“Sure. Why not?”
Will looks over at the couch doubtfully. It’s the sort of transfer I’ve seen him do a zillion times, so I don’t know what he’s so nervous about. Possibly the idea of doing it in front of millions of TV viewers. That could be it.
“Why don’t we try it?” Steve says. “Just so I can see how it looks.”
Will obligingly wheels over to the couch. He tests the height of it, then does his usual routine of locking his wheels, then scooting his bottom a few inches to the center of his cushion, pulling his legs off the footplate, then moving his body over in one swift movement. I glance over at Steve, and I can tell by the way he’s shaking his head that he recognizes this is a mistake. Even more so when the transfer somehow sets off a spasm in Will’s right leg. His leg starts jumping up and down, and doesn’t stop even when he starts readjusting his knee.
“Are you okay?” Steve calls to him.
“Fine,” Will says through his teeth.
Steve glances at me. “Is he really okay?”
I nod. “Give him a minute.”
Will ends up having to lean his whole body forward and stabilize his leg to quiet the spasm. I can see he’s sweating under the bright lights, even despite the powder.
“Yeah,” Steve says. “Bad idea. We definitely don’t need that on camera.”
“Right,” Will mumbles.
In the end, they bring over a chair for Katie, so the two of them will just be sitting around the coffee table. It seems like a good resolution.
As they get the cameras ready to start filming, Will looks so incredibly nervous. He keeps adjusting his legs and his pants, and I can see that his hands are shaking. Katie is sitting next to him, and she notices too and smiles kindly at him, “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
And you know what? He is fine. The interview starts out rocky, because Will is so edgy, but as soon as he gets into his rhythm, he does a great job. I’ve never seen Will in court before, so I hadn’t realized what a good speaker he is. He sounds confident but like a nice guy, which is probably just what the Hanford Corporation needs. And everything he’s saying sounds so reasonable—it almost makes me wonder if protesting the Hanford Corporation is the right thing to do.
“One more question, Mr. Kaplan,” Katie says as she gets to the end of the list that Steve had handed him. “Some people are questioning your involvement as the lead attorney on this case. Obviously, you’re very young. What experience gives you the qualifications to handle a trial of this magnitude?”
Will seems surprised by the question, but not shaken. I’m guessing it’s not the first time he’s been asked that. “Well, Katie,” he says. “I graduated first from my class at Columbia Law School. I’ve worked for Saperstein and Hitchcock for a decade, and I’m now one of the partners. My litigation record is excellent and I’ve won several decisions in favor of large corporations. Are you familiar with the recent litigation against Umpire Industries?”
“You handled that?” Katie looks impressed.
“I most certainly did,” Will says. “So I would say that I’m quite well qualified to handle this case.”
“Well, I’m convinced.” Katie smiles at him. “Mr. Kaplan, if I’m ever in legal trouble, I’d hire you as my lawyer in a heartbeat.”
Hmm. I know that flirting and banter are expected on television, but I’m not entirely crazy about the way Katie Corrigan is looking at my fiancé. I don’t think she’s that good an actress.
They cut filming and I can see Will visibly relax once the cameras are off. But even he has to admit that went really well.
“You were wonderful, Will,” Katie tells him. And as she says it, she puts her hand on his arm. “I can’t believe you’ve never been on television before. You even knew when to look at the camera.”
“Thanks,” he says.
Steve comes over to him, looking equally impressed. “Yeah, you did a great job. Very natural. You’re a great speaker. You know who you remind me of?” He pauses thoughtfully. “Charles Krauthammer.”
I can see Will’s lips set in a straight line. He hates being randomly compared to other guys in a wheelchair. Charles Krauthammer is a columnist and Republican pundit who is absolutely nothing like Will. Completely opposite in looks, opinions, etc. (Well, they are both Jewish.) However, Krauthammer does happen to be in a wheelchair, so Will has actually gotten that comparison before when he’s wearing a suit like he is now.
