by Poppy Dunne
Justin’s face flushes; Mom has crossed a line, and he is about to get mad. I stand, and Lily stands with me, I think just for something to do.
“Hey, here’s an idea. Mom, why don’t you go rustle up some Valium in the kitchen, have one, and then order Thai. Lily, why don’t you and Dad go help her? I want to talk to Justin for a minute.”
“Okay.” Lily speeds out of the room as fast as her impractical heels can carry her. She clacks urgently all the way to the kitchen, where she’ll presumably hide in the fridge. Dad gets up, while Mom blinks at me in bewilderment. That’s right, Mom. The middle child can speak.
“I was just going to tell Justin—”
“Something you’ll regret if you don’t back off right now.” Whoa. The words are out before I can think about them. And they feel good. Like cupcake sneaking, ice cream eating, cheat day indulging good. And they won’t put any weight on your hips, either. Life’s perfect little miracles. “Give us a minute. Okay?”
And it works. Dad leads Mom out of the room. She follows him numbly, like she can’t believe what just happened to her. Hell, what did just happen? It was so wonderfully out of character for me. I just summoned up the need to cut to the chase…kind of like Fraser. Hmm. Maybe he’s having more of an effect on me than mere multiple orgasms. Not that those aren’t my favorite, but still. It’s another incredible quality of his. Even when he’s not here, he’s helping me out.
“That was kind of amazing.” Justin looks at me like I sprouted wings and started flapping them indoors. Probably bad luck, like opening an umbrella inside. What the hell am I talking about? Back to reality.
“Okay. What happened?” I slip off my shoes and curl up on the couch.
“I lost my job. We were worried about money. She got fed up. She left.” Justin rubs his forehead. Now I know Charlotte—not as well as my brother does, because that…that would mean seeing each other naked, among other things. Point is, she’s not a gold digger. She’s not a pampered housewife. She’s proven she can pull her own financial weight when things are tough. So I know in my heart this isn’t about money. Which means it’s about Justin.
“Why’d she get fed up? Specifically.”
“Specifically, she told me I was letting this kick my ass and I wasn’t doing anything to stop it. Then she started crying. Then she packed up the kids.” Justin rubs his eyes. His hair’s mussed. He’s still wearing his workout clothes, which means that they must have had the argument when he came in from jogging and he hasn’t bothered to change. Which also means he is a man in desperate need of a shower.
Justin’s like my dad in this way. Total sweetheart, good father, but can’t pull himself up when bad things come. That must’ve freaked Charlotte out pretty hardcore, because now they have three kids to worry about.
Normally, I’d offer some goofy advice and dance around to make him laugh. You know, typical Emma stuff. That and drink a lot of Fireball whiskey and do bad impressions of famous cartoon characters. You have not lived until you’ve seen me and tequila take on Daffy Duck.
But again, my thoughts creep back to Fraser and his glowering ‘total honesty’ policy. He doesn’t see me as just a funny, dorky, kind of ridiculous person. Well, he sees that a lot, but he sees more: someone who can deal and be dealt with like an adult.
Most people don’t see that much nuance in me, it’s true. But he does. And it makes me realize something. I know a lot more about people and relationships than I typically think I do. Probably has to do with reading all those self-help guides to get me through. Only this time, it’s not Oprah or Dr. Phil or Blaire Lavender talking to me. It’s me talking. Just me.
“Jus, do you think she left because of the money, or because she wants you to make her feel safe? Because those are two different things, dude.”
Justin blinks like I just electrocuted him. On a small scale, of course. He must’ve been prepared for Emma’s Wacky Routine. Hell, we’re all braced for that at all times.
“I suppose it’s not the money. Charlotte doesn’t care that much about it. She never has.”
“Right.” I put an arm around his shoulders. “I guarantee that if you can show Charlotte that you’re not letting this firing get you down and are kicking ass and trying to take names, she’ll calm down a lot. She just needs to feel like she’s not the only one trying to keep the family afloat. I know her, and so do you.”
