Benched, page 12
“Fair point. Let’s all agree that she’s ‘really something’ and leave it at that,” Heather said.
The conversation moved on, but for the next two days, every time Penelope’s name came up, Crystal looked at her a little too knowingly, and Genevieve tried not to squirm.
* * *
The settlement conference for Amelia’s case was scheduled for December 5, the same day as oral arguments in Heather and Crystal’s case at the Supreme Court. Genevieve was relieved that she’d have something else to do that day to take her mind off of how frustrated and helpless she felt about being sidelined.
The team she assembled from HER worked tirelessly to sift through evidence and prepare arguments. Although it wasn’t as sexy as a trial, especially in terms of getting the media interested, Genevieve would take a positive and, more importantly, a binding outcome—which she’d get at a settlement conference. Her team understood that, for Amelia, a settlement was an opportunity to reach a resolution quickly. Trial, should it be necessary, was set for June, which would mean six more months of waiting, plus potential appeals.
Genevieve and her team were set to fly to Michigan on December 4, and they worked until eleven the night before, preparing documents and finalizing strategy. When Genevieve woke up the morning of the fourth, her head was pounding.
She peeled the covers off and stumbled into her bathroom, where she rummaged around in the medicine cabinet until she found something for migraines. She managed to toss a pill into her mouth and swallow a bit of water with it before her stomach churned and a wave of dizziness washed over her. She clutched the sink, hoping to wait it out, but nausea surged through her, and she fell to her knees.
Two hours and a lot of throwing up later, she’d made it back to bed with a glass of water, a box of Kleenex, and a cold compress for her head. Blindly, she poked at her phone until she woke up Siri, whom she instructed to call Frank.
“Hi, Genevieve,” he said, breathlessly, “I know your driver’s late. I’m on it—I’ll drive you to the airport myself.”
“Frank,” she mumbled, “please slow down. Talk softer.”
He paused, then said, “Oh God, you sound awful. Is it a migraine again?”
“Whatever it is, I’m throwing up, and I can’t see straight.”
“Okay, give me five minutes. I’m going to shift some things around, reassign your plane ticket to send someone else from the team, and then I’ll head over with some antinausea medicine I got last year when I went on that cruise. And soup.”
“Please don’t talk about food,” Genevieve groaned. She tried to say good-bye, but her eyes were so heavy, and she closed them instead.
When Genevieve woke up, she was drenched in sweat, but her vision was clearer than it had been all day. She rolled over and noticed a note on her nightstand.
Genevieve, there’s soup and ginger ale in your fridge. I don’t know if you’ll remember this, but you did take the antinausea medicine I brought, along with some migraine medicine. I hope they helped you sleep this off, and you wake up feeling better! Call me whenever, and don’t worry about Amelia—she’s in good hands.
Amelia? What did she have to do with—oh shit. She closed her eyes again. When she opened them, she glanced at her alarm clock. 2:30 p.m. Her flight, along with her legal team, had left hours ago.
She sat up, relieved that her head felt its normal size and the floor wasn’t swaying in front of her. It was early enough—she could probably catch another flight to Michigan. The settlement conference began at eight the next morning, and surely there were evening flights that would get her to the hotel in time to grab a few hours’ sleep beforehand. Her mouth felt like a disaster zone, and her eyes still ached a little. Her trip to the bathroom was a lot less nerve-wracking this time, and throwing cold water on her cheeks and brushing her teeth made her feel more human. And if toothpaste could make this much of a difference, imagine how amazing a shower would feel.
Bathing and dressing, however, sapped all her energy, and she crawled back into bed and passed out.
It was dark when she woke up again, and her alarm clock read 6:45 p.m. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. There was no way she was going to Michigan. So now, in addition to disappointing Heather and Crystal, she was disappointing Amelia.
She trudged downstairs for some soup and ginger ale and checked in with Frank, who assured her that the excellent team of lawyers she’d sent to Michigan was well prepared.
After hanging up with Frank, she fiddled with her phone for a minute, then dialed Tori.
“Hi, Genevieve,” Tori greeted her cheerfully. “How’s Michigan? How are you feeling about tomorrow?”
“Miserable,” Genevieve said.
“Oh no. What’s wrong, babe?” Tori asked and Genevieve laughed.
“Babe?”
“Yeah, I’m trying it out. How’d it hit you?”
“Best thing I’ve heard all day.” Genevieve took her glass to her living room and curled up on the couch, grateful that the change in elevation didn’t cause her to see stars. The remains of a headache haunted her forehead and eyes, and she felt weak as a kitten, but generally the pain was gone.
“So what’s going on?” Tori asked, and Genevieve could hear the sound of a chair scraping against bricks, suggesting that Tori was sitting on her back patio.
“Well, for starters, I’m not in Michigan.” After filling Tori in on her day, Genevieve closed her eyes—talking that much was exhausting.
“God, Vee, I’m so sorry. Can I bring you something? Soup? Sprite?”
“I’m covered, but thanks. What are you up to tonight?”
After an awkwardly long pause, Victoria said with a sigh, “Prepping for tomorrow’s oral arguments.”
