“The beginning, middle, and end of the story is that I married an idiot and am now living to regret it"

J enna listens to the click-click of her heels on the marble floor. At 6 a.m. there are no people in the office to swallow their echo and the staccato sound sends a rush of determination coursing through her. Who needs coffee?

Jenna prides herself on being first in the office. Sure she could bring her work home with her — and at the height of a case usually does — but it makes a difference she knows when Mr. Wilhelm the senior partner walks in at six thirty and sees her already hard at work.

The points she’s scored with Mr. Wilhelm have not been wasted. Everyone knows that Jenna Abrams is on the fast track for partner. And now after putting in her hours she’s on the cusp of attaining this dream. The yearly review is coming up and she’s been holding her breath for weeks.

Jenna turns on her computer pulling up the files of her current case. Divorced after two years of marriage. No children but heiress to a large fortune and had been too besotted at the time of her marriage to take the necessary steps to secure the money. So now

Ms. Heiress has turned to Jenna.

She sighs. As a divorce attorney this is her bread and butter.

Divorce is so grimy. Every now and then she asks herself why she didn’t go into a specialty that was nice and clean like tax or real estate. But she knows the reason and it’s simply that she’s good at it — good at handling the complicated emotions looking empathetic while staying removed and focused.

And Jenna Abrams only does things that she’s good at.

Her phone pings. She glances down at the text. Bye hon. Have a good day. Ari is heading for minyan and then on to his practice.

The door opens as Paul Wilhelm’s rap announces his presence. “Good morning Jenna. At least two of us work around here!”

Jenna looks up and quickly pastes on her own smiley face.

Wilhelm moves farther into the office. “How’s the Berkely case coming along?”

He pauses just long enough for her “Fine.” It’s clear he’s here for something else.

“Listen.” He folds his arms. “I have a new case I want you to take on. Thirty-five-year-old woman. One child. She needs out of the marriage and she needs not just her assets but sole custody of the child. Her husband’s a loser.”

Jenna raises her eyebrows.

“She wants only the best ” Wilhelm continues. “And that’s what I promised her.” He unfolds his arms gives a grim smile. “She’s my old college buddy’s daughter. He’s the type of friend I’d do anything for.”

Jenna nods impassively but inside something squirms. Her unease has not dissipated by four thirty that afternoon when Eva Brooks daughter of Wilhelm’s best college buddy comes sashaying into her office.

“Glad you’re taking on my case ” the woman says sticking out a bejeweled hand. “Paul speaks so highly of you.”

Paul.

Jenna smiles graciously. “Nice to hear. Please sit down.” She waves to the leather armchair opposite her desk. “Why don’t you tell me your story?”

Her fingers hover over her keyboard poised to take notes.

“Well Jenna the beginning middle and end of the story is that I married an idiot and am now living to regret it.”

Eva taps a manicured finger on her Michael Kors handbag, her lips set grimly.

Jenna nods. “I hear.” She tries to sound sympathetic. “What, exactly, makes him an — uh — idiot? What argument are you giving for sole custody?”

“Argument?” Eva’s lips grow taut. “I’m the mother, aren’t I? And Jason’s a good-for-nothing who hasn’t lifted a finger ever since we married. All he does is sit at home all day watching TV, while my money takes care of him. Or else he goes out to his ridiculous volunteer job at the library. The library!” Her eyes narrow. “What kind of man volunteers at the library?”

Jenna nods along as she types. Volunteers at the library appears on her screen, though she wonders what kind of bearing that can have on anything.

***

Jenna sets her briefcase down in the hall, exchanges her heels for the slippers Maria always lays out for her, and walks into the kitchen.

Ari and the kids are eating dinner and laughing together. Something about the cozy domestic scene unsettles her and, feeling vaguely irritated without knowing why, she looks around the room and pounces on the sink, still filled with the dirty dinner pots. Maria must have just finished making dinner when Ari arrived home. Usually she cooked, served, and cleaned, all before Jenna walked through the door. There was something so off-putting about coming home to a messy kitchen.