Justin’s brow unfurrows, and his expression clears. He breathes out, a deep sigh that sounds like relief. “I was so embarrassed in front of her. I guess I shut down.”
“Right. And knowing Charlotte, that was the last thing she needed.”
Justin rubs his face. “You’re right. Completely.”
“So.” I knock my head against his shoulder. Sibling affection looks a lot like canine camaraderie. “Call her up, tell her you’re ready to talk about what happens next. Lay out a plan for who you’re going to call; hell, ask Charlotte to help. Get her input, don’t keep her at a distance. This’ll all be fixed in no time.”
Justin shakes his head in seeming amazement. “When you put it like that, Em, it seems so clear.” Finally, the tautness leaves his face. He smiles, and my brother has one of the top ten worldwide killer smiles. There is science behind this. “Okay. Tell the folks I had to.” He pauses and looks at his clothes, like it’s the first time he’s seeing them today. “First I got to take a shower, then I’ll call Charlotte.”
“And I’ll get the Thai food ordered. No worries.” I practically shove Justin off the couch, and watch him head for the bathroom with a noticeable lift to his shoulders. Sometimes, all you need is a hug and someone to tell you what’s wrong with the deepest, darkest part of you. And if you’re lucky, there’ll be panang curry afterwards.
Justin is just that lucky today.
I head for the kitchen, where I find Lily huddled in the doorway. Pretty clear she’s been listening in on the conversation. She gives me a look that is somewhere between appreciation and wide-eyed shock.
“I didn’t know you were so, like, good at talking to people,” she says. Aw. That’s…sad.
“I mean I have been talking since 1987,” I remind her. Well, maybe 86, but only if you count ‘tweety’ and ‘donkey race’ as conversation. Which apparently I did at eighteen months. Grinning, I give Lily a hug. “But yeah. I’m impressed with myself too.”
And here comes Mom to ruin the whole thing. Right on schedule.
“I’m amazed you were able to reach your brother, sweetie.” She laughs, the kind of laugh that signals an incoming joke at Emma’s expense. I’ve had years to get used to that laugh. “Sometimes I forget you don’t have a man in your life. You handle them so well!”
Ah, what a ‘joke,’ and by that I mean insult. Again, I imagine Fraser’s brooding, surly, glowering, manly—did I say brooding?—face. He wouldn’t take this kind of nonsense. So, squaring my shoulders, I reply. Oh, do I reply.
“Mom.” I never stop smiling. “You’re going to stop doing that whole ‘old maid, unmarried’ joke thing you do, okay? Because it hurts my feelings, and you know it does, and I’m not going to let you get away with it anymore. Okay?”
Mom pales under her perfectly applied makeup, but then does that beaming recovery thing she’s so good at. “Oh, Emmy. I know you’re so sensitive about—”
“Uh uh.” I shake my head. Still smiling, folks. “You’re not passing this off. The passive aggressive stuff stops right now. Whatever problem you’ve got with me not being married, that’s something that you’ve got an issue with. Stop taking it out on me. Now. Who ordered the food?”
Mom looks like if you tipped her over, she’d fall to the ground and shatter into a million pieces. Is this what snorting cocaine back in the 80s felt like? Unstoppable power and Billy Idol songs playing loud in your head? Man, no wonder people liked that stuff. Cocaine, I mean, not Billy Idol. I’m not sure why “White Wedding” started playing in my subconscious, actually.
But I’m into it.
&n
bsp; “I ordered.” Lily puts up her hand like we’re in class. Dad, meanwhile, has looked up from his crossword with an expression of beaming delight.
“Great! Justin’s freshening up. I’m going to open the wine.” Grabbing a corkscrew from the drawer and a few glasses from the cupboard, I head back into the living room. If I were wearing only my socks, I’d be sliding across the hardwood floor right now. Both because that’s a ton of fun no matter your age, and because I did it. I put Mom in her place, and got Justin’s head in the game.
As I start pouring the finest wine that six dollars can buy, I think about it. Maybe I’m better at life advice than I thought. Maybe I’ve found a talent I didn’t know I had.
And maybe a lot of it’s due to a certain Fraser Drake.
