“I don’t suppose you keep in touch with anyone from high school, Emerson?” Riley asks, whipping us up a second round.
“No one except Courtney Haines,” I tease, nudging him. We’re cozied up on the couch next to each other, casual as can be. Amazing how comfortable it is to be near him.
“I don’t keep in touch with Courtney Haines,” Emerson laughs, nudging me back, “Or anyone, for that matter. I consider myself a bit of a hometown expat.”
“That make three of us,” Riley replies, furnishing us with fresh cocktails.
“In fact, if I hadn’t run into you two again, I doubt I’d ever have run into a familiar face from those glory days,” Emerson goes on.
“Not even family?” Riley asks without thinking.
I shoot her a look, and she realizes her mistake at once, but it’s too late now.
“Well, Mom’s still more or less living in the rehab revolving door,” Emerson says, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “And my dad...He actually passed away, a few years after I left Connecticut with my mom.”
This is news to me, and I can’t help but wrap my arm supportively around Emerson’s back. As if he needed any more pain to carry around on those broad shoulders of his.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, “I know how hard that is, Emerson.”
“I actually thought about calling you, when it happened,” he laughs shortly, “I knew you’d gone through the same thing. Couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to talk to more.”
“You could have, you know,” I say softly.
“Well,” Emerson sighs, shaking off the sadness of his father’s passing, “You’re here now, right? Guess we’ve just got some more catching up to do. All of us.”
We all return to our drinks as the conversation resumes. I haven’t eaten a ton today, so my drinks are really doing a number on me already. Just as I start wondering whether we should order a huge pizza to soak up some of this vodka, I remember what tonight actually has in store for me.
“Shit. What time is it?” I exclaim, standing up suddenly from the couch.
“Just about seven,” Emerson says, glancing at his watch. “Why, what—?”
“Oh god,” Riley groans, looking up at me, “Your grandparents.”
“I’m not dressed. I don’t have time. They’re going to be here any second,” I cry, setting down my empty martini glass and setting off toward my bedroom to get changed. But the second I spin around on my heel, I hear the buzzer ring out.
Frank and Jillian Rowan have arrived for the evening.
“Well, shit,” Emerson laughs darkly, “It’s a family reunion! This should be fun.”
“Relax, Abby,” Riley says, anticipating my panic. “You’re a grown woman. It’s none of their business who you spend your time with.”
“Try telling them that,” I mutter, anxiously buzzing them up.
“Look, I’m sure it will be fine,” Emerson sighs, starting to gather his things, “If nothing else, they’ve got that whole snobby, fake-polite thing going on. So it’s not like they’ll start anything with me. Rich people don’t do confrontation. It’s not proper.”
I’m surprised to feel a twinge of annoyance at Emerson’s generalizations. My grandparents aren’t perfect, but they’re the only family I have these days. They’re the only people who have supported me through my life, even if that support has been more financial than emotional. I’m not OK with Emerson slamming them.
“Aren’t you a rich person now, too?” I ask curtly, crossing my arms.
Emerson raises an eyebrow, taken aback by my tone.
“Sure. But I earned my money,” he replies. “I haven’t just been inheriting my advantages and coasting along.”
“Like I’m doing, you mean?” I shoot back. Now I’m really getting pissed off. I thought that he, of all people, wouldn’t be judgmental about something like money. But I guess maybe I was wrong. Maybe having money has changed him.
“You know I’m not talking about you,” he says, actually shocked by my reaction. “Abby, you don’t coast. You work your ass off, you’re great at what you do—”
“Well. When you spend your whole life inheriting your advantages, you have a lot of time to devote to your interests,” I say drily.
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Emerson says sternly.
“Don’t spout orders at me,” I return.
“Whoa, whoa,” Riley says, placing herself between us, “Back to your corners, you two.”
“He started it,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
“Excuse me?” Emerson scoffs.
