My Husband's Divorce Attorney

Chapter 8

Ethan reached over the console of the car to pull me into a hug.

“Thanks for the ride, Mom. Tell Mr. Jones that I hope he enjoys retirement.”

“I will,” I said, giving him a hearty squeeze, grateful he still hugged his mom. “Have a good day at school, sweetie.”

His tall frame exited the SUV smoothly, and I watched him walk to the front doors. My heart ached as my mind recalled the days I walked with him to kindergarten and how small he had once been. Ethan normally walked to school since we lived close by, but for the past two weeks I had been dropping him off on my way to meet Kendrick. There was so much to do before I could buy the complex.

I awkwardly put the SUV in first gear to leave, feeling a bit like a mouse operating a semi-truck. I wanted to get used to driving it before Ethan turned sixteen and officially started using my Mercedes sedan. Except I suppose it wasn’t my Mercedes anymore. Robert had always been the one making the payment, and we took my name off the registration yesterday. I kept the paid-off vehicle to help with my budget.

Having a bigger vehicle would also be helpful for the renovation projects at the apartment. I just kept getting confused when I tried to find the windshield wipers or the headlights. Then, the distraction would make me misjudge my width, and I’d panic about sideswiping something. I was just so small, and it felt so large, much like my life right now.

As an individual who had a very minimal work history, there was no way I qualified for the business loan. It was only through Kendrick’s well-established connections within the community that I wasn’t laughed out of the bank. My down payment, the discounted sale price, the revenue-earning history of the complex, and the new five-year contracts everyone signed with me as the new CEO of Kendrick’s existing business barely allowed me to buy the property from him.

I had been meetingKendrick every day since the mediation, and we often went around to see the tenants. This was intended to establish my relationships with them and bolster my confidence in taking over, but the week had only amplified my insecurity. These were successful, well-established business owners, and they spoke to me as the person in charge. Little did they all know that I was a broke joke masquerading at getting my life together.

My new home and health insurance were covered by their rent payments, but all my other bills were not. Utilities, car insurance, cell phone, internet, and groceries would need to be covered another way. While I had plans to start a photography studio, getting established would take time. I could hopefully generate revenue for myself within a few months, but surviving until then was weighing me down.

My mind chaotically jumped around a minefield of worries as I drove towards Old Town, but as I passed the building, all my intrusive thoughts ceased. A throng of people stood on the sidewalk, their number a heartwarming sight. Today was Kendrick’s last day here, and this was his street-party farewell.

The first unit had a garage at the rear of the building for my personal use. As I got out of the car, I wondered if I should head up to the apartment to look for Kendrick or go directly out front. My question was quickly answered as the sound of the service elevator door dinged, and Kendrick sauntered out to join me in the garage.

I was caught off guard by his appearance because he wasn’t wearing a suit; I had worn wide-leg trousers with a layered button-up shirt and sweater to match his usual formal style. Today he was wearing casual khaki cabana pants and a vibrant Hawaiian floral button-up. He fully looked like a man about to retire to a beach house in Florida, which was exactly what he was doing.

“Welcome home, Tiffany!” he said, beaming at me.

“It is going to take me a while to stop considering it you and Lila’s home,” I said.

“Two truths can exist at the same time. This will always be our home, but now it is also yours.”

Opposing truths that exist simultaneously are a natural part of life, and his reminder was a soothing balm to my concerns. I could be the new owner of the complex and still getting established at the same time. I needed to honor the reality of where I was while also making space to grow.

“Why aren’t you out front?” I asked suspiciously. “You must know there is a crowd out there already.”

He shrugged. “The community needs to see me passing the torch to you.”

I felt my muscles stiffen at this, wondering if there was a formal moment I needed to prepare for. Seeing my face, Kendrick offered me his left elbow to link arms and guided me outside to walk around the building.

“I think this,” he said, gesturing to our outfits, “should help send the message that I’m moving on, and you are moving in.”

Relief flooded me with his simple explanation. “No speeches or ceremonies then?”

“That’s corporate stuff,” he said with a chuckle. “Business succession has been an interesting thing around here. The first few original owners sold to high-paying investors, and it didn’t end well. The rest of us learned to make sure we chose successors with more heart than greed.”

Unconsciously, I stood a little taller at his words. Kendrick had a way of saying things that I desperately needed to hear, even when I didn't share my insecurities. Lila had been this way, too. I hoped that as I aged I, too, would gain this clairvoyant wisdom to reassure the people around me.

