My Husband's Divorce Attorney

Chapter 9

Joseph was standing so close behind me that I could smell his cologne. The universe must be conspiring with the wind to pummel me with the wave of nostalgia that the scent unconsciously gave me. I shifted away, and reluctantly positioned myself so that the conversational circle included Joseph. I didn’t want Joon to think I was being rude. As I did, I glanced at Joseph to be polite, but my glance accidentally turned into a stare.

He was wearing glasses today, and it made me illogically angry. Such a simple thing made him look so frustratingly familiar. The Joey who walked me to my college classes was standing here in a gorgeously-tailored charcoal suit. The blazer was unbuttoned, and he was wearing a damn waistcoat over his white button-up shirt with a cheeky red tie peeking out.

I gulped.

Catching myself, I turned to look back at Joon, but his gleaming eyes were shifting between Joseph and me.

“Sooooooo—” Joon drew out the word long enough for his insinuating tone to become obvious, “How do you two know each other?”

“We don’t, really,” I said quickly. A truth and a lie. We had known each other once, but not anymore. No matter how familiar he looked or smelled, I did not know this man now.

“Oh, really?” Joon said, and the disbelief in his tone was so clear that I couldn’t help looking down at my feet.

I couldn’t see it, but I was pretty sure Joseph’s eyes were burning a hole in the side of my face. I needed to get out of this conversation immediately.

“He is my husband’s attorney,” I said with a brightness to my voice that was unnecessary.

Joon’s mouth fell open, and his expression changed as he reinterpreted the awkwardness between Joseph and I. Joon didn’t know I was getting a divorce, but he obviously knew Joseph well enough to understand the meaning of my statement.

“I’m going to go find Kendrick,” I said as I turned to make an exit.

“Me too,” Joseph said.

“WHAT?” the surprised word came out before I could stop it. I cleared my throat and tried to be casual. “I thought you were coming to talk to Joon?”

“I came to say hello to Joon,” Joseph said, as he clasped Joon’s hand, “and I have done so. Now I am going to say goodbye to Mr. Jones.”

“I’ll get back to you about the photoshoot, daepyonim,” Joon said in farewell, “and Joseph, tell your pretty squash partner I said hello.”

Brief territorial rage passed through Joseph’s eyes, and I turned to get as far away from him as possible. I hated how inferior I suddenly felt. Unfortunately, Joseph followed me as I walked through the crowd.

“I haven’t seen you in this part of town before,” he said.

This statement stopped me in my tracks, and I turned to face him, irritation painted across my face.

“Obviously,” I spat the word out, “Before the mediation, we hadn’t seen each other in over twenty years.”

I bit my bottom lip in frustration; I hadn’t meant to call out our situation directly. Shaking my head to collect myself, I tried to focus on staying calm. I didn’t want to draw the attention of the crowd around us by letting my anger get out of control. I turned to continue walking, but Joseph stayed right next to me.

“So your plan is to pretend like we don’t know each other?” he asked. His nonchalance made me want to punch him.

“Isn’t that the precedent that you established?”

“No,” he stated, “I have never pretended not to know you.”

That was offensively inaccurate, and I stared at him with my best “Mom knows you’re lying” face. It took him a while to see it because his eyes were flicking to the people we passed, nodding and smiling at regular intervals.

I was jealous of his ability to multitask in this situation. It was taking every ounce of restraint not to be consumed by rage at his absolute casualness. My only reason for not telling him that he was an insensitive asshole was that I was surrounded by people who I was desperate to win approval from. I wanted this to be my community, but now I feared that he was already a part of it.

“You’re right,” I said in a honey-sweet voice, “You never pretended not to know me. Instead, you pretended that I didn’t exist at all. That is so much better.”

Before I could see his response, I turned and snaked my way through more crowded spots in order to lose him. Being petite could work to my advantage here, and eventually, he was somewhere else in the mass of people.

Was I being illogical? Is it normal to become besties with someone who waltzes back into your life after an extended, intentional absence? Was my sensitivity to him just because I had ignored my old wounds? Is that why he could talk to me so flippantly? Because the experience hadn’t hurt him at all?

I found the trash and deposited my empty coffee cup inside it. Looking in the bin, I suppressed the brief urge to climb inside to hide. Maybe taking a short break from the crowd would be helpful. This wasn’t my event, but I didn’t want to undermine Kendrick’s symbolism of passing the torch by being absent, either.

As I scanned the crowd, I saw a familiar Hawaiian shirt not too far away. I’d go tell Kendrick I was heading inside for a bit. There were plenty of things to begin planning inside that apartment; fifteen minutes was all I needed. Reaching Kendrick, I put my hand on his right shoulder, and he immediately turned to see me.

Much to my dismay, he was shaking hands with Joseph.

I felt like such a moron; I knew Joseph was coming to say goodbye. So why on earth did I still come to find Kendrick? I should have climbed into the damn trash bin.

“Tiffany,” Joseph said brightly, “I found Mr. Jones; you said you were looking for him, right?”

That smug, handsome face. I had seen that expression every time he intentionally led a guy to my hiding spot in the library, knowing full well that it was someone I was avoiding. I dated a lot my freshman year, and some guys just wouldn’t give up at the end of things.

