Did you get to the second one? Because when I picture you, it’s always with rain and Yanni.

  Victoria’s first impulse was to ask, You picture me? But she went with:

  Oh, give me a bay window and some rain, and I can brood with the best of them.

  Victoria glanced sadly out her window, the perfect embodiment of what that student envisioned her to be.

  God, Tori, I hope this student failed the assignment—that wedding at the end is too sentimental to stomach.

  What’s too much—the beach, or fact that we’re on horses?

  Both—and that we braided each other’s hair first.

  Victoria let out a bark of laughter—she’d missed that part. She skimmed the proposal again and yep, there it was: before they walked—no, wait, rode their horses down the aisle, they sat underneath a waterfall and braided each other’s hair.

  I’m confused—are we on the horses for the hair braiding, or do we mount them after?

  She doesn’t say. Looks like a plot hole.

  Victoria glanced back at the student’s name: Quinn O’Brien. Pretty gender neutral.

  How do you know it’s a “she?”

  More importantly, how does the third student know about the secret removable panel in your chambers where I sneak in?

  Victoria navigated to the next submission, a graphic novel called Law Suits that—if the capes, masks, and flying were any indication—was a comedy.

  What would your superhero name be?

  Genevieve texted back immediately.

  Amicus Breeze.

  That was fast—been thinking about this for a while?

  A mock-trial student I worked with in Chicago gave me that name a long time ago.

  The image of a younger Genevieve mentoring high school students filled Victoria’s heart.

  That’s very sweet.

  Your turn—what’s your superhero name?

  Sighing, Victoria stared at the ceiling for a full minute and came up empty.

  Um, Wonder Judge?

  The reply text came quickly.

  Oh, we can do better than that. How about Justice Jax?

  Jax?

  Why not? Sounds cool. Sounds like someone people won’t mess with.

  Victoria shrugged.

  I’ll take it.

  She tapped through some of the other proposals students had submitted about her relationship with Genevieve. They were uniformly supportive—not a single student was homophobic or found ethical issues with a justice and lawyer seeing each other. Some representations were more saccharine than others, but Victoria and Genevieve were without fail the heroes of each play, novel, or action movie. The students seemed to idolize them as individuals and as a couple—or else, that’s what made the best story.

  Victoria looked back at her texting conversation with Genevieve, but she hadn’t received a new message in five minutes. She stared at the last one Genevieve had sent: Sounds like someone people won’t mess with. How deeply should she read into that?

  It was late, she was tired, and tomorrow promised to be an equally frustrating day at work. As she got ready for bed, she clicked through a few news sites, starting with CNN. Nothing particularly newsworthy seemed to have happened that day. She crawled into bed and checked her phone one last time—no new texts from Genevieve. After rereading their text conversation and wondering what it all meant, she wrote, Good night, Genevieve, turned off her volume, and put the phone on her nightstand without waiting to see if Genevieve would write back.

  * * *

  The following afternoon, Alistair’s pacing across her office in the Court was driving her bananas, and she had to bite her tongue from telling him to sit down or get out. She turned the page on the decision she was reading, and he grunted.

  “Victoria, I asked you to skim it, not to copyedit the damn thing.”

  She removed her glasses and reminded herself to be patient with him—he’d spent years being patient with her. “Alistair, I think it’s very good. I would be proud to sign my name on this.”

  He stopped pacing and stared at her. “But?”

  She shrugged. “But I think you need to soften the language about animus if you are serious about courting Kellen. His record on LGBTQ rights is pretty spotty, and he might take anything you say about animus personally. Telling states to issue birth certificates with gender-neutral parentage would be a big deal for him.”

  After giving her a good glare, he dropped into one of the chairs on the other side of her desk. “Damn Jamison for dumping this on my lap.”

  “Alistair, you know you’re secretly thrilled. Although I’m still laughing at the idea that Jamison ‘had too much on his plate.’”