“What are you guys laughing about?” she asks, an edge to her voice.

Ari looks up. “Hi, honey. How was your day?”

Michali is still giggling. “Daddy was telling us about when he and Uncle Zevi did a magic show in front of their whole camp.”

Jenna’s eyes meet Ari’s. He shrugs laughingly.

“Did you do those types of things, too?” asks Benny.

Jenna bites her lip. “No.”

“Of course not, Benny, what are you thinking?” Rachel, her oldest, says. “Babushka and Dyedushka aren’t into magic shows. They’re into reading and learning and doing well in school.”

Not since she was a little girl has she allowed herself the luxury of self-pity, and with a brisk, “Very true, Rachel. And so am I. How did you do on your science test?” She neatly steers the conversation away from dangerous waters.

The contrast between Ari’s easygoing American-born parents and her own Russian ones is too great for the children not to notice, but Jenna tries to avoid pointing it out. She has spent her whole life protecting her parents — from childish street teasing about their thick accents, to innocent classmates’ questions about the strange food her mother packed for her lunch. She had long ago determined that she would never, ever let her parents feel the sting of such taunts. Even if it meant discarding her lunch on the way to school and going hungry.

But most of all, she’d known, even as young as six years old, that her job was to make her parents proud. By getting straight A’s, by being valedictorian, by getting into the best law school.

By making partner.

***

Eva Brooks is scratching her Gucci shoe against Jenna’s wood-paneled office floor. Jenna waits patiently, and, finally, Eva bursts out, “What, exactly, do you want me to say?”

Her lips pucker, and Jenna still waits.

“I don’t know.” Eva exhales with a hiss. “Her favorite food? Favorite toy? I can ask her nanny, if you really think it will make a difference in court.” Her eyes are narrowed.

Jenna keeps her voice even. “You never know what the other side will ask, if they want to call in question your suitability as a mother.”

“Suitability?” Eva’s hands smack the desk. “When my money has been financing her clothes, her toys, her child care, while that good-for-nothing—”

“I understand.” Jenna tries to lower the temperature. “And I’m here to win for you. But you need to be prepared.”

Jenna presses random keys on her computer, pretending to type as she counts to ten in her head. She knows her next question will be a bullet.

“Now, I’d like you to tell me what arguments you think the other side will use to request custody.”

Eva’s eyebrows shoot up to her salon-dyed hairline. “How should I know? Whatever kind of twisted lies they can come up with, obviously!”

Jenna leans forward. “Most fathers aren’t interested in full custody. But your husband is. That’s got to raise some questions in the judge’s mind. He’s going to be asking why Jason is so insistent that he wants your daughter. I need to know what reasons Jason will present.”

“Well, isn’t that your job to find out?”

“I’m sure you must have some idea.”

Eva fidgets with her bracelet clasp, and Jenna resumes pretending to type. She’s almost filled up an entire page when Eva spits out, “Oh, I guess he’ll say that I’m never around for her.” She rolls her eyes. “Just because I actually have things to do with my life!”

Jenna nods. “Can you tell me something to counteract that? Some bedtime stories you like to read to her? Some outings the two of you have gone on?”

Eva is sputtering and hissing like a tea kettle. And then she boils over.

“You sound just like Jason,” she snaps, as she pushes back her chair. “I’ve had enough interviewing for today.” And she stalks out of the room.

***

Jenna inches her car as close to the fire hydrant as she dares, parks, and hurries up the three flights of stairs to her parents’ apartment. They still haven’t changed the lightbulb in the stairwell, she notes, and types a quick memo into her phone as she walks: Bring lightbulb to Mama and Papa’s.

Mama greets her at the door in a housecoat with, “Oh, Jenna! Thank G-d you got here!”

Jenna kisses her mother and steps inside. “Well, of course, why wouldn’t I come?”

She hasn’t missed her weekly Thursday evening visit since Michali was born, five years ago. It is the only thing sacred enough to pull her out of the office.

