“That would normally be the result, if this were the usual situation. But it isn’t,” Tessa said, taking a sip of her coffee. “You’re one of the most successful women in the country, so the normal rules don’t quite apply.”
Wendy put down her cup. “I’ve been through hell, here, Tessa. And what everyone seems to be forgetting is that I never wanted to get divorced in the first place. This wasn’t my idea. It was Shane’s. He’s the one who wants to leave. He’s the one who should be punished. If you hate your spouse so much that you can’t stand being in the room with her, guess what? You have to give up your kids.”
“Let’s reverse the situation, shall we?” Tessa asked diplomatically. She never got flustered or emotional, a trait Wendy was beginning to wonder if she’d come to resent. “Let’s say a woman with a not-so-successful career married an up-and-coming banker, and because he was making so much money, she gave up her work. Then they start having children. The woman stays home and takes care of the kids. The man becomes more and more successful, and because of his job, begins spending less and less time at home. The woman begins to feel abandoned, she gets resentful. She’s home with the kids, while her husband is out in the world, collecting kudos. One day she wakes up, and decides she deserves better—and she wants a divorce.”
“But I wanted to appreciate Shane,” Wendy objected. “I went to the damn marriage counselor . . .”
“Aha,” Tessa said. “But it’s too late. The resentment is too deep, the couple has grown too far apart. And what happens? The woman gets the house. She gets alimony and child support. And if she insists, she can probably get full custody of the kids. And no one thinks twice about it. Can you imagine the outrage if we suddenly started telling those women that they couldn’t have their kids, and that they had to go out and get jobs?”
“But I want my kids,” Wendy protested. The calmer Tessa was, the more heated she seemed to become. “Goddammit,” she said, putting her coffee cup down on the table with a bang. “I’m not going to be punished for being a woman and being successful.”
Tessa said nothing, pausing as if waiting for Wendy to get control of her emotions. “If we’re going to get through this with as little damage as possible,” she began, “you’re going to have to look at the situation from a broader perspective. I know this is intensely personal, but at some point, in order to make the right decision, you’re going to have to put your angry feelings aside. The fact is, viewed logically and unemotionally, men get punished all the time for being successful. A successful divorced man is routinely denied access to his children. In any case, you can be sure that the children are rarely allowed to live with him, unless the mother agrees.”
“Those men don’t want their children . . .”
“Actually, you’d be surprised,” Tessa said, motioning to the waiter for another cup of coffee. It was her third—she must be so cold, Wendy decided, that not even caffeine could affect her. “In my experience, most men want to live with their children. They’re heartbroken at the idea of not seeing them every day. But they know they can almost never win in court, so it’s not worth the fight.”
“Well, this is,” Wendy insisted. “I want full custody of the kids. And I want you to get that for me.”
Tessa looked uncomfortable for the first time during their conversation. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin, put it down, and glanced away. “As your lawyer,” she said, “I am morally obligated to tell you the truth. I could lie to you, and we could spend two years in court, and I could probably make enough money off of you to start my own law firm. If I was the kind of lawyer like lots of men in this business, I wouldn’t think twice about it. It’s the kind of case lawyers salivate over—a successful client with lots of money who wants revenge. But revenge is expensive. And in my experience, even if you win, you won’t find it nearly as satisfying as you expected. You’ll spend more time with me than you’d prefer—time you could be spending with your children or at work. And ultimately, Wendy . . .” She paused, giving Wendy a sympathetic look. She shook her head. “You’re never going to get full custody of the kids. Not with the way your life is right now.”
“Because I work,” Wendy said dryly. “That’s wonderful. What a great message for the young women of America. If you work hard and become successful, society will punish you one way or another.”
“Society punishes women in general,” Tessa said evenly. “No matter what you do, there’s no guarantee you’re going to win. You could stay home and take care of your kids for twenty years, and then your kids go off to college and your husband leaves you for a younger woman and you have nothing.”
Wendy glared into her coffee cup. “You have a house.”
“Big deal, Wendy. You have a house.” Tessa shook her head. “Juan Perek only took on this case for the potential publicity. It’s a perfect reversal of traditional sex roles: When a woman takes on the man’s role, she can get screwed like a man. Shane has given him documentation pinpointing all the time you spent away on business last year. If you go after full custody, they’re going to go after ful
l custody. And depending on which way the wind is blowing, there’s a possibility they might win.”
Wendy felt the blood drain from her face. Not able to win—this was not a possibility. “Nobody could ever believe that children should be taken away from their mothers.”
“Normally, they don’t,” Tessa said. “In the usual situation . . .” She sighed.
“I’m not a bad mother,” Wendy said, suddenly feeling desperate. “You saw me with my kids . . .”
“No one is saying you’re a bad mother,” Tessa said soothingly. “Technically, the mother has to be abusive, wildly unstable, a drug addict, or legally insane for the courts to separate the child from the mother. But the assumption is that the mother is the primary caregiver. Whereas in the case of you and Shane, Juan Perek is going to try to prove that Shane is the primary caregiver. So unless we can prove that Shane is abusive, unstable, a drug addict, or legally insane, there’s no good reason for the court not to grant him at least shared custody.”
“At least?” Wendy asked.
“Is he abusive, unstable, a drug addict, or legally insane?” Tessa asked.
“He was fifteen minutes late picking the kids up today. You saw that,” Wendy countered.
“He was late once.” Tessa shrugged. “But he takes the kids to school . . .”
“I take them,” Wendy objected. “Some of the time . . .”
“And he picks them up and takes them to their doctors’ appointments,” Tessa said. “They’re going to be able to make a pretty convincing argument that Shane is the primary caregiver. And historically, the courts don’t like to separate the children from the primary caregiver. They’re going to argue that if the children go to you full-time, they’ll end up being raised by nannies. A situation that’s less ideal than being raised by their biological parent. I’m sorry, Wendy,” Tessa said.
“Don’t be,” Wendy said fiercely. “It’s easy. I’ll quit my job. I’ll become the primary caregiver.”
Tessa smiled patiently. “That’s the usual solution in movies, isn’t it? The successful woman gives up her career for her children and everyone feels good. But it’s not really practical in real life, is it? Especially in the case of your life, unless Shane suddenly decides he wants to go out and start earning a living, which he insists he isn’t going to do, since he already has a job taking care of the children.”
“So in other words, I’m fucked,” Wendy said quietly.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” said Tessa. “I’m sure we can work something out with Shane. My sense is that he’ll be reasonable if you’re reasonable.”