  He sighed. “How can I soften the language? The only possible motivation for separating children from their gay parents is animus. It’s bigotry masquerading as some kind of concern for the children, when in reality, their lives would be destroyed if suddenly they had to go live with strangers.”

  “Listen, Alistair, I agree with you. I feel strongly about this too. But Kellen will never sign an opinion that calls this animus. He believes it’s a legitimate concern arising from religious convictions, even if he might also believe that the law should not bow to that concern.”

  Alistair looked at his tea. “I’m going to need something stronger than this.”

  Smiling, Victoria pointed to a cabinet beneath her tea maker. “Whiskey?”

  After giving her an eye roll, Alistair stood. “I meant caffeinated tea, not spiked.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through something. “Tomorrow we release the decision on the Clean Air Act and the two health care cases. Those three are done—nothing more to do there. The gay parentage decision is scheduled for release on Monday…”

  He looked up at her, brows knitted. “I’m so close to getting Kellen to join us. I really want this 7-2 victory—it would be such a decisive win for LGBTQ rights.”

  “Do you want me to try to talk to him?” Victoria offered with as much enthusiasm as if she were suggesting she could birth a calf.

  “I’m not sure that would be good for his health—or yours. I’m off to revise this again. Expect to read another draft in two hours.” He mimed a hat tip and left her office.

  Her head was spinning, and it was long past lunchtime. She pulled out the leftover pasta she’d brought from home, knowing she wouldn’t have time to step away from her desk once she walked through the door. While she ate, she clicked through the news, bored with the events of the world and her own habits of procrastination.

  For lack of anything better to do, and with mixed feelings, she navigated to I Fought the Law. Sure enough, the second post down was about her. The infamous picture of her and Genevieve almost kissing had been cut into two, the outline of a broken heart superimposed over the pieces, and the blog post read: Splitzies for our favorite legal couple?

  The post began with a summary of Victoria’s interview on They’ve Got Issues and concluded with speculation about what she might have meant when she said “this one’s on me.” The writer suggested that Victoria had put her career over their relationship, which she supposed wasn’t far from the truth.

  Without really overanalyzing why, she opened her iMessage, copied and pasted the link to the blog post, and texted it to Genevieve, along with the message,

  This site should start paying us for material.

  She had finished her pasta, and still no reply, so she turned her focus back to work.

  Alistair breezed back into her office around four, an hour later than he’d promised when he’d left. “I got caught up in a conversation with Michelle about architecture. Sorry!”

  “Architecture? Who has time for casual conversation this week? It’s crunch time, Alistair,” Victoria said.

  He smirked at her. “Well, I liked your idea about the whiskey—just a splash, mind you. And I think you’ll find that this draft reads much better.” He dropped a binder-clipped stack of paper on her desk. “I printed a redlined version, so you can easily see my edits.”

  She held out a similarly thick stack of paper, this one not binder-clipped. “Here’s the final of Michelle’s opinion on the Clean Air Act. It’s good.”

  He sat, and they read in silence for forty-five minutes. When she finally pushed back from her desk and took her glasses off, he did the same.

  “Michelle’s is good,” he said. “I can’t for the life of me imagine why it won’t be unanimous, but evidently, some justices don’t believe in science.”

  “I don’t think it’s science so much as they don’t believe businesses should bear the financial burden for solving global warming,” Victoria said.

  He cocked his head at her. “That’s charitable, Victoria.”

  “I think it’s reasonable,” she said with a shrug, “but it’s also shortsighted. Industry has created the problem. Industry needs to work to fix it.”

  Pointing to the papers in her hand, Alistair raised his eyebrows. “Well?” he asked. “Is it better?”

  “Yes, I think you can show this to Kellen. And who knows? He might even sign it.”

  His shoulders lowered. “Whew. God, I won’t miss wooing that man with my writing.”

  “I call foul. You’ll miss it intensely.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “I suppose I will.”

