by Lainey Davis
Emma pats my knee. "Petey was never in danger. Poison Control said that brand of cream is as harmless as cream cheese. Just tell Tim what happened."
"You forget that my brother is an asshole." I grit my teeth as the door opens. Alice comes rushing in to take Petey from me and doesn't notice Emma sitting there at first.
"Did you miss Mommy?" She purrs at him, shaking her head and her blonde curls wiggle all around. "Did you have fun here with your uncle and OH MY GOD! Is this her??"
Emma blushes, and Alice shoves Petey into Tim's arms. "I'm Alice Stag." She starts shaking Emma's hand and sits beside her on the couch. She pulls Emma in for a one-armed hug. "We didn't think you were real!! Thatcher, why didn't you say she'd be here tonight? Oh my gosh. You really do have a fiancé?"
Emma sort of waves and I clear my throat. "Tim, Alice, this is Emma Cheswick. My beloved." I grin.
Tim makes a sort of grunting sound. He's still pissed off from the other day, but whatever. Alice claps her hands. "Emma! Are you coming to dinner on Sunday? What's your favorite food? I'll make it for you. Did Thatcher tell you I'm a chef? Don't hold back. Tell me your favorite foods."
"Alice, slow your roll," I tell her, but Emma is smiling.
She says, "Thatcher didn't get around to telling me much about his family yet, although I did hear that his brother Tim is a bit of a big deal." Damn, this girl knows how to work a crowd. I wonder if this is how she gets interview subjects to open up to her. Within a few minutes, she's got Alice talking about her long journey to go to culinary school and how, thanks to Juniper's influence, they now have a daycare right in the office at Stag Law. Petey and their colleague Ben's new son are the only kids in there so far. Alice manages to get Emma to admit Nicky's Thai Kitchen is her absolute favorite place to eat in the city, while they talk about her living on the North Side. Soon, Alice has a whole Thai-themed meal planned out for Sunday and she and Emma look like they've been friends for years.
I sigh, exhaling deeply. I need to tell them about the diaper cream, and I figure it's better now while Alice is over the moon at meeting Emma. "Hey, so, Alice, Petey had quite a diaper incident earlier."
Tim grunts again. "That happens," he says, looking up the leg hole of Petey's new shorts, as if I wouldn't have wiped it all up.
"So anyway," I continue, "It was colossal. Emma had to go soak his clothes in the utility sink, and I looked away for just one second--one fucking second, I swear to you--and Petey ate a bunch of diaper cream." I blow out a breath, anticipating the onslaught.
My brother's face is stony. Irate. "What?"
"Luckily it was the non-toxic kind you had in your diaper bag," Emma pipes in, but Tim interrupts her.
"You need to stay out of this!"
"Tim!!" Alice stands up, looking like she wants to punch my brother.
Tim's face is purple with rage as he looks in Petey's mouth. "Why the fuck are we here and not at children's hospital getting his stomach pumped? Did you even call 911?"
"Hey, whoa, Tim. Take it easy, man. I'm trying to tell you. Emma called Poison Control."
"Take it easy? You called some sort of fucking answering service instead of calling medical professionals at--"
"Actually," Emma's own face is set now. Her voice is strong as she starts to correct Tim. "To work at Poison Control, you need to have a PhD in pharmacology or have at least worked in emergency medicine. These are highly skilled medical professionals, far more so than the paramedics who may or may not have only had a short training course, depending what the city has funding for that year."
Tim closes his mouth. He looks at Emma, waits a few beats, like he's trying to process being put in his place along with accepting that his kid is safe. He inhales slowly through his nose and rubs his hands on his temples. "Please tell me what they said at Poison Control."
He directs that question at Emma, and she answers, touching his arm reassuringly. "They said that brand of diaper cream is non-toxic--basically just like cream cheese. For Peter's age and weight there is absolutely nothing to be worried about."
Tim nods and stoops to pick up the diaper bag. He starts walking out, but Alice says, "Timber Stag. I think you owe Emma an apology." She raises a brow and her violet eyes slice daggers at him. She's clutching Petey to her chest now and he has his head down, like he's about to fall asleep.
