He shrugs. “How should I know? I’m just the fun-and-finance guy. You’re the marriage expert. Figure it out.”
I flip him the bird, but we both know it’sFuck you, I love you, dude.
49
Rhys
Ido as Preston instructed. I shower.
Well, no: First I kick him out. Then I shower.
Then I call Matias.
Six hours later, Matias and his partners and I sit in the conference room, drinking pretty decent coffee, and they tell me about how they’re running the firm.
“Work-life balance,” Evelyn says. “Family comes first. And we turn down cases if they don’t pass the sniff test.”
“Only collaborative divorces. We’ll only go into combat mode for people who need us on their side. We de-escalate everything we can, anytime we can,” Chun says, pushing her silver-salted dark hair behind one ear.
“And we want the proportion of pro bono–to–paid cases to be as high as we can support and still all be comfortable with our salaries,” Matias says.
He passes a binder across the table, open to a series of charts and graphs. I study them. No one is getting rich working here, but they’re all getting paid enough to support a comfortable lifestyle. The rest of the money is being used to win cases for people who wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford to fight.
I could do this, too. Instead of trying to strike down all the assholes of Manhattan, like that will somehow retroactively make up for my father and uncle being the worst kinds of humans.
Like that will somehow makemenot like them.
How long have I been trying to prove I’m not one of them by fighting them?
Too long.
I decide I want this fucking job.
“I did some digging,” Chun says. “Ninety-two percent of your clients are women. I talked to some lawyers who’ve worked with you, some of your clients, and a few members of opposing counsel, and the general consensus is that you’re one, extremely reasonable and two, prone to taking on cases pro bono, which as you well know isn’t a thing in divorce law.”
“Damn,” I say, impressed by her research skills. No one’s ever called me out on either the percentage representation or the money stuff.
Evelyn’s nodding. “You’reexactlythe guy we want. What we need to understand is whether you’re serious about this. New York City to Bend, Oregon, is no joke of a change of heart. We don’t want to invest in you and have you discover three months down the line that you can’t deal with small-town life.”
“I grew up here,” I say. “I know everything there is to know about small-town life.”
“And you left, and rumor has it you vowed to stay away forever.”
Ah, Rush Creek. Thank you for never changing. “Not because of small-town life, though. Because my grandfather was—” I search for the right words.
“A dickish dick who dicked,” Matias supplies.
“That does somewhat cover it,” I admit.
Chun snorts. “Okay, but that still doesn’t explain why a guy who lives in one of the biggest, liveliest cities in America would trade it in for Bend and far less money.”
Here I am again, faced with a list of all the ways I could explain myself:
I’m super impressed by this firm, and I want to be a part of it.
I think there’s a better, more peaceful way to end marriages.
I’m done trying to slay my father and my uncle by proxy.