“Oh.” Of course that’s what she was doing. And if Genevieve hadn’t spent the day in oblivion she would have remembered. Whether it was the turn their conversation had taken or whatever bug was infesting her body, she suddenly needed to sleep again. “Sorry, babe—I gotta rest. Like, now.”
She hung up before Victoria responded and made it to her bed, where she collapsed and the world spun. Her insides churned a few times, accentuating just how sore her stomach muscles were from throwing up earlier.
When she opened her eyes again, there was a soft glow coming from the chair in the corner of her room—a book light clipped to a binder illuminating Tori’s face.
“Your briefs from the district-level trial are beautiful. You’re a brilliant writer, Genevieve.”
She wasn’t expecting that, and her heart swelled a little. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
Tori took off her glasses and closed the binder on her lap. “I’m not sure if saying this will make you feel better or worse, but I really do wish it were you arguing tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
They were quiet for a moment, but the silence felt more comfortable than it had in a long time. Genevieve sat up in bed and adjusted the blankets around her. “Do you know what questions you’re going to ask from the bench?”
“There are things I’d like more information on, but no, I don’t plan questions in advance. Good questions are direct responses to what the attorneys say in arguments, so I’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Well, good luck tomorrow.”
“Will you listen?” Victoria asked.
“I had planned on being in a settlement conference, so I hadn’t thought about listening live. Maybe.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
“Can I make you some tea?” Tori asked.
“That sounds nice. I’ll go down with you.”
The stairs didn’t make her seasick for the first time that day, and she sat at her kitchen table while Tori put on the kettle and located Saltines. They nibbled crackers and drank tea, Victoria’s leg resting against Genevieve’s underneath the table.
“Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow, since you’re in town?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure how I’ll feel tomorrow.”
“Physically or emotionally?”
“Both,” Genevieve admitted.
“That’s fair. But if you’re up for seeing me and still not feeling that well, I’ll happily bring over food. Just let me know.”
Genevieve nodded. “Going to be a weird day tomorrow.”
“I know,” Tori said, taking her hand. “I love you, Genevieve.”
Genevieve studied their interlaced fingers that fit so well together before looking up into Tori’s open eyes, filled with tenderness. “I love you too.”
“Do you want me to stay, or would you rather be alone?”
“It really means a lot to me that you came over, Tori. I think I’d like to wake up alone tomorrow, though. I’m not sure I have it in me to watch you get dressed to hear tomorrow’s arguments.”
Tori nodded. “Want me to tuck you in, then?”
“That sounds divine.”
She crawled back into bed, and Tori bustled about getting her more water, crackers, and her copy of A Separate Peace—“in case you wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep.”
“Thanks, Tori.” They kissed, a sweet kiss that reminded Genevieve how much she really did love Tori.
* * *
When Genevieve woke up the next morning, she felt like a million bucks compared to the day before. Her head was clear and, despite barely eating the day before, her energy was high. She checked in with the legal team in Michigan before they headed into the settlement conference. Once the conference started, there wasn’t anything she could do to help them, but they seemed to have everything in hand. She ate a little and went out for a run.
By the time she’d showered and dressed, it was almost ten. She made herself a cup of coffee, took her laptop to her living room, and pulled up the live audio stream of the Supreme Court arguments. With her feet on her coffee table and caffeine in her hand, she listened as the clerk called the court to order and introduced the case.
The attorney general of Louisiana gave his arguments first. He got out two sentences before Alistair Douglas interrupted him: “Do you honestly think that what’s best for the two children in question, should something befall one of their parents, would be the foster care system?”
“Foster care provides children all over this country with safe homes and loving families,” Archie answered.
“That’s quite the rosy view of the system,” Alistair responded.
“Studies have proven that what’s best for children is to grow up with a mother and a father. Louisiana takes those studies seriously, and the state has a right to—”
“I’m glad you brought up states’ rights,” Michelle Lin cut in. “Doesn’t every state have a right for the birth certificates it issues to be recognized by every other state?”
“Michelle raises a good question,” Jason Blankenstein said. “But I’d like to go back to your assertion that studies have proven children do best with a mother and a father. Drawing your attention to the Johns Hopkins study, it seems as if there are a number of misrepresentations you’ve made in your handling of that study.”
The liberal justices continued to pepper Archie with questions, and twenty minutes passed before it occurred to Genevieve that she hadn’t heard Tori say anything. It was common practice for justices to ask questions from the bench—especially of the side they were more skeptical of—and Tori was one of the most vocal justices during arguments.
Arguments continued until Archie’s time elapsed and the floor was given over to Penelope, with still not a word from Tori. Well, sometimes justices opted for the reverse strategy—they asked leading questions of the attorney whose side they favored. Maybe Tori planned on giving softballs to Penelope.
“Your Honors, I’m here on behalf of Heather and Crystal Rowlings. But I’m also here on behalf of families all across this country—not hypothetical families, but real ones. Children and their parents. Families who eat breakfast together and scramble to get out the door on the way to school with backpacks and lunches and homework. Who talk about their days at the dinner table. These families have a civil right to legal recognition. Because they exist, whether some people want them to or not.”