“Oh my god,” Riley groans, “Just because you’re in the same room again, doesn’t mean you get to revert back to your angst-ridden teenage selves.”
Before I can reply, the doorbell chimes. My grandparents are right outside.
“That’s my cue,” Emerson says, walking toward the door with me. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t—”
“Me too,” I say quickly, pausing before the door. Riley is kind enough to go back into her room for the moment.
“Can I at least give you one last birthday kiss?” Emerson asks, catching my hand and placing the ring box onto my palm. I nod, clutching the box to my chest. Emerson lowers his lips to mine, giving me a sweet, swift kiss goodnight. I pocket the box, giddy and flushed, and pull open the front door.
My grandparents are revealed to us in all their finery. I watch them go stock-still, forced smiles paralyzed in place, as they see Emerson beside me. It takes them a moment, but recognition floods in at last. And the second it does, the goodwill drains from their eyes in an instant, replaced by sheer revulsion.
“Is that—?” my grandmother breathes.
“It is,” Emerson smiles, drawing himself up to his full, towering height. “Good to see you again, Jillian. Frank.”
“What the hell is he doing here?” my grandfather says to me, refusing to look at Emerson for another second.
“He was just leaving,” Emerson replies, “But you all have a good night. Happy birthday again, Abby.”
He leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, and I watch as my grandparents’ eyes bug out of their heads. I’m surprised they don’t keel over as he moves past them to the stairs and disappears from sight. A long moment of silence unfolds as my grandparents stare at me, absolutely seething.
“So...Do you guys want to come in, or—?” I offer faintly.
“Abigail Cecily Rowan,” my grandfather blusters, charging into the apartment with grandmother on his heels, “How dare you subject us to that?”
“Excuse me?” I reply, taken aback by his outrage. I knew they wouldn’t be happy to see Deb’s son again after all these years, but they’re absolutely livid.
“How could you blindside us like that?” my grandmother asks, her nose wrinkled. “Seeing that boy here, in our apartment—”
“I thought this was my apartment, too,” I cut in, “I do live here, you know.”
“Rent free,” Grandpa scoffs.
“I’m sorry,” I reply tersely, “I didn’t realize that meant I couldn’t have a friend over to celebrate my birthday. Should I clear all my guests with you, or—?”
“A friend?” Grandma hisses, grabbing onto my wrist with surprising force for such an old lady. “Do you think we’re absolute idiots?”
“Of course not!” I exclaim, “I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”
“You don’t understand why we’re upset to see you hanging out with that piece of trash?” Grandpa shouts, slamming his fist down on the kitchen counter. “Your father told us all about finding you two in bed together the morning after the wedding. It’s absolutely disgusting, Abby. You have no business fraternizing with someone of his kind—to say nothing of the fact that he was your stepbrother!”
“You need to stop right there,” I say firmly, yanking my arm out of my grandmother’s grasp. “You don’t know the first thing about Emerson, or what happened between us when we were kids. The
re was nothing disgusting about our relationship then, and there’s nothing wrong with us spending time together now! He’s a wonderful man. A smart, successful, funny man who I care very deeply about. Why can’t you respect that?”
“His trashy mother ruined your father’s life,” Grandma spits, “She and her jailbird husband were sucking him dry that whole time. And just look at him now! He’s an absolute wreck. He never recovered from what that woman did to him.”
“Dad ruined his own life,” I tell them, “Deb did a terrible thing, taking advantage of him like that. But he’s a grown man. No one forced him to relapse. No one made him refuse to go to rehab and get his life together. He let himself go to pieces. And even if Deb and her husband did set him off, that has nothing to do with Emerson! He and I were just kids when Dad and Deb got together. We were innocent bystanders to that whole train wreck.”
“I don’t accept that,” Grandpa sniffs, crossing his arms, “You can’t possibly think that the son of two lowlifes could be anything but a piece of garbage himself. The apple never falls far from the tree, dear.”
