Wanderlove - Rachel Blaufeld

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “I don’t either,” he said softly into my neck. “We can go to the hotel on the next block. Don’t be mad, but your dad is there. I had him come up. He called me a little while after you walked out, afraid that you might run. He loves you. I love you. We want you to understand you’re loved.”

  “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

  “He doesn’t care. He loves you so much. He’s giving you space, even though he doesn’t want to. But he knows you’re grieving, and he’s okay with that.”

  Exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I let my forehead rest on his shoulder.

  A few hours later, I woke up in a strange bed, in an unfamiliar room, wearing nothing but my bra and panties. Strung out didn’t begin to describe how I felt.

  Tired, lost, cold . . . A shiver ran through me, and my whole body shook.

  “Hey.”

  A voice came from the side of the room, and I turned. Price sat on a couch in what was obviously a hotel suite.

  “Let me turn the heat up. You’re cold,” he said quietly. He stood with purpose and moved to the thermostat.

  “When did I fall asleep?” I tried to sit up in the bed, but only fell back into the stack of down pillows.

  “In the car. Johnny helped me get you up here, but only I took your clothes off.”

  He didn’t wink or smirk. The words were matter-of-fact, as if I would think he would allow another man to see me nearly naked.

  Price

  I met the ass in the lobby. He’d begged me to do so.

  Emerson was still wrung out and sitting with her dad—there was no reason to force my dad on her at the moment.

  “Price,” he said in greeting, pulling me in for a hug.

  It was the first moment of affection we’d ever shared. I didn’t know how it made me feel, but this wasn’t the time for my feelings. Stepping back, I cleared my throat. We stood there, two men squaring off in the lobby of this uppity hotel.

  “Let’s sit down for a minute,” he said.

  I nodded, and we found two highbacked, uncomfortable-as-shit chairs.

  “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” My dad choked on his words, his own pain visible in the dark circles under his eyes. “I thought Paula was out of the woods. For a while, she was doing better. She didn’t want me back in her life, especially after I’d gone and found you. It was too painful. She hadn’t been able to do the same, and on some level, she couldn’t stand herself for that.”

  Running my hand through my greasy hair, I realized it had been close to two days since I’d showered. It didn’t matter; I’d been busy doing what I had to.

  “These are things I don’t need to hear,” I said abruptly to my dad.

  “Yes, I know, but I’m guessing you’re not going to let me get face-to-face with Emerson for some time, so I thought you could relay the message. Please?”

  I nodded, and he went on.

  “This is my doing. I don’t want you to blame yourself, but when I reconnected with you . . . Paula lost it. She couldn’t stop dwelling in the woulda, coulda, shoulda if she’d connected with her daughter. You have to know the background . . . for the longest time, we were both a mess. We’d both lost the most precious thing ever—our kids—thanks to our own doing. But together, we were whole.”

  He pulled in a deep breath, blinking hard. “Then we unraveled, divorced, for no reason other than we should’ve never fallen for each other—or anyone, for that matter. My reuniting with you messed with Paula, and she started really heavy using again, whatever she could get her hands on. She’d already been dabbling again. She’d left the apartment a few months before I went to get you . . . had run off with a young guy for a bit, and then she floundered.”

  Tears welled in my dad’s eyes. “Anyway, now she’s gone for good. It’s all on me. I failed her.”

  I should have felt something at seeing his pain, but I couldn’t dredge up anything. “Listen, it sounds like she was a really damaged person. None of this is your fault. I don’t know what to say about us, but in terms of Paula, you did all you could.” It was about all that I could offer up.

  His hand came to rest on top of mine, and even I didn’t have the heart to move it. “I need this. Us. Whatever little or more it can be. I’m all alone, Price. I know I’ve not done a single thing right, but I’m going to try. For you, and for Emerson . . . in memory of Paula.”

  I couldn’t make myself agree. Not now. When it came to Emerson, there had been too many empty promises.

  “Okay,” I said. “Look, I need to get back up to Emerson. She’s my main priority right now, and I can’t even think about anything else . . . not now. Let’s talk more later. Leave it open?”