“Are you kidding me?” Katie snorts. “Will looks nothing like Charles Krauthammer. Will is young and cute, and Krauthammer is… is rancid.”
“Katie!” Steve rolls his eyes. “Be nice. You’ve had the guy on twice.”
“Yeah, and that’s how I know,” she says. She shudders. “And he hit on me.”
“Every male guest hits on you, Katie,” Steve says.
“Will hasn’t,” she says pointedly.
I’m pleased to report that Will doesn’t take the bait. “Well, I’m engaged,” he says.
Steve and Katie both laugh, like he’s said the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. I decide right then that I wouldn’t be disappointed if Will never goes on television again.
Chapter 23
Will and I wake up early two days later to watch the news show air on television. Watching it on television is a completely different experience from seeing it filmed. On the screen, I can really see how much of a natural Will is at this. He really does seem to know exactly when to look at the camera, and he has a great speaking voice. And like Katie said—he comes across as very young and cute.
They certainly don’t hide the fact that he’s in a wheelchair. They show him wheeling in, and the chair is visible several times when they back up to get a full screen view of Will and Katie. I can see Will being critical of himself as we watch those shots. In any case, he looks relieved when we’ve finished watching the show.
“That wasn’t awful,” he says. “I guess.”
“Are you kidding me?” I retort. “You were amazing!”
He allows a tiny smile. “You think so?”
“Anyone would.”
I’m right, of course. Will texts me later that everyone at work has been telling him how great he did on the show, including two of the senior partners. Someone even called him from the Hanford Corporation to congratulate him.
It softens the blow only slightly over the fact that I failed my second biology midterm. This time I got a 64. Apparently, all the extra studying and help from Reid only got me two measly points. Pathetic.
I don’t know what to do anymore about this class and I can’t talk to Reid about it anymore. In the old days, I would have called Mia and spilled my guts to her, but the truth is, I’ve been avoiding her calls recently. I tell myself that it’s because I’m so busy, but I’m not that busy. The real reason I’ve been avoiding her is because of how painful it is to look at her baby bump.
I hate myself for it. Mia is my best friend and I want so badly to be happy for her. But instead, thinking about her pregnancy gives me this horrible ache in my chest. It isn’t just her that does it to me either—it seems like half the world is pregnant right now. Every day, I see a new photo in my Facebook friends feed with a profile pic of someone’s swollen belly. Or a new baby with one of those impossibly adorable hats on.
It was so painful that I ended up deleting my entire Facebook account. Me—the woman who once spent six straight hours on Facebook somehow. I just couldn’t deal with all the babies anymore.
Will and I haven’t discussed baby-making at all since our last appointment with Dr. Powell. We’ve actually completely avoided talking about it—the understanding is that we want to get married first, then we’ll deal with the next step. But I can’t figure out what the next step should be. I genuinely can’t imagine doing the IVF, but at the same time, I desperately want a child and I know he does too.
If Will and I don’t end up having kids… well, maybe someday I’ll get used to it. But right now, I’m not used to it. I want
a baby. And it hurts so bad that it might not happen for me.
I don’t know if Mia realizes that I’ve been avoiding her, but she eventually ambushes me with enough text messages that I agree to meet her at Starbucks for coffee. When she shows up, she has the very slightest baby bump. I’m relieved that she isn’t gigantically pregnant, but irritated that I still look more pregnant than she does.
“So what’s going on with this biology class?” Mia asks me, settling down next to me with her venti latte macchiato. Are you allowed to drink coffee when pregnant? Oh well.
“I’ve failed both the midterms,” I tell her, watching the look on her face.
Mia registers surprise. “Really? Why?”
“It’s not like it was a well thought out plan,” I mutter. “I’m just… dumb.”
“You’re not dumb.” Mia says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s not something I could even argue. “You’re not dumb at all.”
“I can’t concentrate,” I say. “Every time I start studying, I just… zone out.”