“Is that Jenna?” calls a voice from the bedroom. “Finally! Tell her to come in here.”

“Papa is very sick,” Mama whispers, her face somber. “He’s been in bed the past two days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jenna exclaims, as she walks across the tiny apartment to the bedroom at the far end of the hall.

“Ah, he didn’t want to bother you from your work.” There was a special glow that both her parents got when they mentioned her job.

Jenna knocks on the door and walks in. “Papa, how are you feeling?”

Her father is lying in bed, covered in blankets, a scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Not good. Very not good. I think I’m dying.”

Jenna sucks in her breath. Her father has been predicting his imminent death for years. Decades, even. So why it should slap her each time anew, she doesn’t know. But it does. Hard.

“Of course you’re not,” she says, using her measured legal voice, the one that gives her clients confidence that they’re in capable hands. “Have you been to Dr. Shapiro? I’m sure he’ll tell you it’s just a bug that will pass in a few days.”

“Sure he’s been to Dr. Shapiro,” says her mother, who’d followed her into the room. “The doctor said—”

“Who cares what the doctor said?” Papa’s voice is raised. “Does he live in my body? I tell you I’m dying, I feel it in here!” And he pounds his chest so fiercely, Jenna can almost see the bones rattle.

When did Papa get so thin and frail?

Mama is making exasperated clicking noises, and Jenna realizes a change of subject is in order.

“You haven’t even asked about the kids,” she says. “They’re all doing great, and send their love. Rachel got the highest score in her class on her science test.”

“Really?” The worry lines suddenly wipe off of Papa’s face, and he chuckles. “That’s my girl. Just like her mama, huh? And how’s the famous lawyer doing, eh?”

“Wonderful! I’m having my annual review soon, and I think I may even be up for partner this year!”

Her mother is nearly in tears, and her father has actually bounced up in bed from joy, but Jenna is annoyed with herself. She hadn’t meant to say this; she really hadn’t. She’d intended to wait until she had actual news to share, to surprise them if it was good, and spare them the disappointment if it wasn’t. What was wrong with her, raising their hopes like this? Just to remove that forlorn look from her father’s face?

Somehow, when it comes to her parents, little girl, mother, and ambitious career woman all become scrambled.

***

Though outwardly, she’s sitting calmly in her cushioned office swivel chair, inside, Jenna is on edge. Benny’s class Chumash siyum is happening in half an hour, and he must have told her at least 50 times how everyone else’s mother is coming. Jenna winced inside each time he said it, but surely, he had to know that now was the worst time for her to take off.

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” Ari’d said, tousling his hair. “I’ll be there.”

Benny had nodded, but from the look on his face, Jenna knew it wasn’t good enough.

Jenna had bought the yummiest-looking candy she could find for Benny to bring to the siyum, in compensation, and now she is sitting at work, with Eva Brooks across the desk once more.

Eva is taking out her iPad, a smirk on her face. “Well, teacher, I did my homework. I took Alexa out for a big mother-daughter fairytale day. Broadway show, lunch at Le Bernadin, and a stop at Toys ‘R’ Us, where we bought out the store. And I recorded it all for posterity — and to show the judge, of course.” She presses on the iPad, and pushes it toward Jenna. “Exhibit A: Alexa’s happy childhood memories.”

Jenna glances at the video, which consists of a series of clips of mother and daughter smiling brightly for the camera, as Alexa eats, sits in her theater seat, holds up her toy purchases.

“Who’s that blonde woman who’s always next to you?” she asks.

“Oh, that’s Cissy. The nanny.”

Jenna raises her eyebrows. “Why’d you bring the nanny along?”

Eva shifts in her seat. “In case I needed extra help, of course. This was a whole day, you understand!”

Jenna nods, biting her tongue. “Well… good work.”

Eva actually looks pleased with herself.

Jenna looks down once more at the iPad. “Do you have any videos of your husband here? It would be helpful if I can get a sense of him.”