  “This is it, then? The last decision you’ll write?” Victoria waved the papers in her hand.

  “Yes, ma’am. And I’m immensely proud of it.”

  She passed it back to him. “You going to walk it down to Kellen’s office?”

  He nodded, wistfully. “Guess so. Thanks for your feedback, Victoria.” He headed toward the door, and his hand was on the knob when she called out to him.

  “Alistair, Kellen’s a pain in the ass, but it’s okay that you’re going to miss him.”

  “Yes, I know.” His voice tightened almost imperceptibly. “I’ll miss all of you, you pains in my ass.”

  As he closed the door behind him, Victoria tried not to think about how much she would miss him and how quiet her office would be without him inviting himself in multiple times a day.

  After gathering up binders and her laptop, Victoria headed home, where she would spend the night doing what she’d done all day: researching and writing.

  Alistair’s wife was in remission, and Victoria still wasn’t convinced that retirement would make him happy, but during crunch-time weeks—especially the last few weeks of June when all outstanding cases had to be decided—she could certainly understand the appeal of work-free evenings.

  * * *

  Four hours and a salad later, Victoria was done working for the night. Not to say that she didn’t still have loads more work she could be doing, but she was just done. She closed the French doors to her home office, padded to the living room, and flopped down on the couch.

  Maybe a little television would help quiet her brain. She clicked the remote and stopped when she got to a Pavarotti concert on PBS. He was performing her favorite song from Tosca, but she clicked around again until she found a rerun of Cheers, which seemed just mindless enough to help her zone out.

  Sam was pouring beer, and Woody was being oblivious as usual when her phone beeped. She’d managed to forget all about texting Genevieve earlier.

  Should we charge them by the word, or flat fee?

  Victoria felt that familiar rush of adrenaline as her fingers typed.

  I was thinking per post.

  Ah, well, we need a plan to make more headlines then—otherwise, this income source is going to dry up.

  Victoria tapped her finger to her lips a few times, pondering.

  One sec—I’ve got an idea.

  She collected her laptop from her office, navigated to the blog post on I Fought the Law about their breakup, did some speedy typing in the comments section, identified herself as Justice Jax, and hit submit.

  Handled. Check out the most recent comment on that blog post.

  A few minutes passed while Victoria scrolled through all the article’s comments, most of which expressed sadness at the breakup. Well, it was nice to know that the legal community was behind their relationship, even if Genevieve wasn’t.

  Genevieve still hadn’t responded when Victoria reached her own comment at the bottom:

  Shame about the breakup—especially since an entire class of undergraduate students has written comic books and television pilots about them!

  And there was a link to the course website.

  Her phone buzzed with Genevieve’s reply.

  I can’t believe you just did that.

  Victoria’s heart skipped a beat, and she bit her lip hard. Crap, she clearly hadn’t thought this through.

  I’m so sorry—I should have asked. Do you want me to delete it?

  Hell no! I think everyone in the legal community should read those assignments. And some Hollywood producers, too.

  LOL! I’ll reach out to Lifetime about that melodramatic one.

  Genevieve seemed to hesitate—her response came a few seconds later than the rhythm they’d established. Then:

  Are you serious? I can’t tell with you right now… I’m still in shock that you shared that website with the entire legal community.

  Well, that was fair. She was kind of in shock too. But she shrugged and typed back:

  I’m trying this new thing where I don’t hide all the time.

  When Genevieve didn’t write back immediately, Victoria tried to return her attention to the television. Why wasn’t Genevieve saying anything? Maybe she was mad Victoria had posted that link after all?

  Spinning out about Genevieve definitely wasn’t going to help her get to sleep. She moved to turn off the television when her phone rang.

  Gazing at the screen that read Genevieve calling, Victoria contemplated not answering. Talking right now would only confuse her and weaken her resolve to move on. But Genevieve would know… And it was impossible, really, not to take whatever kernels were being offered to her, as awful as that felt. She tapped accept.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey. Listen, Tori, I watched your interview. You know that this—our breakup—wasn’t ‘on you,’ don’t you? You’re right when you said that we all make mistakes. You made yours in law school. I made mine this past December.”