While I had been aggravated by his behavior back then, it was sort of a necessary evil, forcing relationships to a close that wouldn’t trickle off as I had hoped. But right now it did feel necessary, just aggravating.

I avoided Joseph’s statement by focusing on Kendrick. “Are your bags up in the apartment?”

“Of course,” he stated with bewilderment. “What’s up, Tiff?”

“Oh, nothing,” I said, channeling every cell on my face into professional neutrality. “I am going to go load them in the car. I have a feeling I’m going to have to drag you out of here so that you don’t miss your flight.”

“You’re the boss,” he said with a wink and a chuckle that eased the tension in my body.

Without acknowledging Joseph, I left to head for the stairs between units one and two. The sight of its emptiness was a beautiful freedom that called to my soul. At least it was, until I realized that I didn’t hear the sound of the door closing behind me.

I turned around to see why the door hadn’t closed and ran right into a wall. Well, not actually a wall but an immovable structure that yielded no ground despite my sudden impact. My face was planted right against a vibrant red tie. I immediately scrambled backwards, ascending a few steps.

There he was again. Mr. Joseph Kavinsky was standing directly in front of me.

The door closed behind him, and the empty freedom I had just admired now made me self-conscious in my skin as he looked at me.

“What are you doing?” My voice was edged with terror, and he slowly raised his palms up to indicate he meant me no harm.

“I am coming to help you with Mr. Jones’ bags,” he said in a soft, soothing tone.

The audacity of this man.

“No, thank you,” I said flatly.

I did not ask for his help, nor did I need it. And I definitely did not need another experience of being secluded on the stairs with him.

I noticed his tie was askew from my faceplant, and I had to stop my hands from reaching to adjust it for him.

“You don’t want help carrying all the bags down from the top floor?” His voice now sounded quizzical and a tad sarcastic.

“Nope,” I popped the ‘p’ too hard for it to sound natural, my irritation bubbling out via zealous enunciation.

He looked at me, his eyebrows drawing together and face tilting as if evaluating me for something.

“Can we talk?” he asked, with more hesitation than his mature confidence showed.

“Is that even allowed?” I asked with a spiteful chuckle. “Seems like a blatant conflict of interest.”

“Shit, Tiffany,” he said in frustration, “What conflict is there? Robert doesn’t even need me as his lawyer since you already gave him everything.”

“I don’t need your judgment about my choices regarding my divorce!” My defensive yell came unbidden before I could stop it.

“And I don’t want to talk about your divorce!” He countered loudly, “I want to—"

“Stop!” I shouted in panic, and he immediately ceased. His voice was silent, but his eyes were a desperate plea as they looked at me.

I hadn’t realized how shallow my breathing was until the silence stretched on. What about this was causing my heart to race and my head to spin? Why was I so terrified to have this conversation with him?

“I understand if you don’t want to talk to me,” he began, his voice a low tone of defeat, “but please just let me help you.”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about helping me with my life, my divorce, or Kendrick’s bags. None of that mattered, though, because relying on someone who disappears is foolish. I chose to make it about the bags to move the conversation in a direction that didn’t make my pulse spike.

“Don’t you worry,” I said with a soft, glancing punch off his shoulder, “I’m all grown up now. I can tie my shoes and everything. A couple of suitcases won’t be the end of me.”

“Are you this averse to receiving all help?” He asked, his seriousness a counter to my mocking playfulness. “Or is it just because it’s from me?”

Of course it was because of him. Oddly, I didn’t want to tell him that. Something about the familiar kindness in his eyes eased my temptation to be cruel.

“There is an elevator.”

My statement was to clarify why I didn’t need help, but I immediately regretted saying it. Joseph’s hazel eyes seemed to scan my face for any additional meaning. I hadn’t meant for there to be any, but our history made this neutral statement edge towards flirtation.

An elevator is where our platonic friendship ended; it was also where we began.

“Go to work, Joseph,” I said with a sigh, “I don’t want to make you late.”

It wasn’t until I was halfway up the stairs that I realized that my ‘make you late’ remark made my accidental innuendo so much worse. Thankfully, I heard the door close. Now that I was officially alone, I let my fury out by stomping too aggressively up the stairs.

I was an adult establishing myself in a new business, moving out on my own, navigating my divorce, and trying to be there for my sons even if I felt like I was ripping apart. I could not afford to become an insipid dolt whenever I crossed paths with that man.

I punched in the code to the door and went into the apartment. Finding Kendrick’s luggage was easy;it sat packed and waiting by the elevator. I pressed the button, and it took a moment for it to return from the garage level. The ding as the doors opened made me flinch, and I realized that I felt nervous about getting inside.

I rarely took the elevator, but that was because I was raising rambunctious sons and used every chance I could to drain energy from them. I had ridden in elevators, though, right? It was a regular part of life. There was no way I had subconsciously been avoiding them all this time.

I stared into the empty metal box for a moment longer before I forced myself to wheel the three bags inside. Reaching for the ground floor button, my hand hesitated. What was wrong with me? This was just an elevator ride. I pressed it quickly, the white light illuminated the star, and the doors closed.

Closing my eyes, I leaned against the cold metal wall for support. Unfortunately, this triggered old memories of being pressed against the elevator walls for a much different reason. As the elevator began to move, and I realized this was not just an elevator ride.

This was a trip down memory lane.