My mother always switches to Portuguese when she’s essentially calling me a smartass. “I’m just kidding, and I love you too.” I glance at my watch, then gather up my trash. “Ready to head out?”

“Soon. Let me use the bathroom first.” She unties her apron as she stands. “I can’t wait to see what the area looks like without all of the weeds.”

The community garden we’re working on together is in its infancy, so it would be more accurate to describe it as a plot of land we’re still preparing for planting. I asked my mother to help, hoping she’d develop enough of an interest in it to continue after I’m gone. More than anything, though, I’m treasuring our mother-daughter bonding time.

“The space is really coming along,” I say. “Wish I could hang around long enough to see everything grow.”

She pats my arm before she heads off to the back of the store. “You’ll still be here, filha. I can feel it in my bones.”

No, I won’t, but she’s obviously not ready to accept the inevitable. Which means my mother’s in for a rude awakening at the end of the summer. But it can’t be avoided. Because she doesn’t deserve to live her life in the shadow of someone else’s mistakes.

Chapter Five

Olney & Henderson, LLP

Washington, DC

One week later

Dean

News flash: The first day back at work after your wedding is called off sucks.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d worry that my job is in jeopardy. But I do know better, and this walk of shame across Olney & Henderson’s main floor is just a necessary rite of passage when you’re the focus of office gossip. By now, everyone knows that I didn’t get married while I was out on vacation. They also know why.

In an environment like this one, where people are openly and secretly cutthroat, it’s crucial to give your colleagues as little ammunition as possible. Understanding this, I chose to invite only two people from Olney to my wedding: my assistant, Ginny Sloane, and Michael Benitez, a junior partner two years senior to me and the only person here I consider a true friend.

Michael spread the breakup news at my request, the canned message we jointly put together meant to eliminate anyone’s inclination to ask me for details. But I’m sure Ginny filled in the gaps with her own colorful commentary; hence, the office scuttlebutt.

So far, there’s no snickering. But I see several sets of wide eyes, and so many people are clearing their throats as I pass them, you’d think everyone in the whole damn firm is dehydrated. Fuck me, this is going to be painful. It’s not that I care what they think; what bothers me is that they’re thinking about my personal business at all.