  I stood, and he followed suit.

  “Please call me,” he said, his voice weak.

  I nodded and walked toward the elevator.

  Outside the hotel room door, I stilled my hand. I wanted to barge in, grab Emerson, and take her home to the farm, just leave this shithole city behind. But I couldn’t rush her—I knew better than that. Plus, I didn’t even know if she wanted to move to the farm.

  Leaning my head against the wall, I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing I’d stay or do whatever she wanted. Go to the beach, stay here, move home . . . it made no difference, as long as we were together. Pulling in a deep breath, I pulled out my keycard.

  “I’m back,” I said softly, opening the door.

  “Hey,” she said to me from the couch.

  “Hey, you. Where’s your dad?”

  “Shower. We had a good cry, and then I needed a break from him.”

  I sat next to her, gathered all her limbs in my arms, and held her tight—probably too tight. “He loves you.”

  “It was enough,” she said. “It always was. I don’t know what I was looking for in all this. He should’ve always been enough.”

  “He was. But you can’t blame yourself for wanting to meet your mom.”

  Emerson nodded into my shoulder. “I did. I really did. I’m sorry she had to die . . . because now my questions will never be answered. I know that’s selfish, but it’s the truth. I just wanted to know why.”

  “It’s not selfish. You’re just a girl looking for answers. No one would blame you.”

  She held on to me as if I held all the answers. It made me feel like I had the world in the palms of my working-guy’s hands.

  “I love you,” I told her. “Your dad loves you. My mom is going to love you. You’re building your own family, Em. Bev. Sheila. Me. My mom and Bruce—you have to meet them.”

  “Yeah, I know. I do. But . . . but are you sure?” Emerson hesitated, stammering over her words. “You’re okay with us being together? And your dad understands? This feels so complicated.”

  Pulling back, making a little space between us, I pushed her hair aside. “It’s not complicated. We had nothing to do with them. It’s only us right now. I don’t want that to be what you’re worried about. My dad is fine, but honestly? I wouldn’t care if he wasn’t. He’s the last thing I’m thinking about. You’re first, if you couldn’t tell.”

  “Don’t say that about your dad, ’kay? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to boss you. I’m so out of it. I just don’t want to feel like I’m a problem in your relationship . . . and I love you too,” she whispered.

  “You’re it for me,” I told her. “Enough for me. For always. My future was set. I was going to be a farmer, and now I don’t know what I’m going to do. As long as you’re with me, that’s all that matters.”

  “Farmer Price.” She gave me a small smile, the first I’d seen from her in what seemed like forever. “With his boots,” she teased me.

  “You need some boots, and you’ll see what I mean.”

  “Uh-huh.” She leaned in and rubbed her nose along mine.

  We didn’t talk anymore. Instead, we kissed, our lips meeting on their own accord. We stayed like that for a long while, until Bend cleared his throat and faked a cough.

  “Oh, Dad!” Emerson jumped u
p.

  “It’s fine, baby. I was just going to say that I’m going to meet up with that Sheila woman. I guess she had some things she always wanted to tell me from when I knew your mom.”

  “Oh. Okay. You know her daughter, Bev, is my good friend now.”

  He stood tall in his jeans and ragged polo shirt, ancient New Balance joggers on his feet, looking completely out of place in the Big Apple. Like I did.

  Oh well, fuck it. We belonged here as much as anyone else. Even if we thought it was the craziest place.

  “Don’t worry,” Bend said. “I know. I’m not going to do anything to mess it up for you with Bev.”

  “Love you, Dad.” Emerson stood up to hug her dad.

  “I know. But I love you more,” he said, and then slipped out of the hotel room.

  “Sheila? That’s crazy,” Emerson said to me, sitting back on my lap.

  “She asked me for your dad’s number. I didn’t think she’d connect with him so soon, but maybe because it’s fresh, she wants to rip the Band-Aid off quickly.”