“No?” I shoot back, “Well then what does that say about you, with everything Dad’s been through? What does it say about me, when he’s such a wreck? Terrible things can happen to good people, you know.”
“You’d seriously have us believe that this Emerson is a good person?” Grandma scoffs.
“I would,” I tell her, “If you’d just try and get to know him, you’d see—”
“This is ridiculous,” Grandpa mutters, shaking his head, “I won’t hear another second of it. Jillian, don’t bother taking off your coat. We’re not staying.”
“What?” I say, “I thought we were going to spend some time together? Get something to eat, and—”
“I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite,” Grandpa says grimly. “Just seeing that boy, being reminded of everything this family has gone through...It’s too much. I won’t be subjected to this kind of nonsense. Especially not in an apartment I own myself!”
“You mustn’t see that person again, Abby,” Grandma says sternly.
I actually let out a laugh at this. “I mustn’t see him?” I reply, cackling at the absurdity of what she’s said, “Well, that’s not really an option, seeing as we work together, now.”
“What?!” my grandparents gasp in unison.
“I’ve just been hired by the creative agency Emerson works for,” I inform them, “I was going to tell you the good news over dinner, but. Well.”
“For Christ’s sake,” Grandpa mutters, “What are you giving him in return for getting you this job? Do I even want to know?”
I stare at my grandfather, gobsmacked. “You think I got the job by...what? Sleeping with Emerson?” I ask quietly. “You think that little of me? Of my abilities? I...I don’t even know what to say, Grandpa.”
“Say that you won’t get involved with that man outside of work,” Grandma pleads, “Especially not here, under our roof.”
“If you’re so concerned with Emerson not being under your roof, maybe I’d better move,” I say, exasperated.
“If that’s what you want,” Grandpa says coldly, “You can carry on with that man all you like, but you’d best not expect to have anything to do with us if you choose to do so. If you keep on with your disgraceful little relationship with him, I’m afraid we won’t be able to continue being a part of your life, Abby. You’ll have to leave this apartment, of course. And be content with never seeing us again. If you can live with all that, go ahead.”
“You’d cut me out of your lives?” I ask quietly, “Just for being with Emerson?”
“We would,” my grandfather assures me.
“We’d have no other choice,” my grandmother agrees with him. There’s a hint of sadness in her voice, but she’s always gone along with what Grandpa decides.
“Well...” I say, my voice hollow, “You certainly have given me a lot to think about this evening. And would you look at that, my appetite seems to be gone, too.”
“Why don’t you just call us when you’ve come to your senses,” Grandpa says, heading for the door, “Or at least call to let us know if we need to start looking for a new tenant. You have a couple of days to decide. If we don’t hear from you, we’ll assume you’ve made your decision and act accordingly.”
“I don’t care what you decide to do about the apartment,” I tell him, “I’m more than happy to find a new place to live, I can pay rent now that my job is lined up. But cutting me out of your lives altogether? That’s what hurts. How can you be so mad at me, just for spending time with someone I care about?”
“We aren’t mad at you, Abby,” Grandma says, following him out, “We’re just terribly, terribly disappointed.”
“Yeah. I know the feeling,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my waist.
They march off into the elevator, and I slam the door in their wake. Hot, angry tears course down my cheeks as I press my back to the door. How dare they say those horrible things about Emerson? They don’t even know him. And how could they threaten to cut me out of their lives, just for being with him? I can’t believe they’d disown their only granddaughter over something so petty as a grudge. Especially when that grudge is built on nothing but bullshit!
The injustice of it all has me reeling. I feel the room spinning around me, and I know it’s not just the booze that’s knocking me off kilter. If my grandparents turn their backs on me, I’ll be officially without any family in this world. I haven’t really spoken to my dad for years, I have no aunts and uncles, no cousins. Frank and Jillian are it. And they’re ready to abandon me if I keep Emerson in my life.
