“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Emma said.
“I know,” Avery said. “But you still love me.”
“Do I?” Emma asked. She immediately felt bad, threw herself back over the threshold for another hug. “I do.” She squeezed her sister tight. “Okay, I’m going now.”
20
EMMA
Emma spent half the flight to Calgary going over her notes for the trip: their itinerary, the locations they were scouting, the restaurants she’d researched. She only stopped when Jo leaned over and touched her shoulder gently.
“How’s the trip look?” Jo asked.
“Oh, everything’s set, boss,” Emma said. “The car service will be waiting by the time we get our bags, and we’ll head immediately to the hotel to check in. We’ll have to grab lunch pretty quickly before . . .”
She trailed off, noticing Jo looking at her with something like a smirk on her face.
“Did you not want to know about the trip?” Emma asked.
“You’ve been going over everything for an hour, Emma,” Jo said. “Take a break. It’s a two-day trip. I know the itinerary. I know everything’s going to be fine and you don’t need to go over it for the fifteenth time.”
Emma colored slightly. She liked to be prepared was all.
“I appreciate you being thorough,” Jo said. “But balance that against stress, because I promise there’s nothing to be stressed over. It’s going to be an easy trip.”
It was their last trip together. Emma’s chest clenched, and she remembered their most recent trip, to upfronts. Remembered her asthma attack and the way it had kicked up rumors about them. It had been months since she’d seen an article about herself. Emma didn’t know why whoever was leaking had suddenly stopped after Barry Davis’s visit, or if maybe they just really thought Jo and Emma had broken up.
Did the leak notice how Emma and Jo sometimes seemed like they were on eggshells around each other now? She didn’t know if anyone else could even tell, but she could. They were good, for the most part, but when they talked about Jo moving on, Emma getting promoted, there was always this undercurrent of something Emma didn’t really understand.
But whatever. Emma could relax. For the rest of the flight, she and Jo watched sitcoms on the TVs in the backs of the seats in front of them. Jo’s nose crinkled when she laughed. Emma wasn’t stressed at all.
* * *
—
As Emma had said there would be, there was a car waiting to take them straight to their hotel, where their rooms were across the hall from each other. Emma unpacked her suitcase and changed into warmer clothes. December in Calgary had her happily bundled into layers.
Not much later, there was a knock on her door. Emma checked the peephole to see Jo, her hair in a thick braid over one shoulder. When Emma opened the door, Jo grinned at her.
“Lunch?” she said.
She was dressed for the weather, too, a scarf around her neck and knee-high boots. She held a herringbone coat folded over one arm.
“Sure,” Emma said. “Let me grab my coat.”
“I know you’re all about the food when we go on trips,” Jo said as Emma retrieved her coat. “Did you run across that Vietnamese place a few blocks away?”
“Absolutely,” Emma said, too excited at the prospect of Vietnamese to be embarrassed about her restaurant-researching habit she’d thought was private. “I wanted to try that one the most.”
Jo led the way out of the hotel, Emma at her side. When they found the restaurant, the smell from the sidewalk had Emma’s mouth watering. It only got better inside.
Emma had never eaten out with Jo like this without staying eagle-eyed, ready to avoid cameras or push through a crowd to get Jo back to the car. Today, she didn’t have to worry about paparazzi. No one in the restaurant glanced their way.
Instead, Emma got to focus on how delicious the spring rolls were, how absolutely wonderful the pho broth was. It was a perfect meal for a day that probably didn’t count as blustery by Calgary’s standards, but was colder than it ever got in LA. Jo added a hefty spoonful of hot oil to her pho, but Emma declined.
From the moment she’d knocked on Emma’s door, Jo had been calm and loose. It took Emma the whole day to fully let her guard down. Jo was never recognized. There were never any cameras in their faces or peeking out across the street. While they worked, Jo asked Emma questions, took her opinion into consideration at every site they visited.
It was easy, just like Emma had hoped.
They scouted out places and met people who would be involved if Calgary were chosen as the shooting location. Jo explained the production difficulties of filming in two places—on location in Calgary and in studio in LA. Emma took notes, brainstorming possible solutions to problems that had yet to arise.
* * *
—
Their flight out was scheduled for early evening on Saturday. For their last hurrah in Calgary, Jo took Emma to a late lunch at a deli. They were seated at a booth in the back corner.
“This place is supposed to have the best Montreal smoked meat,” Jo said. “It’s like Canada’s pastrami.”
Emma grinned. She hadn’t found this restaurant in her research, but—“It’s perfect.”
Jo got a Reuben. Emma couldn’t resist the latkes.
“As a kid I’d eat these until I puked,” she said, dunking a forkful into applesauce before raising it to her mouth.
“I hope you’ve outgrown that,” Jo chuckled. “My overeating food of choice as a kid was Evelyn’s mom’s bee hoon—rice noodles with veggies and chicken, shrimp, and pork.”
In the moment, Emma wasn’t jealous of Evelyn at all, just happy Jo had someone who made her smile like that.
“How long have you two been together?” Emma asked.
The smile fell off Jo’s face and she just stared at her, mouth open.