Eva shrugs, her face tensing as it does each time Jason is mentioned. “You’ll get a sense of him in exactly ten seconds,” she says as she scrolls through some screens. “Not a very complex person, my husband.” Her lips curl. “Here you go. Jason at the Madison dinner. It’s the social event of the year for our crowd, and I made him go. Only once. He embarrassed me so much by being such an awkward bore, I decided the next year not to put myself through such suffering again.”

Curious, Jenna watches the short video of the two of them. Jason looked put-together and presentable in his tux. He had a pleasant smile.

She looks up. “Anything with him interacting with Alexa?”

Eva presses her lips together and scrolls some more. “Here’s something,” she says with a shrug.

They’re in some kind of children’s gym, and Alexa is bouncing up and down on a trampoline together with her father. Both of them are giggling. Eva swipes to the next video. Now there’s a bunch of children sitting around a table on the side of the gym, eating ice cream and singing “Happy Birthday” to a grinning Alexa.

“Louder!” roars Jason. “Sing it so that Alexa’s mom can hear it all the way in Aruba!”

At that, Jenna stops. “Aruba?”

Eva nods calmly. “I was there for a charity event.”

A charity event in Aruba. Jenna decides not to ask.

Instead, she poses the question she’s been wondering for weeks. “Tell me, why did you marry him? I can’t imagine two people so different.”

In her line of work, that’s saying a lot.

Eva is placing her iPad back in her handbag — today it’s a Givenchy — and, without looking up, says, “We met in college. He was a struggling artist, and I was a romantic fool. I fancied myself picking him up from the dust, financing his foray into the upper art echelons, maybe seeing him exhibited one day at the Met. I already told you I was an idiot.”

Her lips are twisted in a funny way. And then she looks up. “So instead of using his talents to become successful, he spends his days in the library doing art projects with inner-city kids.”

Something inside Jenna is squeezing her tight and hard. And she doesn’t want to know why, has never, since she was a little girl, bothered to ask herself why.

But she’s realizing that there’s another question she’s been wanting to ask, and though her professional self is yelling at her to just keep quiet, the question bursts out: “Why do you want custody?”

Eva’s hand stops midair. Her face turns white. “What did you ask me?”

She knows Wilhelm would kill her if he heard, but she plows on. “Forgive me, but your life seems to be very full without your daughter, and your interests and accomplishments appear to, ah, lie elsewhere. Why do this when your husband is willing to take on her care?”

Eva’s face has contorted. “You don’t understand, do you? You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying these past few weeks. I’ll tell it to you straight and simple: My husband has been living off me ever since we married, and then he had the — the chutzpah! — to ask for a divorce! Oh, I would’ve brought it up anyway, he was getting unbearable, but for him to say it!”

Her red fingernails dig into her white palm. “That man needs to learn that he can’t win.”

***

Benny is bubbling with excitement when she comes home. “The party was so great! And my candies were the best ones there, everyone said so! And look, you can watch the whole thing, Daddy videoed it!”

He is eagerly holding out an iPad to her, and Jenna suddenly feels dizzy. She just manages to drop her things and stumble to the couch before the world starts spinning uncontrollably.

“Mommy?” Benny’s voice falters. “Are — are you okay? Daaaddy! Something’s wrong with Mommy!”

She hears Ari’s footsteps, pound, pound, pound. He crouches next to her.

“Jenna? What happened? Can you speak?” It’s his professional medical voice, the one Jenna loves, because it bespeaks power, confidence, success.

“I’m — I’m fine,” she gasps out, because she is, really, nothing’s wrong with her except that her world is suddenly spinning, faces whirling around and around. Eva. Jenna. Ari. Jason. Mama. Papa. Wilhelm.

She sits with her head in her hands, elbows resting on knees, for several steadying minutes, until she’s finally able to take a sip of water from the glass Ari presses on her.

