Wanderlove - Rachel Blaufeld

by Rachel Blaufeld

  My mind raced as I stared at her. “What? Where the hell did you get that? Are you hallucinating? I don’t even fucking know my dad. He roared into my life and then basically walked back out.”

  Emerson shook her head. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I hate to tell you all this. It makes everything so messy.”

  “You need to slow down and explain what the fuck is going on.” I paced as fast as I could in socks, wishing to put my boots back on so I could stomp my feet.

  “I heard all this from Sheila. It’s why she didn’t want to give me my mom’s last address. Because it’s this address. Right where we’re both standing.” Emerson threw her bag down on the floor. “This is so twisted. My God, I’ve made a mess of my life,” she screamed, tugging wildly at her hair.

  I’d never seen her look like this. A mess. Totally out of control.

  “Em, this doesn’t mean we can’t be together. We’re not kids, and they’re not married anymore. Christ, we didn’t even know each other when they were married, I’m guessing. This has no bearing on us,” I said, my voice gruff. I was stifling back a combination of anger, tears, and frustration. “My mom would say this is utter nonsense and to think logically.”

  No matter how much I raged inside, I had to be the strong one here. The one with a clear head. I would fight for the girl in front of me with every last breath of my life.

  It was a revelation, and probably not the best time to have it, but so the fuck what. I had it.

  “This was her place.” Emerson looked up at me, her face red and blotchy, her expression bleak. “In the divorce. I mean, after the divorce, she lived here. Your dad put her up here. He’s still desperate to get her clean. I don’t know if it will ever happen. She’s MIA now, but it doesn’t matter. The time I’m sure has passed for me to know her. And for her to know me.”

  She took a deep breath. “Price, I can’t stay here where I’ll think of her every day. And I know it’s a lot . . . but that’s how bad this situation is. I also know this is a bad way to start a relationship. Too many skeletons.”

  Picking up the duffel, she slung it over her shoulder.

  “Wait!” I stilled Em, touching her other shoulder. “None of those skeletons are ours. We are our own people. We grew up and fell for each other despite all those skeletons. Don’t you see?”

  She shook her head, fresh tears popping out, rolling down her face and leaving black rivers in their wake, but she said nothing.

  “Look, I knew this place sucked. I don’t care if they were married or whatever. We’ll get a different place,” I said, making a last-ditch effort. But it didn’t mean a damn thing.

  Shrugging me off, Emerson looked at me, her eyes glassy and far-off. “Like I said, this isn’t about you, Price. Don’t make it about you. It’s about me. And for God’s sake, don’t you see the irony? Aren’t you going to accuse me of maybe going after you to find my mom?”

  “Oh my fucking God.” I groaned, so fucking frustrated at Emerson’s stubbornness. “I’m not some teeny-bopper or a jilted woman. I didn’t think that. I wouldn’t think that. We met by accident.”

  “You don’t know that.” She brushed by me and headed for the front door.

  “I do. Em, you’re being unreasonable, in every sense of the word. I’ll be right here when you get some sense back in your head.”

  She didn’t reply, only flung open the door and walked toward the elevator.

  I chased after her but stopped in the doorway. “You know why? Do you, Emerson? Because I’m falling in love with you.”

  The elevator dinged as the door opened.

  She turned and gave me a sad look. “No, you’re not.” The doors slid closed, separating me from the only woman I’d ever loved.

  Price

  “Dad!” I yelled into the phone the moment he answered.

  “Is everything okay, Price? I know I said I’d be coming to visit, but I ran into a problem. It’s not an excuse, just my life.”

  “No, everything is not okay. My life was fine the way it was before you came riding in with your town car and bags of money.”

  I paced in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in Emerson’s mom’s apartment. With her ghost looming and Emerson’s absence haunting me, I hadn’t been able to sleep for two nights.