Tim sighs. "Emma, I apologize for my tone. I felt frightened for my son's safety and I was out of line to speak to you that way." I marvel at how Alice gets Tim to behave like a human. I've been the target of his snap panic more times than I can count, and I've never gotten an apology when he jumps to conclusions. No wonder he always said Alice drove him crazy when they first met. Marriage really suits him, I guess.
Tim raises his brows and looks back and forth between Emma and Alice. Alice smiles and kisses his cheek, and Emma says, "That's ok. I'd be scared, too, if I'd left my kid with Uncle Thatcher." She winks one of her green eyes and hot damn, if I don't get hard. I cough and adjust my pants, trying not to think about Emma that way.
The mood feels instantly lighter. We walk my family outside and they drive off in their super-safe Volvo. I look around, but I don't see Emma's car.
"Where's your car, Chezz?"
"I don't drive," she says. "I took a Lyft here."
"You don't drive? In Pittsburgh? How the hell does that work?"
She shrugs. "Plenty of people don't have cars. We have buses, you know."
I laugh a bit. "I guess. Well go on and get your stuff. I'll take you home. It's the least I can do for you."
She nods. "Oh I know," she says.
After I drop her off, I notice that my truck smells like her. Like jasmine and mint.
Ten
EMMA
"Cheswick!" Phil has stopped using his admin to summon me, instead just opening his office door to bellow my name across the farm of cubicles. I notice that I'm the only reporter who gets this treatment, and I can't decide if that means he likes me or if my neck is still on the chopping block. "Come on in here."
"Yep," I say, closing the lid to my laptop. I plunk into the seat across from Phil expectantly. I turned in my revised draft of the piece about Thatcher's opening. I stayed up most of the night to work on it, after the diaper incident.
"This is more like it," Phil says, tapping his monitor. "This isn't even a puff piece. You got him to really talk to you."
I smile. Phil never, ever hands out these sorts of compliments. I start to relax a little more, and then Phil says, "I want you to come to the editorial meeting later. Let's hear your ideas for the next few weeks."
My jaw drops. Junior reporters almost never get to go speak up in these meetings. We get whatever assignments nobody else wants. We work the beats, trudge into emergency rooms and interview operators at Poison Control, trying to sniff out our own angle on the assignments. The thought of sharing my idea about Juniper…well, Thatcher's idea…I squeeze my thighs to keep from clapping my hands in excitement.
"That'll be all, Cheswick," Phil says, already typing away on someone else's article submission.
"Thank you, Phil. This means a lot to me."
"Ungh." This time, I can tell his grunt is short for "you're welcome, now beat it and let me work."
I decide to take an early lunch. I text Nicole to see if she can meet me so I can tell her all about it. I practically skip across the bridge to our favorite Thai place--I could eat Thai every day--and I see her already sitting at our table on the back porch.
"Nick! You're not going to believe it!"
"Spill it," she says. She's dressed impeccably, as always, looking like she is off to kill it in the board room. "I've got 46 minutes before I have to pitch our software to an investor."
"Aha, so that's why you're dressed like a superhero today. Anyway!" I start to tell her the extended version of going to Thatcher's house last night, but she cuts me off.
"Wait. You went to that creep's house? Alone? After he practically molested you at the opening? What is
wrong with you, Emma?"
"Oh, shit. I forgot I didn't fill you in." I grimace. I'm not supposed to tell anyone about Thatcher's and my plan to fool his family…but this is Nicole. I'm not going to be able to do this on my own. I need her advice, like always. "So I sort of made a deal with him where I'm pretending to be his fiancé and he's giving me open access to his studio and to his family--which is why I'm excited today and--"
"Hold on." She signals the server to bring her a Thai iced tea. "I need caffeine for this. Start at the beginning and leave nothing out."