She frowns. “Maybe you have ADHD. Maybe you just need medications.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I shake my head. “But Mia, I hate this class. I have no interest in any of this. And I’m sure I’ll feel the same way about all my pre-vet classes. I’m miserable doing this. I’m just starting to wonder… is it worth it?”
Mia is quiet for a minute, sipping her latte. “What does Will say?”
I fiddle with the lid of my own coffee. “I haven’t exactly… told him.”
Her mouth falls open. “Seriously? He doesn’t know?”
“Well…” I bite my lip. “He’s been so busy with that trial…”
“Oh right.” Mia rolls her eyes. “I saw him on television the other day. He did a good job. A really good job. Almost made what he was doing seem slightly reasonable.”
I sigh. “I know. I mean, Will is a good person. He wouldn’t defend the Hanford Corporation if he really believed what they were doing was wrong.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t he?”
“Of course he wouldn’t!” I frown. “Why? Do you think he would?”
She hesitates, taking another sip of her drink. Mia is so elegant when she drinks. She never gets a moustache of coffee foam on her lip. “Yes. I do. He’d do it because that’s his job.”
I realize that she’s probably right. He’s very loyal to Saperstein and Hitchcock. He’d do anything for that company—he even postponed his own wedding multiple times for them.
“So back to your problem,” Mia says. “What are you going to do about the class?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea. I’d need to get an A on the final exam in order to pass at this point, but that seems virtually impossible, considering I can’t even pass the midterms. And even if I somehow managed to pull that off, I can’t imagine how I’d make it through all the other courses. I’m not even sure I want to anymore.”
“Well, you have to if you want to be a vet.”
“Yeah.” I stare down at my lap. “I know.”
“So maybe there’s something else you’re meant to do?”
A large lump develops in my throat. Through most of my early life, all I wanted to do was work with sick animals. Then when college didn’t work out for me the first time, I still had it in the back of my mind that maybe I could go back and live out my dream. But if I quit now, it will be admitting that it will never happen. I will never be a vet. And then I’d have to go back to being just a secretary.
I feel like all my dreams are going down the tubes right now. My dream of becoming a veterinarian. My dream of becoming a mother. What am I going to have left?
I really wish I could talk to Will about this. The truth is, I know that he’d be great. He’d make me feel better about the whole thing and I know he wouldn’t judge me. But he’s so successful at everything he does. I mean, not only did he make it through law school, but he graduated first in his class. Not only that, but every woman he dated before me was just as successful as he is. I don’t want him to know what a loser I am.
No, I’ll figure this out on my own.
Chapter 24
It’s a bit frightening to have someone who I’m pretty sure has gotten less than a dozen hours of sleep over the last several days at the wheel for a nearly four-hour drive upstate, but that’s the situation I’ve gotten myself into and it’s too late to do anything about it now. Will keeps insisting that he had enough coffee to drink this morning that he’ll be fine, but a few times when traffic slowed to a standstill, I saw his eyelids fluttering closed.
I am not going to be thrilled with him if we die in a fiery car crash.
We’re driving up to Will’s parents’ house in Utica for Thanksgiving dinner. I suggested going there the day before, but Will insisted the traffic would be easier on the day of. Then I suggested we go two days before and he looked at me like I’d completely lost my mind. Really, it was just a ploy on my part to attempt to pry Will away from Saperstein and Hitchcock for an extra day. As if.
We pull off of I-90W, and Will lets out a gigantic yawn. I feel bad that he had to do all the driving, but there’s no way I could work the hand controls in his car, and there’s no way he could work the foot pedals if we got a rented car. I would have been fine with renting a car even if it meant I had to drive the whole way, but Will insisted he was up for it.
“You’ve probably got a couple of hours to nap before dinner,” I tell him.
“I’m not tired,” he says.
“You’ve been yawning for the last hour,” I point out.
“So have you.”
I sigh. “Yeah, but that’s only because yawns are contagious.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “I’m not tired. Really. And if I’ve got any time before dinner, I should probably get some work done.”
