“Vanessa, Ms. Cohen is ready for you now,” the assistant says. Vanessa takes a deep breath as she stands up. I stand, too, and give her a big hug.

It’s been hard for Vanessa to come to grips with the fact that her marriage is ending—I mean, obviously it would be hard for anyone to go through a divorce, but Vanessa has the added pressure of little to no support from her mother and the rest of her family, in general. They all seem to think that Marcus is the second coming of Christ, despite the fact that he kissed another woman while they were married. Well, he is tall and slim like Jesus, and ridiculously handsome and rather ethereal-looking, so, if it’s true that Jesus was actually black, they may have a decent argument.

But then there’s that whole kissing-another-woman thing. I’m pretty sure that those people who wear those WWJD bracelets—What Would Jesus Do?—would categorically tell you that the one thing that Jesus would not do is kiss another woman while married to Vanessa. It was just that one woman that one night, but still, it broke Vanessa’s heart and she still hasn’t fully recovered. Not long after she and Marcus separated, I went to dinner with Vanessa and her mother, and her mother repeatedly advised her to “get over yourself and go save your marriage.”

My mother couldn’t understand why Vanessa was getting a divorce either:

“How could you divorce a doctor?” my mom said to Vanessa on one of our wedding gown shopping expeditions. “Clearly, you are not Jewish. A Jewish woman would never divorce a doctor.”

“Being married to a doctor isn’t all you’d think it would be, Mrs. Miller,” Vanessa said. “Being married to a doctor has its disadvantages.”

“Like, for example,” I said, “anytime you’re in a crowded place and someone screams, ‘Is there a doctor in the house?’ he has to say ‘yes.’”

See how good I am at defusing a difficult topic and changing the subject? I don’t want to brag, but in addition to being a big-time lawyer, I also have an undergraduate degree in child psychology.

Oh, please. As if you don’t employ the same skills in dealing with your mother as you do in dealing with a small child.

“Well, there’s that,” Vanessa said, “but I meant more like the fact that he’s never home. He’s never there.”

“Well, yeah,” I said, “and the whole doctor-in-the-house thing.”

So, Vanessa’s really going through with the divorce. And now the only person she can depend on is me.

“You can do this,” I say and Vanessa nods unconvincingly back. “Want me to come in with you?”

“No,” she says quietly, “I think I have to do this part on my own.”

“Well, I’ll be sitting right here,” I say. “So just let me know if you need me.”

“Okay.” Vanessa squeezes my hand and I watch her as she walks into her attorney’s office.

Should I have insisted that I go in there? Vanessa’s been my best friend since our first year of law school and I hate that she’s going through something so painful right now. I should have just insisted that I go in with her. I consider for a second whether I should just walk back there and insist on sitting in on Vanessa’s meeting. But having your best friend bum-rush your first visit to your divorce attorney probably doesn’t set the best tone for an attorney-client relationship, so I opt to stay out in the reception area, like Vanessa’s asked me to.

As the door shuts with barely a sound, I sit back down and take out some work that I brought with me to do while I wait for Vanessa. I look at my research on dissolution of partnership. My initial research revealed that this was a fairly straightforward case, and I realized why Noah must have assumed that I could take the matter on by myself. Monique’s partnership agreement is well-written and clear—its elegant language should make this matter go smoothly and easily. This research shouldn’t really take very long at all.

Which really frees me up to do some more thinking about my bridal party: Vanessa will lead the charge as my matron/maid of honor, with the rest of the party rounded out with Jack’s three older sisters. Even though I haven’t met Jack’s older sisters yet, I just know that when our families meet, they are all going to love each other immediately and Jack’s sisters will be my new best friends.

I walk to the other side of the reception area to get myself a cup of coffee—after all, in one short afternoon, I’ve figured out my entire case and planned out my wedding party. Surely I deserve a snack.

“It will be easier to start getting over him once you take that ring off,” a strange voice whispers to me as I’m pouring my coffee. I turn around to see the epitome of tall, dark and handsome leaning over my shoulder. As I melt into his hazel-green eyes, it takes me a second to realize that I’m still pouring the coffee. And that I’m engaged. I look down to see that I’ve spilled my coffee all over the countertop.

