“I’m just saying. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Just because you have to work harder at passing the examination doesn’t make you any less intelligent or incapable. You will be an amazing lawyer. You're a Hill after all."
"That's true, I am,” I say in agreement–ready to leave the backyard and this conversation in the worst way. I was completely over it before it even began. It's all anyone wants to talk to me about.
The bar.
The bar.
The bar.
"I'll introduce you two at the party,” he says while clumsily climbing down the ladder. “His name is Chandler Branson.”
There was no use in objecting. Resistance is futile when it comes to my parents’ determination to make me a lawyer. One is a social climber (mom) and the other a cutthroat lawyer and judge (dad) who only cares about work and the family legacy.
"All right, dad. I'll meet him to see if there's anything he can do to help my fried brain absorb information better. Your sons were certainly no help. It was like teaching me to ride a bike all over again. Complete failure.“
Almost every member of my family who’s a lawyer has already tried to help me study for the bar. Seeing that I've already failed it once, my father is resorting to turning to strangers now. Strangers that he considers are dating material as well.
Truly pitiful.
Thosehe’s not from Penn Washingtonandhe's three years older than youcomments that my father made were to let me know that Chandler is a viable candidate for marriage. My parents are definitely old school in some respects. While they want me to carve out my own career in law, they’ve also made it crystal clear that they expect me to get married and give them a bunch of grandkids sooner rather than later.
They want a whole lot don’t they?
After my father finishes climbing down from the ladder, I interlock my arm with his and we walk back into the house where my mom is sorting through stemware.
“Are the lights up?” she asks my father in a curt manner. It’s all business when she’s planning this party.
“Yes, dear.”
“Has it started snowing yet?”
“No, dear. I think the meteorologists just needed something to talk about today. I don’t think there’s any snow coming.”
Yet I don’t agree.
A storm or something akin to one is definitely coming.
I can feel it.
Joseph
Igive myself a good long look in the mirror as I tighten the slipknot of my favorite silk tie. For the first time in my life, I’m dressed in a thousand dollar Ralph Lauren suit and a pair of Italian made shoes, and while I really like how I look in them–I love even more how I feel in them.
Like a million fucking bucks.
“Let’s go, Joseph.”
“Yep, I’m ready.”
I’ve spent the better part of the last five years establishing myself as the number one problem solver for my employer, Lawyer Jack Mills. I started working for his firm as an assistant in the mailroom when Jack noticed my work ethic and my desire to move up in the company.
I remember him taking a long look at my hands, specifically my knuckles (which were worn and swollen from kicking some guy’s ass at a bar the previous night) and asked me if I wanted a job outside of the mailroom.
My supervisor had held his position for over thirteen years, and while that was a good gig for a guy like him, there was no way that I wanted to end up permanently delivering mail to lawyers for the rest of my life.
“We’ll see how you handle yourself.” I remember Jack saying. “And if you solve my problem, you’ll never have to work in the mailroom again.”
I knew as soon as the words flew out of his mouth that this was the opportunity that I’d been waiting for. This was my ticket out of delivering manilla envelopes all day and into Jack’s world of corporate law with real businessmen. While I wasn’t a lawyer, and didn’t have the smarts, the money, nor the desire to become one–I wanted a better life. That I knew for sure. And Jack was my ticket there.