  “Calm down—”

  “No, I can’t, Dad,” I spat out. “I can’t calm down because I’m in a city where I don’t belong, surrounded by millions of people who don’t understand me, and then I meet one who does . . . and you’re not going to believe this. She’s your wife’s daughter.” My forehead met the cool glass and I closed my eyes.

  “Ex-wife.”

  “Whatever. Wife, ex-wife. Do you get how awkward shit’s become? I’m in love with this woman’s daughter, and she’s left me because of it. None of this would be happening if you hadn’t decided to stroll back into my life like a knight in shining armor. I was fine, and now I’m not. Feel me?”

  “I didn’t plan for this to happen,” my dad said. “I admit when Johnny let me know who you were dating—”

  At this point, I’d slumped down on the floor, my back resting on the window. I wanted to smash my head through it. “You knew?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said, and his voice turned hoarse. “Paula . . . my ex-wife . . . has problems. I don’t even know if Emerson knows. Drugs, horrible addiction. The guilt of leaving her daughter behind always tortured her. I found Emerson for Paula years ago and kept tabs on her, and then the girl drove herself to New York on a mission. Lucky kid. She met Sheila. Met you. Considering the odds against it, if I didn’t know better, I’d think she planned it.”

  “Fuck you! Seriously, fuck off. She didn’t plan a thing. I don’t know the extent of this Paula’s problems. But I do know she left her daughter the same way you left me, and she deserves whatever fate she got. Because no one who has a heart does what she did.”

  “That’s why I found you, Price. I couldn’t live with myself anymore. It’s only cheap talk, I know, but it’s all I have. As for my beautiful broken Paula, I guess you got your wish. She died this past weekend of an overdose. Even I couldn’t save her.”

  My dad broke down and wept on the other end of the line, and I couldn’t find it in myself to care. Not one single bit.

  This would destroy Emerson.

  I couldn’t be bothered with my relationship with him, or his rescue fantasy, or whatever other shit he had going on. I had more important things to focus on.

  “Listen to me.” I stood up, fisting my free hand. Thank fuck this conversation wasn’t in person, or I would have beaten my own father to a bloody pulp. “You are going to call Emerson and tell her what happened. You’re going to tell her every single memory you have about Paula even thinking about her. Make them up, if you don’t have them. You’re going to tell her how much she regretted leaving her daughter. Again, make this shit up if you have to. You’re going to give her closure. Allow Emerson to grieve.”

  “And what are you going to do?” my dad asked, his voice cracking.

  “The fuck? You don’t get to make demands of me. You get to do a lot of heavy lifting, and I hope I decide to forgive you for your disappearing act when I was little. For your duplicity now. For moving me into your ex-wife’s apartment, knowing I fell for her daughter, and sitting back and watching everything unfold like it’s some sort of sick soap opera.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?”

  “I’ll let you know. First things first. I’m going to text you Emerson’s number, and you do what I told you to do. I have an apartment to sell . . . and don’t you dare say it’s not mine to sell. You owe me this and more. And after dealing with all this BS, I have classes to attend.”

  In all my rage and anger, I realized what I wanted to do with my life and the fucking opportunity that fell in my lap. It would take more of my dad’s guilt money, but I couldn’t give any fucks.

  It was a no-fucks-given kind of day.

&n
bsp; Later that night, I lay in bed with what was left of a fifth of bourbon on the bedside table. Sleep was elusive.

  Emerson didn’t take my call earlier. My head pounded and my heart hurt at not knowing where she was. Finally, I gave in and called her dad. He told me she was at Sheila’s place, and he knew what happened.

  To say Bend was beating himself up over it was an absolute understatement. I told him it wasn’t his fault. Emerson was bound and determined to find her mom. What he didn’t know yet was that Paula was dead. I guessed my dad hadn’t called Emerson yet.

  Grabbing the pillow on Emerson’s side of the bed, I breathed in what was left of her scent.

  My eyes had just closed, visions of my plan coming to mind, when my phone rang. Jumping up quickly, I hoped it was Emerson.

  No such luck. My dad.

  “I just hung up with Emerson,” he said.