Once I explain the whole thing, Nicole has drunk two of those orange iced teas and she's tapping her fingers on the table rapidly, her nails clicking on the Formica. "I think it's weird," she says.
"That's fair," I respond, but explain that it's already paying off in my favor because I get to pitch at the meeting this afternoon. "I didn't even tell Thatcher that I'm going to pitch something his sister-in-law said about daycare in the office. That's, like, a whole third feature I could maybe get in exchange for pretending to like him for a few weeks."
Nicole has her phone out, tapping around, looking for something. "Oh," she says, sliding it across to me. "Is this him? Shit, he's hot."
I look at the picture. It must be an old one, where his beard is shorter and his hair isn't so…ratty. "He does look good there," I say. "He's more hipster, grungy caveman these days, I'd say. Not my type." Liar, I think, biting my lip.
"Ha! Girl, you don't have a type."
"I have a not-type," I tell her, diving into the noodles and sliced mango with coconut rice. "I will say, he's really sexy when he's taking care of his nephew, and he has amazing abs."
"Does he know about all your…stuff?" Nicole wipes her mouth and checks her watch. I can tell she's about to scurry off to her meeting.
I shake my head. "I don't see why he needs to know about that," I tell her. "I haven't felt a seizure aura for months. Really, Nick, I'm more worried that he will encounter my mother than I am about him finding out my health quirks." I finger the rose-gold medical alert bracelet that Nicole helped me find when we were in college. "This one doesn't scream 'there's something wrong with me!'" she'd said.
When I moved in with her she helped me find a new neurologist, and that was the first time I'd had control over my symptoms. The first time I felt like I could have a life outside of my mother's home, away from her oppressive care. I owe Nicole a lot more than just Pad Thai and friendship. She squeezes my hand. "Kick ass at your meeting, Em."
"You, too, friend." She winks, grabs her purse, and clicks out the door in her heels.
Eleven
THATCHER
My phone buzzes on the metal table across the shop, but I'm holding a steel rod with molten glass on the end, so I can't answer. It buzzes persistently, distracting me from my work. I roll the rod, and the glass gloops off to the side. "Mother fucker!" I yell, tossing it into the bucket of cold water. I can't concentrate today. The phone keeps buzzing.
"What?" I yell into the phone, seeing that it's my brother Tim calling.
"Whoa, there, man."
"Tim. I'm working. What's up that you called twice?"
He coughs. "Sorry. Alice asked me to make sure Emma was still coming to family dinner this weekend. She's out buying special lime leaves, apparently."
"Alice has my cell. Why didn't she call herself?" I don't mean to be so snippy with my brother. Actually, maybe I do. He was a dick to me, and he was fucking rude to Emma after that incident with Petey. At least he apologized to her.
Tim exhales noisily. I can almost see the veins pulsing in his neck. "She wanted me to call you myself," he says. He doesn't say that Alice has been giving him shit for how he's been treating me and he doesn't apologize, so I keep my cold demeanor.
"Emma and I will be there. I promise." After a beat, I add, "Please thank Alice for buying special food for Emma."
"Will do. See you then." He hangs up.
My concentration is totally wrecked. I can't even remember what I had wanted to do with that piece of glass. I pull the rod from the bucket and tap off the ruined glob. I'm about to dip back into the furnace for more when I hear my phone buzz yet again.
"WHAT?" I roar into the phone without looking at the caller ID.
"Jesus, Stag. I think everyone on the bus just heard you."
"Emma? I'm sorry. I thought you were my brother again. What's up?"
She squeaks. Actually squeaks. I can tell she's excited as she tells me about her meeting with her editor. The guy loved the story she wrote about me after our evening with Petey--Emma wouldn't let me read it of course. Said I have to wait until it goes to print. But what's really got her excited is that she got to pitch the story about Juniper.
"The whole staff was so pumped about the idea of the feature story about Juniper and they love the idea of looking into childcare in the work place. I'm going to do a whole feature, where I look at what Stag Law is doing and talk to some other companies with unique approaches to being family friendly."
I smile, and forget that she can't see me. "That's great, Chezz. I'm really glad this is working out."