“Just… feeling… faint,” she whispers. Her whole family is gathered around her, concerned, and she takes another sip, and forces out a stronger voice. “There, I’m feeling better now. I was probably dehydrated.”

“Overworked,” Ari murmurs.

She shakes her head. No. It’s not that, not that at all. She’s never been overworked in her life. Work is her life, it’s the beat to which she drums.

Eva. Jenna. Alexa. Benny. Thump. Thump. Thump.

And now, that something that’s squeezing her insides so tight she’s gasping for breath, is telling her that she’s about to give it all up.

After the kids are assured that she’s okay, are shooed back to their homework and play, she gives voice to that something. “Ari,” she says. “What will happen if I don’t make partner?”

Ari blinks. “Nothing will happen. Absolutely nothing. You’ll find another great job.”

She shakes her head. “No, I mean, what will happen to me if I don’t make partner?” She doesn’t continue, because she feels silly even saying the words: Can I still be Jenna Abrams?

“Jenna.” Ari’s voice is gentle. “Making partner has nothing to do with your success in life.”

“My parents—” she chokes out. “What if it… kills them?” There. She’s said it.

“It won’t,” he says firmly. “They’re a lot stronger than you give them credit for.”

She sits there, breathing. Strong? That was the last word in the world she would use to describe her parents.

She shakes her head faintly, as he goes on, “Think about what they went through in their lives. Soviet Russia. Moving and rebuilding themselves in a new country. Of course they’re strong. Where do you think you get it from?”

Jenna’s eyes widen.

“They’re survivors, your parents,” Ari says. “I think they can get over a little thing like you not making partner. Anyway”—he looks at her suspiciously—“what’s all this talk? Doesn’t sound like the wife I know! Did something happen today?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

***

Jenna’s staccato footsteps click their way to her office of their own volition. Inside, her head is a whirl.

Will it really make a difference if little Alexa Brooks is raised by a nanny and an absentee mother rather than her father? Maybe a loving nanny and loads of money are all she needs.

Click. Click.

My job is to win for my clients. Their lives are not mine. Got to dissociate, Jenna!

Click. Click. Click.

You’d throw away your life’s dream for one little girl that you don’t even know? Even without you, Eva may win custody!

She opens the door to her office and throws herself down on the chair. Ever since she can remember, she’s been on one straight upward trajectory. Why in the world would she falter just as she’s about to reach the top?

She looks down at the gleaming surface of her mahogany desk. Just yesterday, she watched little Alexa’s birthday party here.

And today, all she can see is her own reflection.

She sits, absolutely still, for five minutes. And then, resolutely, she stands back up. It doesn’t matter how a person looks to the rest of the world. First, she has to be able to look herself in the mirror.

She is strong. Like her parents before her. And strength means—

Her heels click again as she makes her way out of her office, and down the hall.

Wilhelm does not take the news well at all. He looks grave and distant as he hears her out and agrees to assign a different lawyer to the Eva Brooks case.

“I hope you understand,” she finishes, falteringly.

“Naturally, a matter of conscience. We all run up against those at some point in our careers.” But he’s angry, and takes this personally, and from the way he mentions the upcoming annual review, she knows she’s just ruined her chances at partner.

Jenna Abrams doesn’t cry. Yet, having made it out of the office, out of the building, into the parking garage with her head held high, she sits down in her car and the tears suddenly flow. Minutes later, she’s still crying, and hiccupping, and even laughing. I’ve gone crazy. Absolutely insane.

She pulls down the rearview mirror, and laughs some more. Who was this woman with the red puffy eyes?

“Jenna Abrams,” she asks aloud to the mirror. “Who are you?”

She starts up her car, pulls out of the garage. Drives up the busy city streets, heads toward the tunnel. Where is she going, exactly, in the middle of the day?

A picture flashes in her mind: her high school yearbook photo, and underneath, the caption: “With her driving ambition and talent, Jenna is going places!”

Going places, indeed. But first, she decides, as she wends her car through the traffic, she’s going home.

(Originally featured in Family First Issue 568)