It was such a small moment. One of those times that passed too quickly for him to realize the potential it held. How it could have shifted the course they'd take. A bridge over a turbulent ocean. Maybe one that swayed in the wind, or flooded in a storm, but one that would see them to the other side.
And a route he didn't see until he looked back. Until he'd driven too far to take it.
She slipped past him and he shuffled back to the couch.
∞
It seemed wrong when the next day dawned bright and clear.
Em knotted her hair into a bun and donned black, smearing enough make-up over her skin to hide the pallor of her cheeks. The contused look of her eyes. Abby arrived at the funeral home with her hair braided back and in a green sweater and jeans. It was the first time Cole had seen her out of bed since Em's dad had passed.
"This is how Roger liked me best," she choked out, trying to blink back tears.
She and Em were the entirety of a small receiving line, but stood worlds apart. Abby fell gratefully into the arms of her friends, family, and loved ones.
Em, though… Cole watched her with a practiced eye, standing beside Nikki and Ron off to the side. She radiated an untouchable aura, holding herself away from the mourners who came to offer their condolences. She shook their hands from a safe distance and didn't step closer for the expected hugs. Not even from the three of them.
When the the funeral was over, the crowds cleared and Em finally let herself go. But not enough, by his estimation. He eyed her shoulder blades, still drawn taut across her back. She hunched over herself as though trying to protect her center of gravity, hands splayed over her face to keep him from seeing more.
A small part of him was glad to see the crack. He hated that she was going through this. Hated that the world had lost a nice guy like Roger. But holding that kind of emotion in was toxic. At least this was some indication that she hadn't completely shut her feelings off.
He offered to drive her and her mother back to the house and Abby accepted his offer gratefully. She was like a fountain that had run out of water, breathing in shuddering gasps. It was probably best she didn't operate a car right now.
Em dabbed at her eyes and nodded, acquiescing and composing herself. The mask was back in place and she stared stoically out the window on the drive.
It didn't fall again.
Two days later, she sent him away, telling him, Ron, and Nikki to go back to school. "You don't get the free pass in classes that I do," she said with an attempt at a smile. "Besides, I'm fine." She neatly folded one of his shirts, zipped it into a duffel bag, and handed it to him.
He took it, aghast. He'd been summarily dismissed.
She walked him out to the Jeep, dropping the keys in his hand.
He shouldn't go, he thought, fingering them contemplatively. But she was right. He was already fielding e-mails from his professors, who were sympathetic, but firm. They'd given him as many extensions as they were going to.
As if reading his thoughts, she attempted a smile. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll be back soon."
He wondered if she'd even convinced herself.
ELEVEN
EM
∞ Now ∞
This day sucks. Every year, without fail.
When Halloween approaches, I brace myself, begging out of any social engagements I'm invited to. I don't wear a costume. I don't go to any parties.
But I do my best to spend the surrounding days in a wine-soaked haze.
Unfortunately, that's not in the cards this year. Five days after the rest of the country embarks upon a costumed frenzy, trick-or-treating and partying, I hand a customer the pair of earrings she's purchased and give her a tight-lipped smile before she heads out the door.
Mom and I have danced around each other all day. From the corner of my eye, I watch her drift aimlessly around the shop, my eyes peeled for any sign of tears. I never know when something will blindside one of us and send us tripping down the emotionally fraught path that's memory lane. Especially today.
I mean, God, just think of my shadowbox. Just a single picture of Dad where I hadn't expected to find it had knocked the wind right out of me. I hadn't been able to send Nikki away fast enough. If she'd stayed and pushed as everyone seems wont to do, I knew I'd break down.
Anything can be a trigger. An old movie on TV that Mom had once watched with Dad. If she hears the wrong song on the radio. If we run into someone we used to know—someone who doesn't know.
