“I’m struggling with the difference between detrimental reliance and promissory estoppel.” Her brow knitted, and her fingers fidgeted with the pencil she’d pulled from her thick chocolate-colored hair. She was striking, even now, looking like a raccoon startled from its nest with her mascara smudged under her emerald eyes.
She could have easily been a model, but according to her, she lacked a taste for rabbit food and was unwilling to give up the tons of sugar we took in our coffee.
Always coffee. Strong, black, and sweet. It was one of the first things we’d bonded over.
“I think I remember that,” I said. “Okay, imagine you’ve been asked on a date.”
I continued to explain the distinctions between the two concepts. It didn’t take long before the light was back in Heather’s eyes, and she nodded enthusiastically as the principles she had been struggling with sank in. Heather was smart. She just doubted herself sometimes. As a tutor, she hated asking for help before we met, but like I said, we just got each other.
“You’re a genius!” she exclaimed. She’d just gotten nine out of ten questions right on the practice problems she’d been working on.
Our hands clapped together in a high-five, and I grinned at her. “Nah, I didn’t just score a 90. I’d say you were good to go.”
“On contracts, maybe. The rest, I’m not so sure about.” Heather paused and took a deep breath. I barely suppressed a sigh. I knew where this was going. “You know, it might be your father’s dream, but you’re really good at this. You would be a great attorney.”
“I’m good at studying law, not practicing it. There’s a huge difference.” Even if I did take the bar eventually, there was no guarantee I’d be a good attorney. I’d probably suck.
I didn’t have the driven, over-the-top, alpha personality that most lawyers have. In other words, I wasn’t an asshole. As an attorney, being an asshole was an asset. That was who you wanted on your side when push came to shove in the courtroom or in settlement negotiations. There was an old saying in the legal community: everyone hates lawyers until they need one.
But that just wasn’t me.
“Speaking of your beloved father,” Heather said softly, “did you watch the Super Bowl last night?”
My face fell. I hated stupid football. So much. “Super Bowl, Shmuper Bowl. I hate football. You know that.”
“Have you spoken to him about all of this? Not taking the bar?” Heather was hesitant but persistent. She was not-so-secretly hoping my father would change my mind.
Too bad my father and I had never seen eye to eye on this issue. “Nope. His precious team has been dominating his time, as always.”
“You have to tell him at some point, though.”
She was right, of course. My father wasn’t going to be happy. It wasn’t a conversation I looked forward to having.
“I know, and I will,” I said. “When the time is right.” Which might be, you know, when hell froze over, and football players started falling through the icy cracks. Maybe then my dad would be willing to listen to me.
“Wouldn’t that be now?” The season was over. The Super Bowl had come and gone. If ever there was a time to capture Richard Ralls’s attention, it would be now.
Heather’s brow furrowed. Whatever she was about to say, it was difficult. “It’s not easy for you, I know. He puts a lot of pressure on you, but he loves you enough to do it. Always remember that.”
I knew that talking about parents was painful for her. Her folks had never really been role models, but that didn’t make my dad any better. “Yeah, sure. He loves me so much. I’m prior
ity number one. No, make that two. Right after his beloved fucking Dolphins. Or no, wait, how many football players are there on his team? I’m the number after that.”
Her eyes softened. She’d been through a lot for only being 28, but it gave her insight that I didn’t always understand. “He owns the team, babe. They’re his job. You’re his daughter.”
“I am. I don’t care about his damn team, though. He doesn’t care about what I want. Being his daughter doesn’t seem to make much of a difference in this equation.” In the battle between myself and his team, there was never a question as to who would win.
Yay for me. I refused to even think about it. I wasn’t about to start whining about my father’s approval, or lack thereof.
My phone chose that opportune time to ring. It was my father’s ringtone. Under Pressure by Queen. It was programmed for his cell, his office, and his assistant. I looked at the screen to see it was his assistant’s number calling me.
No surprise there. I didn’t even know why I had his personal numbers anymore. It wasn’t like he ever called me himself.
“Speak of the devil,” I muttered.
“Answer it, Gabbi. It’s just going to eat at you later if you don’t.” Heather was buried in her notes again, but she shot a concerned glance at me.
I nodded and answered the phone. As it turned out, my father could still surprise me. Maybe hell is freezing over, after all, I thought as I heard his voice on the other end of the line.