I stare at him. “You brought work with you?”
“Of course I did.” He doesn’t even seem embarrassed over this. As if taking work along to your parents’ house for Thanksgiving dinner is a totally normal and natural thing to do.
The Kaplans own a small, two-story house on the outskirts of Utica. It’s a white house with blue shutters and a small lawn that always seems to be in need of a trimming. Will lived there for his entire childhood until he took off for NYU for college. He parks in the driveway in front of the garage, and just sits there for a minute, looking utterly exhausted.
“Time to do some work!” I say (as a joke).
He gives me a pained look and doesn’t so much as smile. “Yeah.”
I bite my lip. “You want me to get your chair out of the back seat for you?”
He actually looks like he’s considering it. If he said yes, I’d be really worried about him, because he never, ever lets me do that. But instead, he shakes his head slowly. “No. It’s just… it’s been a long drive.”
Damn. I knew I should have insisted on renting a car so that I could drive.
I get out of the car and grab our bags from the trunk, leaving Will to get his chair out of the back seat. He grabs the frame, then each of the two wheels, which he pops back on after positioning the frame outside the car. He grabs the seat of his chair and starts to transfer himself, but then the chair starts to wheel backwards and he nearly falls.
“Goddamn it,” he snaps. He shakes his head. “I forgot to lock the goddamn wheels.”
The chair has wheeled back a couple of feet, so I grab it for him so that he can reach it. This time he remembers to lock the wheels, and transfers himself with his usual ease. Still, I’m sure that considering how tired he is, he’d prefer to just hop out of the car without having to go through the hassle of putting his chair back together and making a transfer.
There’s a wooden ramp that’s been installed to get to the front door of the house, which is only one of the many modifications Will’s family had to make for him after he broke his back. He pushes himself up the ramp, and before I can ring the doorbell, Will’s mother Maxine throws open the door.
Maxine is a small woman with an abnormally deep crease between her eyebrows, dark hair that is always pulled up in a messy bun, and kind brown eyes that remind me of Will’s. The first thing she does before even saying hello is she throws her arms around her son and cries, “Will!”
She gives him a hug befitting of a woman who hasn’t seen her son in at least six months, then she straightens up and cries out, “Libby!” Then I get hugged too.
Maxine loves me. She loves me. This is a woman who has two sons in their thirties, both of whom were chronically single until I came along. I think between the three of us, Maxine is the most excited about our upcoming nuptials. (And that’s saying a lot, because I’m extremely excited.) She’s even completely fine with the fact that I’m not Jewish. She doesn’t even care. That’s how badly she wants Will to get married.
“You look gorgeous, Libby,” she says to me. “Have you lost some weight?”
“I have!” I beam as I smooth out my slightly billowy green dress. Well, I’ve lost two pounds. Which I’ll almost certainly gain back over the course of dinner tonight. Still.
“And Will…” Maxine turns to look at her son, who is slumped slightly in his wheelchair. “You look exhausted. And too thin.”
He makes a face. “Gee, thanks, Mom.”
“But still very handsome,” she adds quickly.
He rolls his eyes. He actually does look very handsome today. I’m so used to seeing him dressed in a suit and tie lately that I forgot how cute he looks in the simple T-shirt and jeans he’s wearing under his jacket. Too bad I’d feel incredibly awkward having sexy time at his parents’ house.
Maxine leads us to Will’s old bedroom, which used to be the den before they converted it after he couldn’t get upstairs so easily. It’s a guest bedroom now, with a double bed that’s made up with silky maroon bedsheets. I love the fact that from the first time I started coming here with Will, Maxine had no issue with us sharing a bedroom. Yes, we’re both in our thirties, so it’s pretty damn obvious that we’re having sex, but tell that to my mother—when I’ve been up to visit my parents, she stuck us in separate bedrooms. In her eyes, I will be a virgin until my wedding day, or possibly until the day I die.
(Almost) Happily Ever After Page 15