As we turned around the corner of the building, the crowd cheered to welcome us. I released Kendrick’s elbow so he could shake hands and hug the people who came to greet him. He greeted everyone in their native language and by their name.

“Bonjour, Bernadette,” he said to our tenant in unit two. Bernadette ran a French patisserie called Puff on the first floor, and she had been handing out her gorgeously-flakey mini croissants to the crowd.

“Kendrick!” she said. They briefly kissed cheeks before she turned to address me, “Bonjour, Tiffany.”

“Bonjour,” I responded, happily accepting a croissant, “Merci beaucoup!”

My exaggerated thank you was intentional, as if I had been having a life-long love affair with these flakey pastries. Her face brightened as she heard me speak her language, and I understood why Kendrick had encouraged me to learn a few phrases when chatting with the tenants. After we exchanged quick compliments, I left Bernadette to distribute her pastries as I followed Kendrick through the crowd, content to enjoy the crunchy layers of buttery goodness as we approached unit three.

Claudette was the owner of African Java, and her café only sold coffee sourced from African countries. She hailed from Louisiana, but her father was from the Ivory Coast. A dozen catering dispensers were out with small cups so everyone could enjoy a cup of the delicious Tanzanian Peaberry coffee.

“Good morning, Claudette,” I said, brushing the golden flakes off my sweater, “the ‘Ettes are spoiling us today.”

“Morning, Tiff,” she said to me as she passed me a fresh cup of rich-smelling java, the smell perking my senses, “and this? This ain’t hardly a thing! The very least we could do for Kendrick.”

At the mention of his name, Kendrick came to wrap her in a hug, which quickly turned into an emotional moment for Claudette. I moved on to give them whatever privacy could be managed in a crowd. Coffee in hand, I chatted and greeted people as I unconsciously continued down the street towards unit four.

This was the only unit that had both floors rented for one business, a gym called Striations. It was owned by a Korean immigrant, Hyun-woo, but his timid nature had led to his son becoming the unofficial face of the business. Joon seemed to thrive off dichotomy, even in his appearance. He lifted competitively, so he had the body of a god along with the face of a K-Pop idol.

I felt at ease around Joon because he reminded me of my sons, though he was probably on his way to thirty. His mannerisms shifted between overly-formal to incredibly-casual in a way that gave him a youthful energy.

“Morning, Joon,” I said as I approached him in the crowd.

“Daepyonim! Good morning!”

As I understood it, the title meant CEO, and he insisted on addressing me with it after Kendrick’s new contracts were signed.

“All coffee and no croissants?” I asked.

He patted his washboard stomach under his Striations Trainer t-shirt. “Bad for the branding, you know?”

“Speaking of branding,” I began uncertainly, “I do a bit of photography work and plan on starting a studio when things settle down. I need to add a bit to my portfolio before I get started. Would the gym be interested in anything?”

“Oh, really?” he said with a bit of excitement. “We have current headshots but updated physique shots for the website would be great. What are your rates, daepyonim?”

“I was thinking of just doing a trade for some gym memberships for my sons. They are both athletes, so it would be nice to have a place they could go when they are home with me.”

He waved his hand as if brushing away my words and shook his head. “No need for that. Kendrick was welcome to use the gym whenever he wanted; same goes for you.”

“How come you can call him Kendrick but won’t address me as Tiffany?”

“Because you’re the daepyonim!” he said as if it was a self-explanatory statement. His gaze caught on something behind me.

“Hey Joseph, I know I’m pretty, but it’s not polite to stare!”

My body froze, and panic started to steal my breath. It was plausible that some other guy named Joseph was watching me talk to Joon, but somehow I knew that this wasn’t a random guy. How had I never considered that Mr. Joseph Kavinsky, whose office was a ten-minute walk away, would frequent any of the establishments in the complex?

“I’ve got to go find Kendrick,” I said, trying to leave abruptly.

“Wait! When could you do the photoshoot? I can start letting the other trainers know so we can plan for it. Maybe even do a cutting phase around it, ya know?”

“My schedule is flexible,” I lied, desperate to get away. “Just talk to the others and get b—"

“Good morning, Joon,” a familiar voice rumbled from behind me. I didn’t turn to face him, as if not making eye contact somehow made me invisible, but he continued, “Good morning, Tiffany.”

Well, shit.