As for me, I determinedly concentrate on small, mind-numbing tasks. It's how I keep myself taped together. Straightening displays, ironing out wrinkles in the tablecloths that shouldn't be there. If I lose my concentration, I'll get sidetracked. And being sidetracked isn't something I can afford. My mind will wander dangerously close to days when Dad was here. To days when I'd cringe with embarrassment over an old nickname instead of experiencing that pang of remembrance.
Mom clears her throat from the corner. "Honey, I'm going to head home for the day." Her voice is suspiciously thick, but then she continues. "I just don't think there's anything else for me to do here."
I prohibit myself from looking back toward the stock room, where I know tons of inventory wait. She'll feel guilty if she remembers and it's a perfect project for me to take my mind off of things.
Besides, Mom needs the day. To do whatever it is that puts her back together every time she breaks.
And me? I'll stay busy. I'll avoid. It's how I've been able to sidestep breaking this long.
"Sounds good, Mom," I say.
I run a finger over a nearby vase as she leaves me alone with the shop and my unwelcome thoughts.
The vase is dusty. Perfect. Something else to do. For once, my internal dialogue isn't tinged with sarcasm. I move behind the counter to retrieve the lemon-scented cleaner and dust rag when the bell over the door tinkles.
I look up to see Cole stepping into the shop.
God, not today.
He smiles when he sees me, but it has the same tight-lipped quality as the smile I'd given my last customer. "Busy?" he asks.
"Do you see anyone else in here?" I retort. I take a savage swipe at the counter with my rag.
"Listen." He scratches at the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable. "Do you want to grab lunch or something?"
My hand stutters over the knick-knacks I'm dusting. "Mom's not here. She's home for the day. I have to man the shop." I lift a decoration to clean beneath it.
"Em." His hand on mine stays me. I freeze, unable to look up at him. "Flip the sign for an hour. It's a two-person operation. You have to eat sometime. And I thought maybe you could use a break." His voice lowers into that deep register that makes obnoxious butterflies start flapping around my heart. "I know what today is. I was there."
I hadn't forgotten that either. Finally, I force my gaze from my dusting to study him. He looks nervous. Like he's afraid I'll tell him to shove it up his ass and get out of my store. He shifts his weight, but his eyes are soft as he waits for my response.
My stomach does that funny little leap I'm slowly growing reacquainted with where Cole's concerned.
What could it hurt? I put the rag down. "You know what? A break sounds good."
∞
"I hate you a little bit," I say as the waitress places a basket in the center of the table and hops away. Cole's brought me to a restaurant called Uncertainly. There's a big piece of artwork on the back wall with the saying "Life is uncertain; eat dessert first."
Rather than be presented with a basket of bread at the onset of the meal, we receive a basket of sweets: chocolate covered pretzels, raspberry truffles, toffee, squares of cakes, and soft peppermints. It's a calorie-counter's nightmare, but a sweet tooth's dream.
It's also comfort food and I need that right now. I reach toward the basket of temptation and bite into a chunk of toffee with a loud crunch.
"Hate," I say emphatically as deliciousness swarms my senses. "Mountains and mountains of hate
. This is cruel and unusual torture."
Cole's expression is simultaneously amused and distracted. "I think it only counts as torture if you're actually trying to use your willpower and resist temptation."
A peppermint melts on my tongue and I let out an uncontainable sigh of enjoyment.
He fidgets in his seat. "So… how are you handling everything today? You at least seem to be enjoying the food."
I didn't come here to examine my messy, buried feelings. Instead, I sidestep the question and swallow the sweet with an audible gulp. "I know. I am. It's too good. I think I've died. I'll have to run for days to burn this lunch off, but I think maybe this is what heaven is like."
I watch his eyes for the minute giveaway that tells me he's resigning himself to these surface-level questions. Maybe in another era or on another day, he'd push me. But not today. Today, he lets me slide.
"I'm touched," he drawls. "It's heaven and I'm there? I never knew you were so sentimental."
I don't respond, eyeing a square of pound cake. I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. The temptation of the comfort food is basically sinful. "Then again, maybe it is hell."
