Honorable Alexandra Martinez, United States Circuit Judge.
And Monday morning, I had my first case assignment meeting with the Chief Justice and the other judges on the Second Circuit.
The same Monday morning as my father’s retirement party.
The text from my father came on Wednesday, five days before both events.
“Retirement party Saturday, 6:00 p.m. at the Plaza. Black tie. Everyone important will be there.”
I read it twice.
My father was retiring after 35 years as a senior executive at a major pharmaceutical company. This was a big deal for him.
Of course I’d be there.
I replied.
“I’ll be there. Congratulations, Dad.”
An hour later, another text.
“Actually, I need to talk to you about the party.”
He called immediately after.
“Alex, I need to ask you for a favor.”
“Of course, Dad. What is it?”
“The party is going to be high-profile. Board members, executives, investors. Trevor’s parents are coming. His father is on the board, you know, and Trevor just got his official commission as a federal judge last week. He’ll be sworn in Monday morning.”
“That’s great,” I said, meaning it. Whatever our professional relationship, Trevor had worked hard for the appointment.
“Yes. Well, the thing is, Emma is going to be there with Trevor and she’s going to announce their engagement. We’re planning this whole moment. Trevor’s judicial appointment, their engagement, my retirement. It’s a celebration of success.”
I waited, sensing something coming.
“Alex, I think it might be better if you don’t come.”
The words hung in the air.
“You’re uninviting me from your retirement party.”
“Not uninviting, just suggesting it might be more comfortable for everyone if you sat this one out. Trevor’s going to be surrounded by legal professionals, judges, senior prosecutors, and you… while you’re still with the public defender’s office. It creates an awkward contrast.”
“An awkward contrast,” I repeated slowly. “You mean I defend the people Trevor prosecuted.”
“Alex, you’ve been on opposite sides in court. It’s going to raise questions, create uncomfortable conversations. Emma specifically asked me to… to make sure the focus stays on her and Trevor.”
“Emma asked you to uninvite me.”
“She said having you there would complicate her night. People know you two are sisters. They’ll ask about you and what’s she supposed to say? My sister defends criminals for poverty wages while my fiancé puts them away and just became a federal judge. It’s not a good look for her.”
I took a breath, forcing myself to stay calm.
“Dad, I’ve never missed a major family event. This is your retirement after 35 years.”
“I know, and I appreciate that. But Alex, you have to understand this is Emma’s night, too. She’s 33. She’s finally settling down with an accomplished man, and she deserves to shine. You can come to something smaller. We’ll do a family dinner next month. Just us.”
“A family dinner?”
“Yes. Look, I know this sounds harsh, but you made your choices. You chose a career that doesn’t… that doesn’t reflect well on the family. Trevor is a federal judge. You defend people who belong in prison. Can you see how that creates problems?”
I almost laughed.
Almost told him everything right then.
But something stopped me.
Maybe it was pride.
Maybe it was pettiness.
Maybe it was the desire to see his face when he realized what he’d done.
“Okay, Dad,” I said quietly. “I won’t come to the party.”
“Thank you for understanding. This is for the best.”
“And Dad,” I added, “Trevor’s swearing-in ceremony is Monday morning, right?”
“Yes. 9:00 a.m. at the Daniel Patrick Moynihan Courthouse. Emma and I are going. It’s going to be a proud day.”
“I’m sure it will be,” I said.
After we hung up, I sat in my small apartment in Brooklyn, looking at the framed photo of me at my law school graduation.
My father had his arm around me in that photo, beaming with pride.
That was six years ago.
Before I disappointed him.
I called my best friend from law school, Marcus, who is now a professor at Columbia.
“They uninvited you from your own father’s retirement party?” he said, incredulous.
“Emma’s engagement announcement takes priority, apparently.”
“Alex, you need to tell them. You need to tell them you’re a circuit court judge.”
“The press release doesn’t go out until Monday morning. I’m under orders to keep it quiet until then.”
“So tell them Sunday after the party.”
“No,” I said slowly, an idea forming. “I have a better plan.”
Thursday morning, I received my case assignments from the Chief Justice’s office.
My first oral argument session would be Tuesday.
Three cases, all civil rights issues I’d be hearing with two senior judges.
Friday, I met with my three law clerks, brilliant recent law school graduates who’d be helping me research and write opinions.
We spent the day going through my chambers, organizing case files, discussing judicial philosophy.
“Judge Martinez,” one of them said, and I still wasn’t used to the title, “do you mind if I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“How does it feel being the youngest appellate judge in the country and coming from a public defender background?”
I smiled.
“It feels like I have a lot to prove,” I said, “and like I finally have the power to fix some of the systemic problems I’ve been fighting against for six years.”
Saturday morning, the morning of my father’s retirement party, I went for a long run in Prospect Park.
I thought about my dad, about Emma, about Trevor, about the last six years of being treated like a disappointment.
I thought about showing up to the party anyway, making a scene, announcing my appointment in front of everyone.
But that wasn’t who I was.
I didn’t need their validation.
I didn’t need their party.
I spent the afternoon reading case files for Tuesday’s oral arguments.
At 6:00 p.m., when the party was starting, I ordered Thai food and continued working.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Emma.
“Dad said you’re not coming. Probably for the best. Trevor’s parents keep asking about you and it’s awkward explaining what you do. Enjoy your evening.”
I didn’t respond.
At 8:00 p.m., my phone buzzed again.
A photo in the family group chat.
Emma and Trevor—her showing off a massive engagement ring. My father beaming beside them.
The caption:
“So much to celebrate. Trevor’s federal judgeship and our engagement. Best night ever.”
Dozens of comments flooded in from relatives.
Congratulations.
What an accomplished couple.
A federal judge in the family.
How wonderful.
My aunt Nancy commented:
“Too bad Alex couldn’t be here, but I understand she’s busy with her work.”
I turned off my phone and went to bed early.
I had a big day Monday.
Monday morning, I woke at 5:00 a.m.
I put on my most expensive suit, a black Armani I’d bought specifically for the swearing-in ceremony that my family didn’t know about.
I had my hair done professionally.
I looked like exactly what I was.
A federal appellate judge.
At 8:00 a.m., I arrived at the Thurgood Marshall United States Courthouse at 40 Foley Square, not the Daniel Patrick Moynihan Courthouse where Trevor would be sworn in.
That was for district court judges.
The Thurgood Marshall Courthouse housed the Second Circuit Court of Appeals, one level up in prestige and power.
My chambers were on the 15th floor with views of downtown Manhattan.
My nameplate gleamed on the door.
Honorable Alexandra Martinez, United States Circuit Judge.
At 8:30, I met with the Chief Justice and the other Second Circuit judges for our case assignment meeting.
We discussed the week’s oral arguments, debated some procedural issues, and reviewed pending motions.
At 9:15, my assistant knocked on my door.
“Judge Martinez, Judge Williams just arrived for his orientation meeting. Chief Justice Roberts is walking him over.”
Trevor—here for his orientation on how appellate courts worked, since district court judges needed to understand the appeals process.
“Thank you, Jennifer. Please show them to the conference room. I’ll be right there.”
I took a breath, straightened my robe.
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