  “What took you so long?” I demanded.

  “I wanted to make the arrangements first. Paula’s parents are both gone now, and I’m all she had.”

  I didn’t give a shit about any of that. “Is Emerson coming to the funeral?” That’s what I wanted to know.

  “I gave her the details,” my dad said.

  “I’ll be there with you.”

  At least I knew I’d see Emerson there. There was no way she could stay away.

  Emerson

  At the same time numb and yet torn apart, I stood at my mother’s casket in the funeral home, all my emotions bubbling up out of me. I didn’t care about the other people in the room, there to mourn her passing. I had a lot to say to this woman who’d birthed me, then left me, and I was going to have my say, no matter what.

  “All these years,” I said to her pale, still face, my voice broken. “You knew where I was, but you denied me. You . . . you withheld it all from me . . . but why? I need to know, and for God’s sake, now you can’t tell me. What did I do to deserve this? Be born? All I ever wanted was someone to care for me more than . . . than themselves. Someone other than Dad. Really, that’s the truth.”

  Leaning closer to her, I said, “I wanted a mom like everyone else.” My words were meant to be whisper, but they came out more of a garble.

  “I want you to answer me!” A bit of hysteria entered my voice, raw anger bubbling in my throat as I balled my hands into fists. If I didn’t keep myself together, I’d grab her poor lifeless body and shake it to death.

  Oh, right. She’s dead already.

  I took a deep breath, trying to control my emotions, but I couldn’t help myself.

  Panic settled in my gut, slowly rising up my esophagus, but I pushed it back. It slid down my throat into my belly like the sludge at the bottom of a cold cup of coffee.

  This damn woman was so pathetic. Laid out in front of me, broken, destroyed by her own demons. She couldn’t answer, nor would she ever be able to plead her case or give me the answers I wanted. She couldn’t explain what I’d always wanted to know—needed to know.

  My dad had begged to come with me today, but I’d said no. He didn’t deserve to see me mourn a woman who had wronged him so.

  It wasn’t the body or the casket in front of me causing the hot tears to roll down my cheeks. It was the possibility of what should have been, what could have been mine, and way more. A lifetime of opportunities lost—at least half a lifetime. I would have taken it.

  The possibilities had been endless when I’d met Bev and Sheila. At that point, I could have held my mom tight in my arms for the first time in my short eighteen years of life. I’d dreamed of it.

  “Emerson, let’s go. It’s enough pain.”

  I startled as Bev’s hand ran down my back and she spoke in my ear.

  These past few days, I couldn’t shake Bev if I’d tried. She’d insisted on staying with me, helping me get ready for the funeral, and riding with me in a cab to the funeral home. Sheila had come separately and was sitting in the pews, waiting for the service to start.

  I’d been sleeping in Bev’s bed with her for the last few nights, feeling so fortunate that my amazing friend had found both forgiveness and compassion for me. My tears flooded my pillow, not only for my mom, but for him. Price.

  He was gone. It was my doing, but he was gone, nonetheless. I didn’t know what I’d been thinking. I couldn’t even spell my own name the last few days.

  “Em, please, don’t do this to yourself. You heard the man . . . her husband,” she said softly, careful not to mention Price’s father’s name. “She regretted her choice, but she didn’t have control. She spiraled for most of her life, finding only small pockets of happiness. And you know your dad supports you. He’s been enough. It’s hard to understand it, but he’s been there for you.”

  I shook my head. Why couldn’t I have lived in one of those pockets?

  “She doesn’t look like the photo your mom showed me,” I whispered back, running my hand down my face, swiping away the tears as I studied my mom. They’d plumped her up with whatever they did to dead bodies, painting her face with too much makeup and covering her rail-thin body with long sleeves and pants.

  “She hasn’t for a long while. Come on, let’s go. You saw. There’s nothing more to say.” Bev pulled on my arm.

  Staring at my dead mom, I dug in my heels and stayed put. I didn’t let my hand touch the casket, refused to allow myself to say a silent prayer for her, yet tiny wishes for her to be at peace crept into my brain.

