Luca
Present day
“What do you mean, you can’t come over for Sunday dinner?” Nick says over the phone. “You never miss Sunday dinners. It’s a ritual, like going to church and eating no meat on Friday!” I hear mumbling in the background. “Mona says that you better not be ditching us for a date,” he says and then laughs. “But don’t worry, I told her that you are taking becoming a monk very seriously.”
I shake my head, drinking the last of my coffee. “It’s not like that. We are all invited to my boss’s house for a welcome back party. What am I supposed to do? Say no?”
“Who is he welcoming back?” Nick asks, and I hear him drinking.
“His daughter. Apparently, she’s been in Paris for the past six years. It wasn’t a suggestion either.” The invitation was given to all senior and junior partners, and it was basically thank you for joining us in welcoming back Eliahn.
“Ah,” he says. “The boss talks, and you have no choice.” And he isn’t wrong. I started at Coco and Associates straight out of law school. Graduating at the top of my class had some perks, and one was having every major law firm fight for you. It was a hard decision, and I visited them all, but I just felt different when I went in for an interview there. It felt like family and not just a case.
The law firm was started some forty years ago by Leonard Coco, and he only had a secretary. From what everyone says, he would sit at the courthouse day in and day out, trying to get clients. At first, he just did family law, but then his best friend came along and took the criminal cases. Slowly, they grew, and now, we handle it all from family law and criminal law to immigration law and environmental law.
Now it is the biggest law firm in the city, fuck, almost in the country. And I am a part of that. I couldn’t be happier or scared.
Nick, Tom, and Jason also graduated from Harvard, but only Nick and I felt the need to head west. Jason is still in Boston, no doubt freezing his fucking balls off during the winter months, and Tom is smack in the middle of New York City. His condo overlooks Central Park, and he says he’s never leaving.
Out of the four of us, Nick is the only one in a relationship. According to Nick, he isn’t tied down per se; he’s just half the chain attached at his ankle. He met Mona when they started at the same law firm. He went into the relationship with his normal no-strings-attached mantra, but that quickly turned into “yes, dear” within the first month of dating. No matter how much he complains about it, he loves every single second of it.
“So you have to go to this black tie event for your boss’s daughter. How old is she?” Nick asks.
“I have no fucking clue,” I say, walking to the backyard patio and sitting down. I look back at the house that I bought as soon as I signed on to be a junior partner. It was my gift to myself for all the years that I slaved and didn’t have a life. Now at least I get to look at something and see it paid off.
I usually only get to enjoy the backyard and its solitude on the weekends. During the week, I’m at my desk starting at seven, and I don’t get home until after nine on some days, but I have no one to answer to. I am about to talk when the noise from the neighboring yard starts up. Hammers go nuts, and when I stand to look over at the backyard next to me, I see that they have workers assembling something. They must be putting in a pool. The house has been vacant for the past six months, and now for the past week, the activity level has gone through the roof. I think I’m getting new neighbors, and from what I can see, they have kids. “From what I heard, she escaped the wrath of her father when she was twenty by going to Paris.”
“Fuck, a French girl?” he says, his voice going quiet. “You know that they do anal before anything, right?”
I shake my head, laughing. “Where do you get all these facts?”
“Pornhub,” he says, laughing. “Just don’t tell Mona. She gets all territorial about my big dick.”
“My lips are sealed,” I say. “Anyway, rain check. Are you going to play hockey this week?” Another thing we picked up living in Boston is skating and playing hockey. I mean, I can skate, which is about as far as I can go, but we do like to play and let some steam off.
“I think I’m going to go for Wednesday, you in?” he asks me about the beer league we joined. It’s a bunch of people from our firms who play.
I take another sip of coffee. “I have to check my caseload this week, but I think I can manage it.”
“Good. Last week, we had an old guy on the team,” he says, groaning.
“Your idea of an old guy is someone who is forty,” I say.
“He was actually forty-three,” he says matter-of-factly. “Dude, I thought he was having a heart attack on the bench.” He laughs now. “We had side bets going.” The phone muffles, and then he comes back. “Okay, I have to go. Mona is calling me.”
“Maybe she caught your history on Pornhub,” I say, laughing.
“Please,” he pffts. “You think I’m an amateur? I delete the history right after.” He laughs.
“Did you delete it from your hard drive?” I ask him.
“Gotta go,” he says, disconnecting, and I laugh.
I finish my coffee outside, the sound of hammers becoming louder and louder. I walk up the steps to go back inside, the cold air hitting me right away as I walk up the stairs to my bedroom. Grabbing my laptop, I decide to work for a bit before I have to stop to get dressed and head out to this barbecue.
The invitation said barbecue chic, and I’m not going to lie—I had to google. Which, by the way, shows you a man in a suit with flip-flops. That will never happen, so I’m going casual without a tie.
I grab my blue dress pants and my white long-sleeve button-up shirt. Leaving the first three buttons open, I roll up my sleeves, then put on my silver Rolex, a signing bonus from Leonard Coco himself. I take out my brown belt and my brown shoes because no flip-flops for this guy. I run my hands through my black hair when I stand in front of the mirror in my walk-in closet, taking in how I look. I grab my beige linen dress jacket and slide it on. “This looks like what barbecue chic is.”
I grab my wallet and slip it in the inside pocket of my jacket. Putting on my gold Ray-Bans, I take the keys, and I walk out to my white BMW SUV. Starting the car, I enter the address in the GPS and slowly make my way there. The invitation said twelve thirty, and it’s now one forty. My goal is to make an entrance and get out.