What is it with me and coffee lately? I just got this skirt back from the dry cleaners after my last run-in with an errant cup of joe.

“Me? Oh, no, I’m not getting a divorce,” I say, “I haven’t even gotten married yet! I’m just here to support my friend who’s going through a divorce.”

“Oh,” he says, already turning to walk away from me, his broad shoulders sinking just the tiniest bit, “sorry about that.”

That guy was really hot! I think. I guess I’ve still got it! Off the market and still a little heartbreaker….

I immediately e-mail Jack a message from my BlackBerry to tell him how I get hit on left and right when he’s not around. He e-mails back a very detailed message that explains all of the things he plans to do to me later to ensure that I never ever ever stray from him, not even for one minute.

I put my BlackBerry away with a smile and scan the room. (What can I say? Some single girl habits die hard….) The guy who approached me isn’t the only hot guy in the room. Everyone in this office is pretty hot, including Vanessa’s divorce lawyer herself, Stephanie Cohen. This would be a great place to meet someone, I think to myself, looking around the room at all of the good-looking eligible men. Not one is wearing a wedding ring, so they are all clearly single! Or about to be, any minute! What a great place to meet men—I wish I’d known about places like this back when I was single. And now that I’ve discovered this hot spot, I’m already engaged. Life can be so unfair sometimes.

I wonder if Stephanie ever dates her hot clients after their divorces are final and they are free and single again. What? I mean once they aren’t her clients anymore, I’m not trying to insinuate she’d do anything unethical. Geez!

As I stir my coffee, I notice the tray of mini cupcakes sitting next to the coffee set-up. Now, I know that I should be on a wedding diet, but now that Monique’s not designing my dress, maybe it would be okay to have just one cupcake. It suddenly dawns on me that now that Monique isn’t designing my dress anymore, I don’t have a dress. I’m back at square one. And I don’t even know where to go and look for a dress, since my mother made me have a nervous breakdown at nearly every bridal designer’s showroom in town!

Don’t panic, you will find another dress. I take the napkin wrapped around my cup of coffee and tear it into halves. After all, finding a wedding dress is easy! People find wedding dresses every day of the week—how hard could it possibly be? Why, I’ll probably find one in the next store that I go to!

Okay, I didn’t even convince myself on that one.

I have no wedding dress! I’ve got the guy, but no dress. What am I going to wear down the aisle? Okay, be cool, be confident. You’ll find another dress. Maybe I should just take a tiny peek at a bridal magazine to start getting some ideas. Get those creative juices flowing again.

The New York Law Journal, the National Law Journal, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal…. Nary a Vogue or a Glamour or a Marie Claire to be found. Which is really odd, seeing as Stephanie is so put together and well-dressed. Just because it’s a lawyer’s office, that doesn’t mean that they can’t have any fun magazines? Don’t they know that there are people here who need wedding dresses? Would it kill them to have a Bride magazine?

Okay, maybe that’s pushing it, since I’m at a divorce attorney’s office. Must focus my energy on more important things. Like mini cupcakes.

“Brooke, is that you?” a voice from behind me asks just as I’ve popped an entire mini-cupcake into my mouth. I turn around to see Monique deVouvray standing right behind me.

“Oh,” I say, trying to swallow quickly, “Monique.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks in her thick French accent. She’s dressed impeccably, just as she was on the other occasions when I’d seen her, but I notice that she’s got a large scarf wrapped around her head like she’s Bridget Bardot and is wearing enormous Chanel sunglasses that hide half of her face.

“I’m just here with a friend,” I say, stirring my coffee. I don’t want to tell her that it’s Vanessa, since the last thing Vanessa needs right now is for her mother’s acquaintances to know about her divorce and how quickly it’s moving forward.

“Well, I’m just here to talk to a lawyer so that I know my rights,” she says in a hushed voice. “Just talk. I’m not filing for divorce or anything.” She looks around the room furtively before looking back to me.

“I won’t tell a soul,” I say as Monique pours herself a coffee—black. I marvel at the fact that she doesn’t even give a second look at the mini cupcakes. Or the hot guy with the hazel-green eyes. French women have so much self-control.