  The woman inside the box didn’t deserve my prayers. But I deserved something.

  I’d been denied, and it hurt. Not on a superficial level, but in a way more visceral.

  Completely drained, I turned to walk away from the casket, my gaze glued to the carpet, the heat of his stare on my back, the singe of his touch brushing my hand as I stumbled past, never once stopping.

  Price stood tall, his feet grounded as he waited for me to come to him, while the other one—his father—he wept silently in the corner, waiting for my condolences.

  I didn’t go to either of them.

  “I can’t stay,” I said, leaning into Bev. “I can’t do this. I’m sure she was a wonderful person at some point in her life, but I can’t hear it.”

  I couldn’t talk anymore. The admission was too much. This was my mom, and now I found myself not able to care. The hurt, the burning pain in my gut, it was too much.

  Bev nodded and guided me out the door. She knew there were no words, no platitudes, nothing she could say, and my appreciation for that was unending.

  “Emerson!”

  Price chased after me into the early autumn day. He didn’t get there was nothing he could say. He didn’t understand I was barely holding myself together by a thread. After all, he was a dude. He had a primal need to fix this.

  I rushed out of the church . . . it was so different from home here. No salt hanging in the air, only mixed with the tears streaming down my face. The world around me was crisp, a light breeze fluttering the dry leaves along the sidewalk. A complete contradiction to the raging feelings punching their way through my bloodstream. I was like a fighter primed on fight night, pumped up and angry, wanting to punch the first face I saw.

  “Emerson!”

  Bev squeezed my shoulder. “Em, he’s desperate to talk with you.”

  “Emerson!” Price caught up with us. “Please, stop.”

  I hadn’t even realized Bev had let me go, and it was now Price holding me, letting me lean on him.

  “I can’t! I won’t! Stop!” Words flew out of my mouth. I didn’t even know what I wanted him to stop. I wanted the whole goddamn world to stop. Without a thought, my fist formed, and I was punching his bicep and his chest. “Move! You have to let me be!”

  “No!” He stood unflinching in front of me, taking a beating not meant for him. “Em, hurt me. Do what you need to.”

  That was Price. Selfless, compassionate, the opposite of my mom. He was like my dad, the only constant I’d ever known.

  Unable to stop myself, I hit him once more and then fel
l back on my butt, landing in a pile of leaves.

  Price dropped down next to me and cradled me like a baby. “Listen, I know you’re hurting, but please don’t push me away. I’m here for you. Not only Bev. I’m. Here. Too.”

  At the sound of her name, I looked up to find Bev. “Where is she?” Hysteria crept up my throat. “She’s a good friend. Did you make her go? Did she leave?”

  “She is a great friend,” he said softly, swiping my hair behind my ear. “She’s more than a good friend. But she saw I’m with you, and she went in to sit with her mom. She knows I can take care of you . . . that I want to take care of you.”

  “Oh. Sheila must be devastated too. She couldn’t do a thing . . . to help my mom. She must be dying over it on the inside. More than the cancer already is—”

  My words cut off when Price placed his lips on mine. It wasn’t a lustful kiss. It was consoling, comforting.

  “Shhh,” he whispered, our mouths no longer fused, but still close enough to tickle each other. “I know this is bad timing, but I have to tell you this. I love you, Emerson. We didn’t expect it to happen or to find it when we ran into each other that first time, but we did. I know you care for me more than I ever dreamed you could, and my feelings for you run two-, three-fold yours. I promise you that.”

  “What?”

  My head jerked back, and I looked into Price’s eyes. His hair was a mess, and his suit was getting wrinkled and dirty as he knelt with me.

  “I love you. And none of this means anything. Not your mom or my dad, or their shit. Of course, your pain . . . it means everything. And I’m here for you. Come back with me. We can stay at a hotel with Tuck. He misses you. I can’t breathe without you.”

  “That apartment. I never want to go back there.”