"Rude. I don't see any ceiling-high flames in the vicinity. And the last time I checked, I hadn't sprouted devil horns." Mock-frowning, he pats down his hair searching for them.
I quell the smile tip-toeing onto my lips and a little bit of the tension weighing on my shoulder lightens with his lame attempt to make me laugh. Desserts and laughter are the key, sin or not. I lift the pound cake to my lips and relax more with each bite of the soft, buttery taste.
And maybe it's the fact that Cole didn't push. Or maybe it's just that… I find Dad on my mind more than usual these days.
I won't break if share. Just a little.
"I'm okay," I say. "But I miss him."
Cole's gaze softens. "I know. And it's okay to let yourself feel that, you know?"
My heart hops.
I thought I told you to stop that, I scold myself, receiving little more in response than an inconsiderate shrug from that rebellious corner of my mind.
Cole's right. It's okay to let myself miss Dad. Especially today.
I nod. "Yeah. I know."
There's a silence over the table again, but it's not like the lunch we had before Nikki mandated that we plan her wedding. That one was awkward. Rife with things unsaid. This silence… it's like it's speaking for us. Memories rippling through the air. Feelings swimming through the empty space.
We don't have to talk. It's all there in the moment.
I know what he wants from me. And a part of me really wants to give it to him. He's one of those people. The kind that stay with you. That you can't forget, no matter how hard you try.
If it's this hard just to forget about him, though… I can't imagine trying something more. Can't imagine losing him in a real way. Even the possibility is enough to make me pull back.
So I clear my throat. I lean away from the table and look away to break the connection. "Cole, we're—"
"—Let me guess," he interrupts me, shaking his head in disappointment like I've let him down somehow. I swallow down my sinking heart and the guilt that comes with it. "We're not going to do this."
I blink. Am I that predictable? "Well… yeah," I admit after a minute.
"That's okay, too, Em." Cole leans back, calm, and steeples his fingers to rest against his chin. "I'm here. I've been here, and I'll be here when you're ready. If you decide you're ready."
My mouth opens soundlessly.
"Can I ask you one thing, though?" He leans toward me, elbows on the table. "What are you so afraid of?"
"Afraid?" I sputter. "What is there to be afraid of? You? I don't think so."
"Yeah. Me," he says intently, holding me steady in his gaze. I resist the urge to look away. "I think I'm exactly what you're afraid of."
The waitress smoothly removes the basket of small bites from the table and replaces it with two plates of chocolate cheesecake drizzled with raspberry sauce. Apparently, we're forgoing meals of substance entirely. But I'm not complaining. Searching for an out to this conversation, I lift a bite to my lips. It's rich with promise on my fork.
He's good enough to drop it, but not without a last laugh. "Sure. Just eat your cake, Em."
I swallow, letting the taste of the cheesecake dissolve on my tongue. If nothing else, at least Cole's managed to distract me for the day. Because, staring into his eyes, Dad is the last thing on my mind.
TWELVE
EM
After our lunch, I wait until Nikki's nagged me approximately five hundred times before I contact Cole again. We have a wedding to plan, after all, and we haven't checked out a single venue yet. For lack of any other ideas, I suggest we meet at the beach. I'm relatively sure we could get a permit from the city to have the ceremony there and we could just hire an officiant.
"I'm here. Lifeguard station 3," Cole's text says.
I can't believe he beat me here.
I trudge unhappily through the sand toward him. "I hate the beach," I grumble upon reaching him, attempting to brush the sand off my legs to no avail.
"Why then," Cole asks patiently, "are we here?"
"Because," I sigh and speak as if I'm explaining something to a small child. The wind grabs a strand of my hair and sticks it to the lip gloss I applied earlier. I free it with impatient hands. "I hate the beach. Nikki does not. Her favorite Disney movie growing up was The Little Mermaid."
"So… what?" Cole raises his eyebrow as he gestures to the rolling waves. The shoreline's empty, save a few vacationers dotting the beach. "What are you envisioning here? Nikki with starfish in her hair, a white bathing suit top over one of those flowy skirt... things?" Cole motions to his legs.