I stagger over to the couch, curling up into a ball and letting the tears come hard and fast. The very thought of losing what’s left of my family has me feeling unmoored, alone. It’s not just having to find a new place to live that scares me, I can take care of that in no time. It’s the idea of losing my history, my only real links back to my mother, my old life, that terrifies me the most.
“What...” I mutter, as I feel something dig into my hip. I reach into my pocket and feel my fingers close around the ring box Emerson brought over tonight.
I blink away my tears and open the box once more, staring down at the beautiful pearl ring. With trembling fingers, I carefully pluck the ring out of its cushioned bed and slip it onto my right hand. It fits perfectly. After all these years, I still love it. And if I’m being honest, I still love the person who gave it to me, too. Daringly, I slide the ring off and slip it, breathlessly, onto the other hand. I look down at the single pearl, glimmering on my left ring finger. I have to say, I like the look of it there.
In that moment, I know that I can’t cut Emerson out of my life. Not again, No matter what it costs me in the end, he’s worth whatever price I have to pay.
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
I spend most of Sunday recovering from my less-than-ideal birthday. But before I know it, Monday morning has arrived; my first day on the job at Bastian Creative. My stomach is in knots as I get ready for the day. I was already nervous to begin my dream job, but this weekend only ramped up the pressure. With my cushy free housing likely to be yanked away, I need this first week at Bastian to go incredibly well. There’s sure to be a bit of a probation period where Cooper can let me go if I don’t fit in at Bastian. So I guess my only choice is to be the model employee, even with my one-day stepbrother and potential lover training me.
Sure. No problem.
Speaking of Emerson, he didn’t even try to get in touch with me after our roller coaster of a Saturday night. Between our steamy make out session, our tussle over money issues, and my grandparents’ atrocious behavior, I’m not really sure where we stand. And now, we’re going to spend this entire week in each others’ company as I learn the ropes of my new job. This should be interesting, that’s for sure.
I arrive at the Bastian offices right on time, dressed in my best “professional hipster” office attire. But a
s I step out of the elevator, ready to dive into my training, I’m surprised to find myself alone in the communal workroom. Of the dozen or so other employees, no one else seems to be around.
“Hello?” I call, glancing around in search of my coworkers. I check my phone and see that it is, indeed, 10 a.m. The start of the workday. What gives? For something to do, I head on over to the well-stocked bar and snack cart, where a fancy, gleaming espresso machine stands at the ready. As I set to work crafting myself an excellent cup of coffee, I hear footsteps behind me. Spinning around, I find myself face-to-face with the man I’ve been thinking of incessantly for the past two days.
“Oh Abby, you shouldn’t have!” Emerson teases, eyeing my espresso, “It’s not your job to make me coffee in the morning.”
“How convenient!” I chirp, playing along with his bit as I grab my mug, “Because this sucker is all mine.”
“I’ll just have to join you, then,” Emerson smiles, stepping around me to get at the espresso machine. “Unless we’re still doing that not-talking thing that I hate so much.”
“Not at all,” I reply, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. And not from the caffeine, either. “Provided that you don’t hate me after Saturday night.”
“Please,” Emerson laughs, “I’ve long since stopped caring about what people think of me, Abby. And I certainly don’t make a habit of holding peoples’ families against them. I’m sorry that I said those shitty things about your grandparents. It’s not my place to judge them, even if they have no problem at all judging me.”
“Man. How’s the weather up there on the high road?” I laugh, sipping my coffee.
“What can I say? That charming temper of mine isn’t quite as hot as it was eight years ago,” he replies, picking up his own mug of joe. “Turns out that punching people is frowned upon in the tech industry. Who knew? So, what do you say? Are we all right?”
“We’re all right,” I smile back.
“I see you like your present,” he observes, looking down at my right hand.
“Oh yeah,” I reply, admiring the silver ring once again. Thank god I remembered to put it back on the right hand, rather than the left. “It’s beautiful, Emerson.”
Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1) Page 30