I’ll be seen by some key players, schmooze a bit, eat a bit, and then bounce. I have court this week; family law is no joke. Thankfully, my parents are still married to this day—going on thirty-five years in two months—rare but it happens. Nowadays, it’s just so easy to say I’m out. No one puts the time and energy into marriages anymore. They all want to be done with it. I think my quickest divorce was ten hours before they realized it wasn’t going to work. The wedding cake wasn’t even cut.
The cases I hate the most are when kids are involved. People stoop to fucking low levels to keep from paying child support. Like the bottom of the barrel under all the grime and slime. I shake my head as I turn into the tree-lined driveway. When the house finally comes into view, it’s fucking massive. “Fuck,” I say, taking in the two-story brick house. It almost looks like a palace. I’m expecting to see flags raised and everything.
The driveway goes in a circle, and the valet is there waiting for me. I pull up, and he opens my door. “Welcome,” he says, handing me a ticket. Fucking valet. I look around and see everything from Bentleys to a Lamborghini lined up. I shake my head, following the path to the party. There are actual signs and arrows, and it’s almost like I’m at Ikea. Laughing to myself, I walk around the house and then stop dead in my tracks. “What in the fuck?”
It looks like I just walked into a carnival. My eyes fly around the huge backyard to take it all in. I shake my head when I see kids running everywhere. A lady, wearing a white button-down and red vest with a white hat sits behind a booth that says TICKETS, smiles at me. “Good afternoon. Welcome to the carnival.”
I smile at her and continue looking around as I walk a little bit farther into the yard. Round blue tables with white linen chairs fill the space. On the right side is a train, a fucking train, going around in a circle on its tracks. Kids sit two by two in the four train cars, and some are holding balloons while others wave their hands in the air.
Behind that is a fenced area with a green dragon mini roller coaster. Up and down it goes while the kids yell and laugh, and other kids line up at the fence waiting for their turn.
In the far back is a small Ferris wheel. Red, yellow, green, blue, orange, and purple cars go around and around. Carnival swings are next to them.
“Holy shit, is that a carousel?” I hear from beside me and look over at Noah, one of the partners at my firm. His divorce case was the first one I worked on at the firm. He took me under his wing when he was looking for his now ex-wife and I saved him a whole lot of time and energy. That’s a whole other story about how the playboy got played. Now he stands next to me holding his three-year-old son, Matteo, on his hip.
“Yeah.” Looking at Matteo, I say, “Hey, dude.” He smiles at me. “Fist bump.” He is a frequent visitor at the office, so he knows me well. That and I also slip him chocolate every time I see him there. He puts his hand in a fist and bumps it with mine. “Where is Kaleigh?” I ask him, looking around for his hot as fuck wife. She’s a yoga instructor, and they met when his best friend fell for her sister, who then came to work at the firm. It’s almost like a soap opera.
“She’s home,” he says, “with morning sickness.” His face going full-on megawatt smile.
“No way.” Smiling at him, I grab his shoulder. “Congrats.”
“What can I say? My swimmers are on their A game.” He laughs. “She said let’s have another baby. My sperm said challenge accepted. And boom. Pregnant!” He leans down and kisses Matteo’s head.
“Daddy, I want to go there.” Matteo points at the swings, then moves his finger over to the little circus tents they have set up. One has balloons, and the other one has face painting. “Balloon!” he shouts and squirms to get out of his father’s grasp. Right past those tents, carnival games are set up to win stuffed animals. It’s like the state fair threw up in their backyard.
“I’ll catch you later,” Noah says. Walking to the balloon stand, he holds his son’s hand, almost being dragged by his thirty-five-pound body.
I make my way through the tables, smiling and nodding at a couple of people I know. On one side, you have the rides, and on the other, you have the food.
There is everything from popcorn, to funnel cakes, to corn dogs, and hamburgers. I watch the kids run around; some hold balloons, and some with face paint on them. A couple of them are having full-on hissy fits and tantrums along with one or two having breakdowns.
I see my boss, Leonard, standing almost in the center of it all, talking to a couple of people. He is wearing the same thing as I am except he’s wearing a fedora. By the time I finally make my way to him, he is all by himself.
“Luca,” he says with a smile. Putting out his hand to shake mine, he then smacks my shoulder with his other hand. “So glad you can make it.” His face is in a constant smile.
“I wouldn’t have missed it.” I smile at him. “You must be excited to have your daughter back?” I say, looking around.
“It’s about time she came back home. She went there to ‘find herself,’” he says, using air quotes. “I think she went there to escape the fact she was pregnant and didn’t want to have all eyes on her.” He shrugs. “But the only thing that matters is she’s back.”
“So you’re a grandfather?” I ask when a waiter comes over with a tray of champagne and water bottles. Grabbing a water bottle, I open it and take a drink. “I didn’t know.”
“Yes, Aiden is six years old,” he says with a smile, his eyes even lighting up with that news. “Looks just like his mother,” he says, and I just smile.
“Well, I can’t wait to meet them,” I say, bringing the water bottle back to my mouth.
“Well, you won’t wait long. Here she is,” he says. I turn my head, and it all happens in slow motion. Or at least that is what it feels like. I turn my head, and my eyes meet the blue eyes that have haunted my fucking dreams since I walked off that boat. Her long blond hair is tied on the top of her head in a ponytail. She is looking around, and when she finally turns and her eyes meet mine, her eyes go wide. Her face goes pale, and then I look down at the little boy holding her hand, and I take a step back. He may have his mother’s looks, but those are my eyes.
“Eli,” I mouth.