promised that she’d design a custom gown, on the grounds that the dress the designer created for her was not actually unique. Seems after this designer created the custom gown for this customer, the designer then began mass-producing the dress. Someone wore the same dress to the wedding that the bride wore herself.”
“Oh, my God, I’d be so pissed!” I say. “And who wears white to a wedding? If you see anyone show up to my wedding in white, please kick them out.”
“The designer had mass-produced the dress in forest green,” Vanessa says. “So, the guest showed up in the same dress as the bride, only hers was green.”
“If that happens to me, please still kick them out,” I say.
“I’m not really finding any cases that are on point for you, Brooke. Sorry.”
“Well, keep looking,” I say, as I open a window on my computer to begin a search on Westlaw. I hang up just as Vanessa’s saying something about having other work to do and I do, too, to be sure, but clearly my work on “wedding dress law” trumps all of that.
As the partners stop by my office all afternoon to praise me for my good work and dedication to the firm, one by one, like a receiving line to the Queen, all I can think is:
4
Is it inappropriate to start making a mental checklist of who I want to have in my bridal party when I’m sitting in a divorce attorney’s office with my best friend? I mean, I can still be supportive of her and her divorce even while I’m thinking about my own wedding, right? No laws against that?
Okay, okay, so maybe it’s a tiny bit self-centered of me to be thinking about my wedding party while Vanessa laments the end of her own marriage, but I’m going to ask her to be my matron of honor, and that should probably cheer her up! Although, she’ll be divorced by the time I get married, so I guess that would make her the
Perhaps I shouldn’t bring this up right now.
“Vanessa, Ms. Cohen is ready for you now,” the assistant says. Vanessa takes a deep breath as she stands up. I stand, too, and give her a big hug.
It’s been hard for Vanessa to come to grips with the fact that her marriage is ending—I mean, obviously it would be hard for anyone to go through a divorce, but Vanessa has the added pressure of little to no support from her mother and the rest of her family, in general. They all seem to think that Marcus is the second coming of Christ, despite the fact that he kissed another woman while they were married. Well, he is tall and slim like Jesus, and ridiculously handsome and rather ethereal-looking, so, if it’s true that Jesus was actually black, they may have a decent argument.
But then there’s that whole kissing-another-woman thing. I’m pretty sure that those people who wear those WWJD bracelets—What Would Jesus Do?—would categorically tell you that the one thing that Jesus would
My mother couldn’t understand why Vanessa was getting a divorce either:
“How could you divorce a doctor?” my mom said to Vanessa on one of our wedding gown shopping expeditions. “Clearly, you are not Jewish. A Jewish woman would never divorce a doctor.”
“Being married to a doctor isn’t all you’d think it would be, Mrs. Miller,” Vanessa said. “Being married to a doctor has its disadvantages.”
“Like, for example,” I said, “anytime you’re in a crowded place and someone screams, ‘Is there a doctor in the house?’ he has to say ‘yes.’”
See how good I am at defusing a difficult topic and changing the subject? I don’t want to brag, but in addition to being a big-time lawyer, I also have an undergraduate degree in child psychology.
Oh, please. As if you don’t employ the same skills in dealing with your mother as you do in dealing with a small child.
“Well, there’s that,” Vanessa said, “but I meant more like the fact that he’s never home. He’s never there.”
“Well, yeah,” I said, “and the whole doctor-in-the-house thing.”
So, Vanessa’s really going through with the divorce. And now the only person she can depend on is me.
“You can do this,” I say and Vanessa nods unconvincingly back. “Want me to come in with you?”
“No,” she says quietly, “I think I have to do this part on my own.”
“Well, I’ll be sitting right here,” I say. “So just let me know if you need me.”
“Okay.” Vanessa squeezes my hand and I watch her as she walks into her attorney’s office.
Should I have insisted that I go in there? Vanessa’s been my best friend since our first year of law school and I hate that she’s going through something so painful right now. I should have just insisted that I go in with her. I consider for a second whether I should just walk back there and insist on sitting in on Vanessa’s meeting. But having your best friend bum-rush your first visit to your divorce attorney probably doesn’t set the best tone for an attorney-client relationship, so I opt to stay out in the reception area, like Vanessa’s asked me to.
As the door shuts with barely a sound, I sit back down and take out some work that I brought with me to do while I wait for Vanessa. I look at my research on dissolution of partnership. My initial research revealed that this was a fairly straightforward case, and I realized why Noah must have assumed that I could take the matter on by myself. Monique’s partnership agreement is well-written and clear—its elegant language should make this matter go smoothly and easily. This research shouldn’t really take very long at all.
Which really frees me up to do some more thinking about my bridal party: Vanessa will lead the charge as my matron/maid of honor, with the rest of the party rounded out with Jack’s three older sisters. Even though I haven’t met Jack’s older sisters yet, I just know that when our families meet, they are all going to love each other immediately and Jack’s sisters will be my new best friends.
I walk to the other side of the reception area to get myself a cup of coffee—after all, in one short afternoon, I’ve figured out my entire case
“It will be easier to start getting over him once you take that ring off,” a strange voice whispers to me as I’m pouring my coffee. I turn around to see the epitome of tall, dark and handsome leaning over my shoulder. As I melt into his hazel-green eyes, it takes me a second to realize that I’m still pouring the coffee. And that I’m engaged. I look down to see that I’ve spilled my coffee all over the countertop.
What is it with me and coffee lately? I just got this skirt back from the dry cleaners after my last run-in with an errant cup of joe.
“Me? Oh, no, I’m not getting a divorce,” I say, “I haven’t even gotten married yet! I’m just here to support my friend who’s going through a divorce.”
“Oh,” he says, already turning to walk away from me, his broad shoulders sinking just the tiniest bit, “sorry about that.”
I immediately e-mail Jack a message from my BlackBerry to tell him how I get hit on left and right when he’s not around. He e-mails back a very detailed message that explains all of the things he plans to do to me later to ensure that I never ever ever stray from him, not even for one minute.
I put my BlackBerry away with a smile and scan the room. (What can I say? Some single girl habits die hard….) The guy who approached me isn’t the only hot guy in the room. Everyone in this office is pretty hot, including Vanessa’s divorce lawyer herself, Stephanie Cohen.