  “I don’t know. It’s a little crazy, but no crazier than any of this.”

  Emerson leaned her head on my shoulder, and her stomach growled. “Sorry,” she said with a laugh.

  I squeezed her hand. “Come on. Let’s shower and go eat.”

  We took a little longer in the shower and ended up ordering room service, which was fine with me.

  Emerson

  “We can’t stay in this hotel forever. It’s crazy. Plus, I miss your pancakes,” I told Price over another room service breakfast. I’d lost count of how many we’d had. Thirteen? Fourteen?

  “I’m working on it. I swear. Today, after I go to class, Johnny’s gonna shuttle me around . . . Christ. Do you know how insane this all is?” He laughed while saying it, but still.

  “I can tell the ridiculousness is getting to you. I know your dad’s footing the bill. I also know the apartment sold in minutes, so we can buy anything. Sorry, not we. You. You can buy anything.”

  He tugged on a strand of my hair, leaning in and placing his lips on my forehead. “We, ours, all of it. Shhh. Don’t forget Paula was your mom, and it was her place.”

  “Listen here, buddy. You can’t use Paula to your convenience.”

  In the last week, I’d decided I needed some emotional distance from the whole situation and had started to refer to my mom as Paula. She was a person I’d never know. Before my dad left, I reconciled myself to that fact. My dad had always been there and would continue to be. It was more than I could ask of—

  “Get out of the clouds, Em. If I see something cool, I’m going to put in an offer tonight. Is that okay? Or do you want to ask Bev for some more time off?”

  “No, you pick. Honestly. Make sure it’s good for Tuck.”

  Momentarily distracted by Price shirtless, in nothing but navy pajama pants, I drank him in. For a second, I bit my tongue, making sure this was real.

  “You happy to be back at the bakery?”

  “Yes,” I said with confidence. “I really am. Sheila decided not to come back full-time, which gives me more hours and responsibility. I love it.”

  “Good, and the bar? You going to miss it?”

  “Don’t start. You and my dad forced the issue. I have to do something else.”

  On another kiss, he said, so close our lips were touching, “Well, I have some ideas on that.”

  “Oh yeah, does it involve your cooking? I’m so sick of this stuck-up stuff.”

  “In fact, it does,” he said, sitting back in the chair.

  “Care to share?”

  “Yeah, after I go to class and then find us a place to live. How ’bout we ditch these ritzy digs for the farm this weekend? My mom is crawling out of her skin wanting to meet you. She even said she’d make an apple pie.”

  “Ha, funny. Sounds great, though. But is she okay with your dad and what happened with my mom? Are you sure she’s cool?”

  “Yes. Stop.”

  Price stood and pulled me up, fully kissing me, tongue and all, and smacked my butt before saying, “Wish me luck. I have a test this morning.”

  “Luck,” I said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

  He winked and was out the hotel door.

  I hit the shower, excited to get to the bakery and try my hand at a new crème brûlée recipe with a hint of lemon. If it went well, we could sell it in individual ramekins.

  My mind wandered as I lathered my body. This wasn’t at all what I thought would happen when I ran away from home, but it was turning out not half bad.

  We drove up to Pennsylvania Saturday morning. Tuck got hair all over the expensive car, but Price was completely unconcerned with it.

  “After we get a new place to live," he said, “I’m getting rid of the Tesla. We don’t even need it. I’ll give my dad the money back, but he’ll push it back on me. Guilt money.”

  “Maybe it’s not. Maybe he genuinely wants to help you in the only way he can. I mean . . . I never heard her side of the story, but it sounds like he tried to help Paula.”

  Price nodded. “Then we’ll get a truck.”

  I didn’t argue anymore. I knew better than anyone else that he’d have to come to terms with the situation on his own.

  He had found a loft for us, and of course, refused to put in an offer until I saw it this morning before we left town. It was light and open, and located in a neighborhood way more suited for us. It would be good—the right choice, I hoped.

  Price turned the Tesla off the highway and onto a long driveway, which ended at the coolest (and first) farmhouse I’d ever seen. Before we were even fully out of the car, an older couple came down the steps to meet us.