“That’s a lovely picture you’ve painted for us, Ms. Sweet,” Kellen O’Neill said. “But this is a case about states’ rights.”
“I respectfully disagree, Mr. Chief Justice. This case is entirely about family.”
Penelope spoke passionately and insightfully, fielding questions with grace and deftly redirecting the conversation back to the welfare of the children at every turn. Genevieve was impressed with the way she tightrope walked the conversation—always focusing on family without veering into anything emotional or sentimental.
Smith, Jaworski, and McKenzie asked questions ranging from legally nuanced to personally offensive. And still, Tori remained silent, along with Jamison, whom she mocked endlessly for never saying anything from the bench.
Genevieve had newfound respect for those calling for video cameras in the Court—she wanted desperately to see Tori’s face while the debate surged around her. Hell, was she even there? Maybe she’d skipped work today. Because nothing about Tori was making any sense right now.
Penelope was wrapping up her oral arguments, when Genevieve heard a throat clear and Penelope stopped speaking. Maybe Tori had saved everything up for now?
“Ms. Sweet, is your desired outcome here that gay couples be allowed to conduct second-parent adoptions or that Louisiana recognize California’s birth certificates?”
There was a small pause—no one had expected Jamison to ask a question. Ever. Genevieve only recognized his voice by process of elimination.
“Thank you, Justice Jamison. Our desired outcome is that all states must recognize the two people listed on a birth certificate as legal parents, regardless of gender, and that all states issue birth certificates for new babies with blanks labeled parent one and parent two, as opposed to mother and father.”
Penelope concluded, and Genevieve exhaled for what felt like the first time since arguments began. She unclenched her grip on her coffee cup and flexed her stiff fingers.
She had to hand it to Penelope—she’d put forth excellent arguments and answered questions well. Archie had a weak case, and the questions the liberal justices asked of him seemed to poke holes in all his arguments. Well, all the liberals except Tori.
Genevieve stood to stretch her legs and was trying to make sense of her emotions when her cell rang.
She spent the afternoon on the phone with her legal team in Michigan. The settlement conference hadn’t gone well, and they were looking at trial in June.
By six o’clock, they had a legal strategy for trial and had scheduled with the jail a series of prep sessions for Amelia and some of their other witnesses. Genevieve rubbed her ear as she hung up the phone, and her stomach growled.
Well, Tori always had food, and, frankly, Genevieve had a couple of questions for her. She grabbed her coat, purse, and keys and pointed her BMW toward Tori’s house. It took half the drive for her car to warm up, and she was grateful for her gloves.
After parking in Tori’s driveway, crunching up the snow-covered walk to the front door, and knocking, she waited.
Tori opened the door a couple of minutes later, looking surprised. “Genevieve. Hi. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Is now a bad time?”
Tori stood aside and gestured toward the living room. “Not at all—come in.”
Genevieve kicked off her boots and tossed her coat on the back of the couch, then followed Tori into the kitchen.
“I was going to have a salad. Does that interest you?”
“Sure,” Genevieve said, and she leaned against the kitchen island. “Why didn’t you say anything today? I looked it up online—this is the first time since you’ve joined the Court that you didn’t say anything during arguments.”
Tori glanced at her, then buried herself in the fridge as she gathered salad ingredients. “Alistair and I discussed it, and the optics wouldn’t have looked good.”
She dumped lettuce, strawberries, and parmesan cheese on the counter and pulled a big wooden bowl out of a cabinet.
“Optics? Are you kidding me?”
Tori knit her brow. “No. We thought it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to get too close to this case.”
“It’s the Supreme Freaking Court. Why the hell would you care about optics? That’s for congressmen who have to get money for elections. You’re not supposed to be political. Or care what the media says.”
Sighing, Tori located some pistachio nuts and started assembling the salad. “We would be foolish not to care what the media says. We just don’t let it dictate our decisions.”
“Well, you decided not to say a damn thing today. You might as well not have even been there. In which case, I might as well have been there. Arguing my case.”
“Genevieve, don’t—”
Genevieve looked down and was surprised to see she was pacing across the kitchen. She returned to the island and clutched the countertop. “Seriously, you stayed on this case to make a difference. But you just sat there.”
“I still get to vote. And I will talk in our conferences.”
“Yes, I know. You writing your name on a piece of paper is way more important than anything I could have spent a half hour saying during oral arguments.”
“Genevieve—”
“You know what? Don’t. You’re still calling all the shots. I’m… I’m not playing this game anymore.”
She stalked toward the door and vaguely heard Tori calling to her.
“What does that mean? Genevieve, come back! Genevieve, please, let’s—”
Genevieve closed the front door, cutting off anything else Tori tried to say.
* * *
Genevieve had stormed out of the house without her cell phone and coat. She sat in the car, wondering if she should go back for them, but that would ruin her dramatic exit. The appropriate thing to do, she supposed, would be to drive to Bethany’s. But somehow that wasn’t the energy she wanted right now. She drove to a ritzy corner market and picked up a six-pack of craft beer before leaving Tori’s neighborhood and heading toward Mount Pleasant, DC’s hottest neighborhood. The phrase “playing with fire” flashed through her mind; she shrugged it off and drove faster.
