The Matchmaker's Gift(92)
“Me? But I’ve never even met her. I can’t chase your granddaughter down and beg her to be my matchmaker.” Jessica helped Sara up from the exam chair and walked her to the reception area. “Mrs. Auerbach, I’m so grateful for all you’ve done to try and help me. But it’s been almost two years—if you can’t find anyone, I don’t see how anyone can. It’s probably too late for me.”
“Nonsense,” Sara said emphatically. “In my day, the girls got married at eighteen. When I met Gabe, I was well into my twenties, and a lot of people already called me a spinster. But my mother, may she rest in peace, never gave up. I refuse to die before you find a husband, she said. So, I told her she was going to live forever. You should have seen how angry she was! She balled up her fists and shouted at me loud enough for the whole block to hear.”
Jessica smiled. “What did she say?”
“It’s never too late to die or get married.”
TWENTY-SIX
ABBY
1994
When Abby went to clean out her desk on Monday, one of Diane’s Post-its was waiting for her: Please come see me. So many of Abby’s days had begun with those notes—with a pit in her stomach, a mad dash to Diane’s office, and a humiliating wait in Diane’s doorway. But today, Abby decided, she would not run. If Diane wanted to talk, she knew where to find her.
Abby was already sorting through files when the receptionist, Tom, poked his head in her doorway. “Holy crap, Abby! That party was crazy!”
“I guess Diane told you?”
Tom rolled his eyes and waved a hand through the air as if he were swatting an invisible fly. “Diane? That woman never talks to me.”
Abby tilted her head. “How did you hear about it?”
“Seriously, Abby? You don’t know? Oh my God. Wait right there.”
Tom was back in a flash with his copies of New York Newsday and the New York Post. Both had covered Victor’s party. Aside from the gossip about who had been invited, the canceled wedding, and the new collaboration, the fourth biggest story turned out to be Abby. Who was the “mystery attorney” Victor étoile had praised so highly? Was Diane Berenson grooming her “secret weapon” to become the next partner of the firm?
“This is crazy,” Abby said. “Diane fired me Saturday night.”
“She what?”
“She fired me,” Abby repeated, pointing to the thick manila folders covering her desk. “I’m only here today to clean out my office.”
Tom pulled the Post-it off Abby’s computer and studied the words on the small yellow square. “At least this time, she said ‘please.’”
* * *
Not long after, Diane passed by on her way to get some coffee. “Abby!” she said, when she saw the open door. “You’re here. Didn’t you see my note?”
“I did,” Abby answered, but she made no excuses. Diane Berenson was no longer her boss.
“About Saturday night,” Diane began. “I looked for you when the fashion show was over, but your ophthalmologist friend said you’d already left.”
“There wasn’t any reason for me to stay.”
“A lot of people were asking for you. They wanted to meet my ‘secret weapon.’”
“Did you tell them you already fired me?”
Abby thought she had rendered her boss speechless, but it didn’t take long for Diane to recover. “I’d like to talk to you about that,” Diane said, taking a seat across from her. “It seems that I underestimated the appeal of your approach. I’ve already gotten some calls this morning from a few potential new clients—people who’d like to meet with us.”
“Well, as you know, today is my last day.”
Diane frowned. “Look, Abby, I’m not big on apologies. Was I wrong to fire you? Maybe, maybe not. As I already made clear, you betrayed my trust. You ignored my instructions on two separate cases and took matters completely into your own hands. What I’m proposing now is a business arrangement that involves you staying on at the firm. I’m offering you the opportunity to build your legal career—to benefit from my experience, my contacts, and my reputation. We both made some regrettable decisions, Abby. But you’ve tapped into something that people are interested in—a different style of representation. As long as you don’t keep fighting against me, I think we can work together.”
Abby didn’t answer immediately. She picked up the photograph on her desk—the one of her with her sister and her grandmother. In the picture, Sara’s eyes were bright, her smile was wide, her face was full of joy. Fight for something, sweetheart, her grandmother had told her. Not just against. That’s the best advice I can give you.
Abby put down the frame. “The thing is, Diane, I don’t regret my decisions. I don’t regret listening to Michael Gilbert or encouraging Evelyn to see a doctor. It might not be the way you would have done things, but because of me, they’re still together, and that is something I’m proud of. I don’t regret following my instincts about Victor and Nicole getting married either. I don’t regret introducing Victor to my friend, and I certainly don’t regret that the wedding was canceled.