"If you mean do I want Nikki to wear clothing resembling fins, then no. You paint quite a picture, though. I thought maybe a long dress, barefoot, star flowers in her hair—"
"Right, and a chorus of 'Part of Your World' behind her."
"No, Colson." I smack his chest, annoyed. He grins. My big toe buries itself in the sand I hate.
"Beach looks good on you," he said.
"Whatever you do at that event planning company has made you slick," I say with a frown. Drawing back, my eyes narrow. "I'm not sure I like it. There used to be no pretense to you. You said what you thought, when you thought it."
"And that got me really far."
He laughs and dodges the next swat I aim at him. I fold my arms and "hmph."
He turns towards the rolling tide on an exhale. "I don't know how you did it," he says, eyes locked on the horizon. "Moving away right after graduation like that."
I fidget. Well, I'd asked him to say what he thought. "It was just something I had to do."
"Yeah, I guess." Cole stares at the surf. "I don't know how you could leave this behind."
"This may surprise you but beaches in California aren't very hard to come by." That's not what he's talking about. I know that's not what he's talking about, but I side-step the conversation happening just beneath the surface. "And I had to go," I say again. What does he want from me? I don't have a better explanation for him.
His laugh is a sharp bark. "Yeah. I know you did."
I watch a nearby couple, probably guests at one of the hotels nearby. The woman yawns, half-asleep on the man's shoulder, his arm securely around her. She squeals as the water washes over their ankles, soaking the edge of their blanket, and they scramble backward like crabs, laughing.
Cole's watching them too, something unreadable in his eyes. "Hey. Remember the Mai Tai party our senior year?" he asks.
"Vaguely," I say with a self-deprecating laugh. "Mostly I remember what everyone told me about it. That night's still kind of a blur for me."
Cole glances at me from the corner of his eye, hands in his pockets. "Yeah, I remember." One corner of his lip quirks up and the sea breeze ruffles his hair. He laughs again. "You were a party all by yourself that night."
I avert my eyes.
I'd been left with only vague impressions of that night, like a video montage, one image tripping after another.
I remember my hair tangling in the wind. I remember laughing and dancing around the bonfire with Nikki. The warmth of the rum as it burned down my throat.
I remember giggling, chin lifted to the stars and dark sky, long sleeves encasing my arms as I clutched my stomach, aching with laughter. Nikki had tackled me in a hug, coaxing me to try a sip of her drink, before settling off to the side, muttering something about calling Ron.
I'd squealed Cole's name in mock terror as he scooped me up and ran toward the cold November waters. He'd splashed the salty sea spray onto our faces as he ran and I'd threatened him with certain death, promising that if I went under, I'd take him with me.
I remember the glint of his eyes, almost glowing in the light of the bonfire, a flash of white teeth in the darkness. I remember the pounding music and roar of partygoers' conversation fading in the wake of my heartbeat as I looked at him.
I guess I remember more than I thought I did.
We'd slept on the sand, which was not, as Cole said when we woke up the next morning, "the most comfortable of beds." He'd winced and rubbed his back. We watched in comfortable silence as the sun rose into the air; a bright blush on the morning's sky. I don't know if I'd been too sleepy to have my guard up around him or what, but I'd let him wrap us both in towels to escape the chill of the morning air.
Now, I pull my jacket tighter around myself and shiver, patting my hair to reassuring myself that the beach breeze hasn't teased it entirely loose. "So what do you think?" I ask Cole, hoping he realizes I'm talking about the beach as an option for a venue and nothing else.
He zips up his jacket. "I'm not sure this is Nikki," he says. "Based on the dress we saw when you guys went shopping, I think we might be looking at the wrong genre of princess for her. We need more sparkle, less scale."
Maybe… I think. But I remember her frenetic energy and nervous laughter when she'd shown up at my house with Chinese. I can't shake the idea that any concentration on the idea of "princess" for Nikki's wedding isn't the direction we should be looking.
Now and Again Page 7
