I’m sure he, of all people, can understand what she meant.
“Jesus, Molly. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “I mean, I still get paid for my work on it, so it’s fine. But it would have been nice to get something big into production.”
“I agree! I want more Molly Marks joints for my own selfish enjoyment.”
“How is your work?” I ask, because I don’t want Seth Rubenstein’s pity, nor further reason to dwell on my current career drought.
“You know, I’m a little bored, if I’m being honest.”
“All those divorces got you down?”
He winces. “I know you think I’m a shithead for practicing family law, and I get it, but you’re actually part of the reason I do what I do.”
I momentarily take my eyes off the road to narrow them at him.
“You were inspired by my childhood trauma to spend your peak earning years causing emotional devastation and financial ruin?”
“No, I wanted to help people. I’m serious.”
“I’m not sure how you could be.”
If I’m honest, it really does hurt me that he would go into that field, after seeing what happened to me and my mother. My dad left her when I was in eighth grade, and Seth was there for the fallout. He saw how my dad’s lawyers and business manager fucked my mom over by moving his money around offshore, and then kept her tied up in court for years when she tried to prove it. He saw how hollowed out we both were by the experience.
I mean, to be clear, we didn’t starve. My father paid his court-ordered child support and my tuition. My mom began cobbling together a new career in real estate. But it took her years to rebuild her finances. The two of us had to move to a shitty apartment, and every time the car broke down it was a roll of the dice over whether we had the cash to fix it. And that’s not getting into her yearslong depression, or my nonstop panic attacks.
Meanwhile, if you’re keeping score, my father bought the first of many sailboats, moved to an oceanfront condo, remarried a person seven years older than me, and saw me one weekend a month.
So yeah. Divorce lawyers. Not a fan.
“I thought there had to be a more humane way to dissolve marriages,” Seth says. “So when I made partner, I hired an in-house family systems psychologist who specializes in divorce, and I encourage all of my clients to work with her. I also steer them toward private mediation. It’s not always pleasant, obviously, but we’ve had a lot of success in guiding couples to amicable resolutions outside of court, even in situations that begin acrimoniously.”
I’m not sold.
“Good for you. You’ll have to forgive me for being skeptical.”
He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry for what he put you through. With your mom. I’ve never forgotten it.”
He’s alluding to the fact that my mother had a complete nervous breakdown during the divorce, and my father left me, his pubescent daughter, as her primary emotional support system. She’s apologized for that—the two of us even did family therapy. But it made my teenage years incredibly difficult.
“Thanks,” I say. “She’s great now. She started dating someone last year. She won’t really say how serious it is, but suddenly she’s been on me to ‘let my guard down and open myself up to love,’ like she’s Oprah.”
He laughs. “Good to hear it.”
Talking about myself in relation to romantic attachment is making me uncomfortable.
“Anyway,” I say, “why are you bored?”
“Well, I’m pretty much at the top of the game. But I feel a little bit like I’ve plateaued.”
“Can you do something else? Like, say, not divorces?”
“I’ve toyed with the idea of starting a nonprofit legal clinic. Or my own firm. But I don’t want to get really busy with work and then have kids and no time for them.”
I get a strange twinge of affection that he’s thinking of this. Taking care of his future children. He’s so … good.
“Got it,” I say, because Seth’s quest for a family is another unsettling topic to be discussing.
And that’s where the flow of conversation dries up.
There’s a pause so long I almost consider turning on NPR. It eats at me that I can’t seem to sustain a comfortable chat with Seth, a person I have never been unable to talk to. In fact, several of the best conversations of my life have been with Seth. Which is saying a lot, given we were under the age of eighteen when we had them.
But he seems as reticent as I am on the topic of his future.
“How is your family?” I finally ask, feeling like I’m checking off conversational boxes. Next, I’m going to be inquiring into his fitness routine and sleep schedule.
He smiles. “Amazing. I was actually with Dave and the kids last month. We drove up to Pigeon Forge and went to Dollywood. It was wild.”
“You did not! It’s my dream to go to Dollywood.”
He smiles at me wryly. “I don’t know. You have a pretty rocky relationship with theme parks, if I recall.”
“Oh God. Don’t bring that up.”
He is referring to when we went on an “ironic” date to a cheesy, second-rate water park in Central Florida and I almost died.
“Only you would commit a near-fatal error getting onto a water slide,” he says.