Emma backtracked. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to—”
“No, Emma, no, God, it’s not—” Jo pressed her lips together like she was swallowing laughter. “Evelyn and I are not and have never been dating.”
Oh. Emma thought it before she said it aloud. “Oh.”
“Ev has been my best friend since I was a kid,” Jo said. Her cheeks were red. “She would die laughing if she knew you thought we were dating.”
“Right.”
Emma took another bite of her latke. Evelyn was Jo’s best friend. Evelyn, who stayed for a week after Jo and Emma almost kissed. Avery was Emma’s best friend, and she didn’t even know about it until this week. Did Evelyn? The idea of Jo talking about Emma seemed unrealistic.
Jo pushed her plate toward Emma, pulling her from her thoughts. Half of Jo’s sandwich was untouched.
“Try the smoked meat,” Jo said.
Emma’s stomach fluttered. She used her fork to get a piece of meat off Jo’s sandwich. It was like pastrami, but not exactly the same. It tasted good, but when she swallowed, it felt like she hadn’t chewed enough.
She smiled at Jo, her cheeks tight.
“Amazing,” she said. “But I can’t eat another bite.”
She set aside her fork. Jo picked up her own and poked at the second half of her sandwich.
“Are you excited to move to associate producer?” she asked.
Emma swallowed. “Sure.”
Jo looked up at her, eyes searching. Her face softened. “Did you pick me out a good assistant?”
“Of course, boss,” Emma said, even while she doubted herself.
Marlita was great. Qualified. Kind. Seemed hardworking. But Emma didn’t trust her to take over the job. When Jo was on deadline, would Marlita know she had to not only bring Jo lunch, but also make sure she stopped writing long enough to eat it? That after two p.m. her iced lattes needed to be decaf unless they’d be working late?
And then it clicked.
Emma suddenly understood the reason she’d been nervous about the promotion. It didn’t have anything to do with the promotion itself.
The reason was sitting across the table from her.
The reason was the way Jo was smiling at her, gentle and almost shy, like Emma was a wild animal that could spook. The reason was the way Jo worried about her, took care of her. The reason was Jo’s voice every morning, thanking Emma for her coffee. Emma always knew how the day would go, based on how Jo said thanks. She could tell when Jo hadn’t gotten enough sleep, or when she was too busy and already thinking about tasks she had to accomplish that day. Emma liked starting her day with Jo. Emma liked spending her day with Jo. The idea of moving on from that was terrifying.
The amorphous dread Emma had whenever she thought about her new job was coming into shape. It wasn’t about her job. She liked her job—loved her job, even. But associate producer would be better, in the long run, she knew that. The thought of not getting to see Jo every day, though—her stomach clenched.
Her chest felt tight. Jo caught her hand across the table, squeezing quickly before letting go.
“Are you okay?”
Emma nodded. “Sure, yeah,” she said. “I’m just going to—I’m going to run to the restroom real quick.”
She consciously moved slowly toward the bathroom, but it still felt like she was fleeing. Her heart pounded in her chest.
It wasn’t a one-person bathroom, so it wasn’t necessarily private. There was no one in the stalls, but Emma couldn’t lock the door like she wanted to. She splashed some water on her cheeks.
She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror.
When people first thought Jo and Emma were together, Emma told herself Jo was probably straight. When she found out Jo knew Avery and had lied to her about it, Emma told herself she was just upset because their relationship was different than she thought it was. When she almost kissed Jo, Emma told herself she got caught up in the moment. When Jo turned her down afterward—not directly, not explicitly, but enough—Emma told herself it didn’t matter. Now here Emma was, her heart racing, terrified at the thought of not seeing Jo every day. Everything she told herself, and now she was hiding in the bathroom while her gay, single boss waited for her at their table. Her gay, single boss who wouldn’t be her boss soon.
This was their last business trip together. There was only a week of work left before Emma wouldn’t be Jo’s assistant anymore. What happened then?
Emma took a deep breath, put some more water on her face. She didn’t know how long she’d been in the bathroom.
When she returned to the table, Jo looked at her with such concern she had to be interested in her. She had to, right?
“Are you okay?” Jo asked. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset,” Emma said.
“I’m sure Marlita will do fine,” Jo said. “She won’t be as good as you, but that’s a given.”
Emma stared at Jo.
“You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had, Emma,” Jo said quietly. “Before that you were the best props PA Aly had ever had. I hope, at some point in the future, you’ll be the best director I’ve ever worked with.”
“Boss,” Emma said, awed. The response was reflexive, but suddenly the word felt like a term of endearment.
Jo never broke eye contact. Emma felt like she should. She didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t just Jo’s belief in her—Jo wanted to work with her whenever she became a director. That would be years from now, could be decades. Jo still imagined they’d be in each other’s lives. Emma didn’t look away.
“All finished here?” The waiter appeared then, shocking them both out of their reverie.
Emma blinked a few times. She looked at the waiter, who didn’t seem to have noticed he’d interrupted anything.
“I am,” Jo said. “Emma?”
“Yeah,” Emma said. “Yes. All finished. Thank you.”