Mmm, however am I going to thank him?
(Hint: it involves sex.)
17
Fraser
“What do you mean I’ve got a surprise coming my way?” I’m on the phone with Emma while I wait for Cheryl to mail me back a confirmation. Working from home has its advantages: it’s far quieter than the office, and if Emma happens to make a particularly ribald joke, I don’t need to worry that the receptionists are listening in.
Of course, the reason I’m working from home today is not something I’d like Emma to uncover. I don’t have to worry, of course. She won’t be over until this evening, by which time everything will be finished.
“Well,” Emma says, though it sounds like ‘woll.’ She must be eating. I imagine her cramming a sandwich into her mouth, and envy the sandwich. There’s a conspicuous swallow noise—again, I’m jealous. “I had the best talk with Justin and my mom yesterday, and a lot of it’s because of you.”
Has she told her family about us, then? Because I haven’t had the email from Justin telling me that he likes me, but if I hurt his sister he’ll hunt me down. Pity. I’ve been looking forward to that one. Then again, Justin was never the aggressive type, which I thought was a problem even when we were kids.
“And what was this chat about, exactly?”
She snorts. Even that’s arousing. “Chat. I love the way you talk. It’s like a stuffy British butler and a porn star mashed themselves together.”
I could do without the butler, but the porn star more than compensates. “Careful, or I’ll be delivering you some very dedicated, very physical service this evening.”
I love the way she gasps a little bit; I’ve taken her off guard.
“You haven’t answered my question,” I remind her.
“Right. It’s nothing huge, just that I was more assertive with them. You know, I think I’m better at the giving advice thing than I believed. Maybe I could turn it into a career. Who knows?”
Yes, I’d love to see Emma in a new career path. It would mean getting her away from Gavin. Speaking of. “Has your boss made any more untoward advances lately?”
She lowers her voice. “Come on, I told you not to talk about him anymore. I haven’t seen him, he hasn’t seen me, especially not with my bra off. Okay?”
Fine. I can allow her to take care of herself. It’s something she’s quite good at. I’d just prefer she take care of herself away from Gavin Walker’s patient eye.
My buzzer sounds, and I ask her to hold on. Hitting the button, my doorman says,
“There’re a couple of visitors for you. Should I let them up?”
Ah, the afternoon appointment. “Yes, thank you.” I get back on the phone. “Emma, I have to go. Business. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Your place, seven. Yep, I penciled it all into my planner. I have a planner now. Can you believe it?” She sounds coy, of course. I’m the one who bought it for her. Then I had to remind her to enter things other than reality TV shows. She certainly has a varied schedule of those.
“See you then.” I hang up, and close my eyes. This will all be over soon. After today, the “situation” as I like to call it will resolve itself. Not much longer, and I’ll be free. Free of the guilt, the burden. Free of the self-reproach.
There’s a knock on the door, and I open it to find Gillian standing there, looking as lovely as ever. Her eyes, however, are tight with worry—they always are these days. They have been for years. Sometimes I wish I could go back, take that worry away. But there’s nothing to be done now.
“Fraser. Thanks for being home today.” She stands aside, and motions someone forward. “Come on, sweetheart. In we go.”
A small girl enters, standing before me and looking up with the wary eyes of some timid prey animal. She’s pale—too pale, really. Her cheeks are thin, her eyes wide and dark brown. She’s tousled brown hair as well; exactly like mine, come to think of it. She’s got an iPod clutched in her hands, earbuds in her ears. I can hear the tinny sounds of some music that the children love today. You know, overly sugar and pink. That’s the best way to describe it.
“Anna, darling, go sit down.” Gillian kisses the top of the child’s head, and sends her over to the sofa. Then she looks at me with an apology in her eyes. “Do you mind giving a hand? Carting that thing around is a bloody nuisance.”
Of course, the oxygen tank must be a burden. It’s not too large, but it is heavy and delicate equipment. I pull it inside, its wheels thunking and whirring on the hardwood floor. I can see a breathing mask fitted on a hook, alongside lengths of tubing. We park the tank beside Anna, who’s now nestled on the sofa. She’s graduated to playing a video game featuring puffy white sheep and exploding clouds. I’m so glad I’m not a child today, I can’t even express it.