  “Hi, Emerson, welcome! I’m Sarah.”

  Price’s mom let out a squeal and pulled me in for a gigantic bear hug. I was lost in a sea of her limbs, my frame tiny next to her taller one, and I was lost in a jumble of emotions.

  The words clogged in my throat, and I could barely get out, “Me too. It’s so nice to be here.”

  “Mom, let Em breathe.” Price stole me back into his embrace, and I settled in the circle of his arm—willingly and happily.

  “Bruce,” the tall man next to Sarah said, extending his hand.

  “So great to meet you,” I told him.

  “Come in.” Sarah herded us toward the house, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Forgive my wife. I don’t know if she’s more excited to see the light of her life, her son, or meet you.”

  I tried to smile but felt a frown form. I’ll never have a mother excited to see me.

  “I’m so sorry,” Bruce said, catching my expression. “That was insensitive. I should say I’m sorry about your loss. Your mom.”

  Price murmured, “Shit.”

  When I caught him shaking his head, I squeezed his hand. Taking a deep breath, I collected myself.

  “No, don’t feel that way. You can’t protect me from the world,” I said, side-eyeing Price as we stepped inside the house.

  With a slow glance, I took in all that was around me. Family pictures, heirlooms, flannel blankets on the couch . . . it was a real honest-to-goodness home.

  “You know what? I just met you, but I’m going to tell you what I know. I just walked in here, and it’s a home. A real home, made by a mom who loves Price. But I had a similar home, only made by a dad. He loved me more than anything, and he did better than his best.”

  Gathering me back in his embrace, Price kissed the top of my head and held me tight. “Let’s not stand in the doorway,” he said, breaking the seriousness.

  “I cooked!” Sarah ran off toward what I assumed was the kitchen.

  “And I made dessert. It’s in the back so Tuck wouldn’t get it,” I said, motioning toward the car.

  “Let’s get those jackets off and settle in, yeah? Price, go get the food,” Bruce said, holding a hand out for my jacket. Price opened the door, and an eager Tuck followed him out to the car.

  Bruce showed me the way
to the kitchen, and I gasped.

  “This place is so perfect. It’s awesome.”

  “I love it. We redid it a few years ago,” Sarah told me. “Price helped with some of the work. He’s pretty handy. I guess in the big city, though, that doesn’t matter.”

  “Mom,” Price said in a warning voice as he walked back in, holding my tray of ramekins.

  “I know, honey. I didn’t mean anything. You’re doing big things there, and that’s what I always wanted for you.”

  She smiled at her son. Wearing a crisp white blouse and an apron, a few threads of gray at her temples, Sarah was every bit a proud momma.

  “This is what I wanted to talk to you about,” Price said. “I think I want to open a restaurant. Sorry to blurt it out. It’s a lot of seriousness in the first few minutes of this visit. But I’m not sure I’m coming back here.”

  The pace of this conversation was like a Ping-Pong game. Way too fast for me, but I went with it.

  “In New York?” Bruce asked, opening a beer.

  “Yep, or maybe in the beach town where Emerson grew up, if she changes her mind. I only sprang this on her late last night. Are you upset?”

  “No, son.” Bruce walked around and threw his arm around Price’s shoulders.

  “Never,” Sarah said. “We always wanted you to do whatever makes you happy. But the restaurant business is tough . . . and do you know anything about it?”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of research on it in my classes. I think my idea is unique enough, and I bring the right stuff to the table. I want to build something with a piece of home. Fresh homegrown ingredients in the city, think rooftops instead of water towers is my motto. I’ve been outlining it in my head, and I tossed the idea around with one of my professors.”

  “What about your degree?” Sarah asked, and I hoped she didn’t ask me. I liked baking and working, and I hoped to play a part in the restaurant without actually having to go to college to do it. I’d spent a good part of the night thinking about it.

  “I’m still going to get it,” Price said. “But I have these funds available to me, and I know what I want to do with them.”