “Well, have a good night, then.” He got up, then paused with a hand on the back of the chair. “Hey, why don’t you come up to the cabin with us for Christmas next month? Jessica’s just put a hot tub on the deck.”

  I shook my head. “I think I might head out to Nebraska. Mom’s been asking me to see the work they’ve done on the house.”

  Another lie.

  I didn’t like spending Christmas alone, but spending it with Marcus, hanging out with his cranky wife and watching their loveless marriage, was my idea of hell. Marcus’s career was a monument to hard work and dedication, but his personal life was a cautionary tale.

  I wrapped up things at the office and left by 3:00.

  Mom called while I was driving home.

  I stared at the notification on my car’s Bluetooth. I was not in the right headspace for her, but I didn’t like sending her to voicemail in case something was wrong—which was highly likely given her circumstances.

  I let out a long breath and hit the Answer Call button, mustering more enthusiasm than I felt. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Adrian. I’m just calling to see how your Thanksgiving was.”

  Of course.

  She was calling to browbeat me into coming for Christmas. Hoping I’d learned my lesson after spending Thanksgiving alone and was now ready to play nice.

  No.

  “Thanksgiving was fine,” I said flatly.

  It wasn’t fine. I’d spent the day by myself eating Chinese takeout and reading transcripts.

  She let out a sigh. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know. We want you here. Please come for Christmas.”

  My jaw ticked. “No.”

  I could almost feel her pinning me with her disapproving stare. “You know, you’re not just hurting Richard with this boycott. You’re hurting me, and you’re hurting your grandmother. She doesn’t understand why you’re not there. She gets more confused by the day, and I don’t know how much more time you’ll have with her. Are you really willing to sacrifice that for this…this petty disagreement?”

  I barked out an incredulous laugh. “Petty disagreement? Is that a joke?”

  I could picture her throwing up her hands. “He made a mistake. And no matter how you feel about that, Richard is my husband now and he wants to get to know you—”

  “I have absolutely no desire to allow him to do any such thing. He’s not good enough for you. You should have never married him after what he did.”

  She paused for a long beat.

  “Maybe one day you’ll need forgiveness, Adrian. And someone will give it to you.”

  We fell into a silence.

  She was crying. I could hear her sniffling on the other end of the line. I pulled into my space in the parking garage under my building and put the car in park.

  I’d been close to my mom before this. Before him. I took care of her—I’d always taken care of her. I’d done it since I was fifteen years old and my piece-of-shit dad walked out on us. Normally I was over there every Sunday for dinner with her and Grandma. I paid for repairs on the house, drove Grandma to the doctor.

  Then Mom had her whirlwind romance.

  That was already bad enough, but then he moved them to fucking Nebraska.

  The situation was getting progressively worse and since it didn’t look like Richard was bailing or Mom was gearing up to leave him, apparently I had to be the one to be flexible. Either that or I could kiss my family goodbye. These were the choices.

  And they were impossible.

  She blew her nose.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “Can we just talk about something else?”

  “Adrian, I know this has been hard. Maybe you should see someone—”

  “No. Me spending two hundred dollars an hour on a therapist isn’t going to make me feel any different about this.”

  She sniffed. “Well then. I guess we don’t have anything left to discuss. You call me when you’ve decided what’s important to you.”

  She hung up on me.

  I sat in the car, pinching the bridge of my nose for a solid minute before I dragged myself out.

  When I got back to my building, I collected my mail in the lobby and took the stairs up. I was one staircase from my floor when I heard the screaming.

  A woman.

  I paused on the landing, trying to determine if it was coming from up or down.

  Up.

  My floor.

  I took the steps two at a time and pushed out into the hallway.

  A bored-looking young man in a peacoat and scarf stood scrolling through his phone next to a short blond woman in a gray hoodie. A second man was wedged halfway into Vanessa’s apartment.

  “Let go!” Vanessa screamed, from inside. “I’m calling the cops!”

  “Hey!” I shouted.

  Everyone froze. I walked purposefully toward them, and the man let go of the knob and took a step back. He was older. Probably fifties. White, salt-and-pepper hair, bushy eyebrows, argyle sweater under a blazer.

  The woman was high. Pupils the size of marbles.

  Vanessa peered out into the hallway from the crack in the door. Her lip was bleeding.

  My jaw flexed. “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked, glowering down at the older man.