“Do you need anything right now, angel?” Gillian sits beside Anna and touches the girl’s forehead. Anna grins at her mother; I can see she’s lost a few teeth. She has that gap-toothed charm peculiar to younger children.
“I’m okay. I’m feeling better today.” She blinks bashfully at me, then dives right back into her device. Well, I am a terribly imposing specimen of a man. At least, I like to think so.
“Would you like some water?” I’m already heading for the kitchen. Gillian leaves Anna and is with me in an instant, searching the cabinets to find the water glasses. The nervous energy is radiating off of her. She’s desperate to help, even with no idea of the layout.
I know a thing or two about that.
“Sit with her. It’s all right.” I clear her out, and she shoots me an appreciative look over her shoulder. All these years later, and she still has those large, pleading eyes. The tight set of her shoulders makes it look like she’s about to snap in two. She murmurs endearments to Anna as I fill a glass and bring it into the living room. Gillian takes it gratefully, and watches Anna with worry. The child’s cheeks are flushed as she goes into a coughing fit. I pause, ready to get the phone in case…well, in case of emergency. Gillian leans over to pick up the oxygen mask.
“I’m okay, Mum. Don’t fuss.” Anna looks straight back to her video game, crossing her feet at the ankles and swinging them. Most people would call her rude, but she’s not trying to be. She’s lost in her own little world, ashamed of her weakness.
I was much like that when I was her age. Gillian rubs her temple, tears glinting at the corners of her eyes. Suppressing a twinge of guilt, I sit opposite them. Anna looks up at me. For the first time, her game doesn’t require her full attention.
“Now. This is what we’re going to do,” I tell them.
18
Emma
After a long early afternoon of reading manuscript after manuscript, I’m getting a well-deserved coffee in the break room. And by coffee, I perhaps mean instant hot chocolate. I know it’s not good for me, but I’m using heated water, not milk. That practically makes it an energy drink. I can believe that, so long as I don’t think about it too hard. As I shake out the sugary, powdery, er, chocolate-y packet into my Styrofoam cup, I have to brush aside the little nagging concern. You know, those concerns that are like gnats: they’re small and insignificant, but then they swarm, and they cluster around streetlights. You’re trying to catch a bus in th
e summertime and actually inhale a couple as you’re running down the street. Then you end up bent over and coughing on the corner, trying to spit them out.
Okay, on second thought, this nagging concern is nothing like gnats. Forget I said anything.
This nagging concern is like a bumblebee. It…
“Oh, knock it off,” I mutter to myself, jamming the button that dispenses with the hot water goodness. I’m psyching myself out, which is something I’m good at when the occasion arises. Fraser sounded a little distant on the call, didn’t he? And then he hung up so fast, especially when his buzzer rang. I could hear it over the phone; I’ve been to his place enough times, I know the sound. He had someone coming up. He was at home.
You know what, maybe he was awaiting the entire Playboy mansion up in his place, Emma. Nothing but bunny suits, coconut oil, and raucous games of beer pong the whole afternoon long. That’s got to be it, you idiot.
Fraser’s not doing anything wrong or sneaky, and I’ve got nothing to worry about. As I blow on my steaming cup and take a sip of that completely adequate sugary goodness, I feel myself relax. Because the mind-blowing sex aside, I do trust him. Just like I told him.
The only thing that keeps itching right inside my brain—obviously a place you can’t scratch—is that repeated concern. Why didn’t he just give me the details about his break up with Gillian? Why did he give me the ultimatum to believe him or not?
Why did he look so delectable and masculine while doing both of these things? It’s not fair. Makes it hard to think with anything other than my hormones.
While I stand there, pondering my romantic decisions and staring at the stain right at the corner of the kitchen linoleum, I hear someone enter behind me. I turn around and wish I hadn’t. Gavin slides up right next to me, pouring himself a cup of water from the tank.