They didn’t speak while Jo paid the check. Out on the sidewalk in the cold, they waited for their car to arrive. Emma’s blood thrummed. Jo stood close enough to touch. Emma watched her own breath fog in the air. She could see Jo looking at her out of the corner of her eye. She told herself she shouldn’t look back—whether because it would give away her feelings or lead to something happening, she wasn’t sure. She looked back anyway.
She looked back, and as soon as she made eye contact, Jo stepped closer, stepped into her space. She was right in front of her, reaching her hands up toward Emma, and Emma couldn’t breathe as they curled around her scarf. They didn’t pull her in, though, just tugged on the scarf itself, adjusted it tighter around Emma’s neck.
“Emma,” Jo said, her voice like she was fighting to get the word out, and Emma wanted to say yes. Whatever came next, yes. But then Jo swallowed, blinked, and she sounded less strangled when she said, “Do you have your inhaler?”
Emma nodded. Jo’s hands were still on her scarf.
“Yeah, boss,” Emma said. “Don’t worry.”
Even if Emma could have breathed, she’d be holding her breath. She didn’t want to do anything to shatter the moment.
Jo looked at her mouth. Emma wanted to lean down, to lean into her. She and Jo had almost kissed more than a month ago, and she’d mostly blocked that out in the time since, but maybe she shouldn’t have. Maybe she was an idiot for it. Maybe she wanted to kiss Jo now as much as she did that day, and maybe she should listen to those emotions for once.
Jo finally dropped her hands as the driver pulled up in their car. Her cheeks were pink, from the cold, probably.
* * *
—
When they arrived at the airport, their flight was supposed to be on time. Security moved quickly, but by the time they were through it, the flight was delayed by an hour. Emma groaned when they saw the delay on the departure screens.
“It’ll be fine,” Jo said. “We can get a drink.”
Emma could use a drink. They were already not set to arrive in LA until past ten. She wasn’t looking forward to getting in later.
Jo took her to the Vin Room. It was fancy enough that Emma was surprised it was in an airport. She and Jo sat across from each other at one end of a long curving table with other diners.
“What kind of wine do you like?” Jo asked, looking over the menu Emma swore had hundreds of types.
“Uh, red?” Emma half grimaced. She didn’t know wine well enough to make this decision.
Jo smiled at her and ordered a bottle of something Emma couldn’t pronounce.
There was a silence between them when the waiter left, and it was more awkward than it had been all trip. Emma bounced her leg. She wondered if there was a less convenient time she could’ve picked to learn Jo was single, was—dare Emma even think it?—available. They had to be together for hours more, and Emma wasn’t sure how she was supposed to handle that. Jo was quieter than usual, too, which meant she could tell Emma was uncomfortable. It was all a mess.
Jo let Emma pour her own wine when the bottle came. Emma probably took more than she should’ve, only just remembered to sip instead of gulp.
“I know we just ate,” Jo said. “But do you want to look at the dessert menu?”
“I would love to look at the dessert menu,” Emma said.
Alcohol and dessert—it was how she’d deal with this situation were she at home, so it seemed like a good enough way to deal with it now.
They got a menu and eventually put in orders for tiramisu and strawberry cheesecake. Jo poured them both more wine.
“Are you . . . ,” Jo started quietly. She was looking at the wood of the table. “You were upset, or something, at the restaurant. Are you nervous about your promotion?”
What happened at the restaurant had little to do with her promotion, but maybe if Emma could act normal
about it, she could throw Jo off the scent. Plus, she was nervous about the new job.
“A little,” she admitted. “I guess maybe I like my job so much I’m scared to move to something else for fear it won’t be as good.”
Emma felt vulnerable, saying that, but it was better being vulnerable about her career than about her heart.
“You’re going to be fine,” Jo said. “We’ll both be fine. We’re branching out, moving on, and we’ll do okay.”
Emma breathed. It sounded like a promise, and with it, the tension lifted. Emma and Jo drank and talked and ate dessert and Emma felt okay, felt good. She had a brief moment of panic when Jo made a noise of pleasure over her tiramisu, but besides that, she was fine.
They were both done with dessert and the end of the wine was poured when Jo brought up work again.
“You’re going to be a great director,” she said. “Lord knows advancement takes forever. But when you get there, you’ll be great.”
“I don’t know about that,” Emma said.
“I do,” Jo said. “You’re smart, and you’ve got a knack for bringing out the best in people.” Her hand fell to Emma’s on top of the table, and she squeezed it. “You could do anything, and I don’t want you to let doubt or anything else hold you back.”
Drinking might not have been a good idea. Emma wasn’t close to drunk, but her stomach swooped at Jo’s smile. Jo’s hand burned her skin, even after she pulled it away. Maybe drinking with her boss an hour after realizing her feelings for her actually mattered wasn’t the best idea.
“I dropped out of film school,” Emma said. Jo already knew, but there was a part of the story she didn’t. “My boyfriend at the time told me I wasn’t any good. And I don’t think I was. And I’m afraid that’s just going to happen again, when I try to do something other than be your assistant.”
Jo let out a breath. “Your boyfriend saying you weren’t good doesn’t mean you weren’t good. It means he was an asshole.”
Something to Talk About Page 24