  He looked me up and down. “This is none of your business, fancy hall cop. We don’t need your assistance. Stay out of it.” He looked back at Vanessa. “We have every right to see her!” he said, jabbing a finger at her.

  Vanessa jutted up her chin. “Uh, no. You actually don’t. I’ve been awarded temporary guardianship. If Annabel wants to see her daughter, bring her back when she’s clean.”

  The younger man let out an impatient huff. “Okay, Vanessa? I’m just here for that Gucci backpack you promised me? If you hand it through the door, I can be one less person in this hallway.”

  “Fuck off, Brent!”

  His mouth dropped open. “Why are you mad at me? I only came with them for the ride!”

  “You shouldn’t have let them come at all!” Vanessa snapped.

  He crossed his arms. “Are you pissed because I’m not helping with the baby? Is that what it is? I have a very sensitive gag reflex, Vanessa, I cannot do poopy diapers. Remember that time you ordered that Greek salad at Nico’s and the feta made me throw up in that planter?”

  Vanessa gave him crazy eyes. “Brent, take. Them. Home.”

  “He will do no such thing! Not until we see Grace!” the older man barked. “This is kidnapping!”

  Brent scoffed. “Um, but it’s actually not?” He crossed his arms. “Can we just go? This is so not dignified.”

  The older man looked like he was about to make for the door again. I took another step to put myself between him and Vanessa, and he shrank away from me. I was in a suit and tie, but I was still six-two and well aware of how intimidating I could look if I didn’t smile. “If you’re a noncustodial parent, any visitation needs to be scheduled with the court.”

  The older man puffed his chest. “We’re not going until we see the baby, and that’s final!” he said, glowering up at me.

  “Okay. Let’s get the police over here to work this out.” I nodded at the woman. “She’s clearly under the influence. And I’ll make sure to mention that I saw you trying to forcefully make your way into the apartment. Vanessa’s bleeding, so I’m assuming an assault and battery has taken place, at which point I’d advise she press charges and get a restraining order. And she will get it. Then your visitation, which you likely won’t be awarded, will be supervised and will have to take place at the sheriff’s station.” I looked at him sternly. “Something tells me the two of you wouldn’t do well in a sheriff’s station.”

  He stood there looking up at
me defiantly, and the blond woman looked like she wasn’t even processing what was going on.

  Brent was smiling at me like he’d just fully acknowledged that I was here. He put a hand on the side of his mouth. “Are you seeing this? How hot this is?” he stage-whispered to Vanessa, who was still peeking through the door. “And that’s a really expensive Armani suit.”

  I ignored him.

  The older man straightened and tugged the bottom of his jacket down indignantly. “Fine.” He shot a look back at Vanessa. “We know where we’re not wanted.”

  He didn’t look me in the eye as he edged down the hall dragging the blond woman by the sleeve. Brent paused a moment before following them. “Love the tie.”

  Then he was gone too.

  I turned back to Vanessa. She blinked at me with wide eyes for a second—then slammed the door in my face.

  I was still standing there looking at her apartment number when she opened the door. “Thank you,” she said quickly.

  And then she slammed it again.

  Okay…

  I waited a few moments to make sure whoever the hell those people were didn’t come back.

  They didn’t.

  * * *

  It was almost 5:00 and I was sitting at the bar in the kitchen going over case work when someone knocked on my door. I opened it to find Becky.

  With a dog.

  “I called you like seven million times,” she said. “I thought you were dead. You always answer your phone.”

  “Can we not talk about me being dead?” I asked, standing in the doorway. “What the hell is this?”

  “It’s your dog?” She picked up its paw and waved it at me. “The one I told you I was getting you?”

  I shook my head. “That’s not my dog.”

  It was a—I don’t know what it was. A Chihuahua maybe? But it was ancient. It had short brown fur with a random bald spot on its chest, cloudy, bulging, watery eyes, and a tongue that hung an inch out of the side of its mouth. It looked like a caricature of itself.

  “Uh, yeah. It is your dog,” she said, smacking her gum.

  I crossed my arms. “No, my dog is a dog I can take running. My dog is a dog too big for me to carry.”

  She scoffed. “You’re a hermit now, remember? I bring you a Weimaraner or something, you don’t take him out, and he destroys your apartment. Then you go deeper down your rabbit hole and I have to visit you in the psych ward and smuggle a cell phone to you in my underwear so you can keep working because heaven forbid you take a mental health day.” She blew a bubble. “This dog is a lifestyle match.”