  The books lining the walls of her living room swam a little, and her voice caught as she tried to respond. If they’d been texting, she would have written back what are you saying? But she wasn’t about to say that out loud in the more intimate medium of a phone call.

  “You sound tired,” was the best she could come up with.

  “I’m not surprised. I flew home late last night, woke up in DC for a breakfast fundraiser, gave an interview in New York, and finalized case prep in Michigan this afternoon. I’m in a shitty hotel room with itchy sheets.”

  “That sounds awful.”

  “Well, it’s a hell of a lot better than the cell my client’s in.”

  “How’s she holding up? Amelia, right?”

  “She’s okay. I’ve got to say, my staff managing the media for this case has done an amazing job, and the prison administration has suddenly become remarkably accommodating to her mental health and hormone needs. She’s been given access to a therapist once a week, which has made a huge difference in her overall well-being. I have to wonder, though, if they’re taking these more minor steps in the hopes of winning the case and avoiding more robust support for her. Also, seeing the way that the prison staff is bending over backward for this one inmate because she’s the plaintiff in a high-profile lawsuit throws into sharp relief how hard it is for other inmates to access these basic services.”

  “You can’t save everyone, Genevieve,” Victoria said. “Focus on the ones you can save—each case you win changes real lives.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the best attitude to have if you want to change the world,” Genevieve said, her voice lowering. Victoria pictured her lying on her back in a crappy hotel-room bed. “Aren’t I supposed to dream bigger?”

  “Dream big, and find satisfaction in small victories.”

  “Well, look at you. That’s a very optimistic attitude. I wouldn’t have expected—”

  “I’m trying to change some things, Genevieve. I think I know the things about me that you found…unworkable. I’m trying to be more open. More generous, less exacting.”

  “Look, Victoria, I want to talk to you about this, but I’d rather do it in person than when I’m in Michigan.”

  “Great,” Victoria mumbled, “I just love waiting.”

  Genevieve laughed, a sound that warmed Victoria’s heart.

  “Sorry, did I say that out loud?”

  “Little bit,” Genevieve said. “Anyway, arguments are tomorrow, and I’ll probably take Friday to catch up on work. Or sleep. So…dinner Saturday night?”

  “I’d love to,” Victoria said.

  “Want me to come to your place?”

  Genevieve probably didn’t mean the question as a test, but Victoria was determined to pass it anyway. “No, let’s go out. Or I can come over, if you’d like. You pick.”

  “Oh! Sure, come over here. I’d like that.”

  “Me too,” Victoria said.

  “Great. I’ll text you on Saturday, then.”

  “Get some sleep, Genevieve. And, good luck tomorrow.” She hesitated, then added, “I’ll be thinking about you.”

  The smile in Genevieve’s voice sounded guarded but genuine. “I’ll be thinking of you too. Good night, Tori.”

  After turning off the TV and closing the blinds, Victoria headed upstairs, feeling lighter than she had in days. The next day at work would begin with the justices seated at the bench in the Court and releasing decisions, which would be a fun break in her routine of researching, writing, and editing opinions. When she crawled into bed and closed her eyes, she heard Genevieve’s rich voice in her head saying over and over again, I’ll be thinking of you too. Good night, Tori.

  She slept better than she had in months.

  Chapter 29

  With everything else on her plate as president of HER, Amelia’s case was the only one Genevieve was taking point on. She felt a familiar thrill buzz through her as she walked into the courtroom for arguments, accompanied by her team of HER lawyers. Amelia was already seated at their table, and she’d been allowed to wear civilian clothes. She looked beautiful in a light-blue dress and blazer, although upon close inspection Genevieve could see that her eyes were puffy and her hands were shaking.