"I feel so invigorated!" she says, her voice buzzing. "I can't wait to dive in and write all these stories. SO I wanted to thank you. It's not so bad faking a relationship with you in exchange for this career boost."
"Gee, thanks." I laugh. "Hey, while I have you, my sister in law went and bought special lime juice or something today. She wants to make sure you'll be there Sunday."
"Holy shit! She found kefir lime leaves? Oh my god. This is going to be amazing. I wouldn't miss it."
I make plans to pick her up with enough time to stop at the flower store--she insists she wants to buy a gift for Alice, which is pretty damn cute. I feel really glad that she wants to impress my family. By the time we hang up, I forget that I'm angry and I dive back into my work, ready to create.
Twelve
EMMA
"Oh, god." I wake up Sunday and I just know. I can feel an aura. I haven't been getting enough sleep lately--have been staying up too late doing research. Fuck. If I take my meds, I'll sleep for 12 hours and I absolutely cannot afford to lose an entire day to this, so I take half a dose. I try to go back to bed for just a few hours, but by the time Thatcher is due to pick me up, I'm still nauseated and feeling sluggish.
I can't miss this dinner, not after Alice went out of her way to go and get special ingredients, not when I'm supposed to be doing pre-interviews with Thatcher's relatives. My career depends on this next month. Fuck this condition. I close my eyes and press my fingers against my temples, trying to block out the ring of pearlescent light that bathes everything.
I catch a glimpse of the glass sculpture that Thatcher gave me. It reflects the sunlight in my apartment, and for some reason, when I'm staring at it, everything is clear. The light appears normal. Huh. Guess I'll just stare at that glass neuron until he gets here. I slip into some passable jeans and grab the nearest clean t-shirt. I decide I have to take Thatcher at his word that dinner will be casual.
I don't hear him knocking. I'm staring at the neurons, trying to hold it together, and suddenly I hear his booming voice. "Emma! Yo! What is going on? Can you let me in? Are you washing your fucking hair or what?"
I exhale deeply and walk to the door, keeping my head as still as possible.
"Oh," he says, seeing me. "You feeling ok?"
I start to shake my head no, which is a mistake, and I have to bite back bile. "Just a touch of a headache," I tell him. "I'll be ok once I eat something."
I hope that's true. I grab my purse and follow Thatcher down the stairs slowly, and I let him help me into the truck. This is why I don't tell people about my condition. I hate the way he's looking at me right now, with pity and like I'm some helpless child. He's not even teasing me or acting rude. I don't want him to act differently just because--oh shit.
"Hey, Stag, please tell me you have pineapple in here and I'm not losing my mind." When I'm about to hav
e a seizure, sometimes I smell things that aren't really there. Thatcher's whole truck smells like tropical fruit right now.
He lifts a plastic bag from the floor near my feet. "I brought fruit. I knew Alice was doing Thai so I grabbed pineapple and mango from Whole Paycheck earlier. You've got a good nose."
Relief floods through me. If I'm not smelling things that aren't there, I might be ok. I might make it through without humiliating myself and ruining his family dinner. I lean my head back on the headrest just as Thatcher puts an arm around the back of my seat. I look over at him as he turns to look behind him to back out of the parking spot. Shit, that's hot. He's got one hand on the wheel and his grey eyes are tight with concentration. The way my aura is working right now, his head is sort of glowing. I notice how attractive he is, under all that hair and beard. I can see the strong bones of his face, the tight muscles in his shoulders and forearms.
He catches me staring and grins. "Are you undressing me with your eyes, Chezz?" He shifts the truck into gear and heads toward the highway.
"Don’t flatter yourself." I close my eyes and say, "don't forget I want to stop and grab some flowers for Alice."
"Check the bag, Chezz," he says, merging onto Route 28. "I clipped some lilac from out back. Alice loves lilacs." Sure enough, he's got a mason jar with fat, white blooms, tied in twine. His thoughtfulness surprises me. He really knows his family well, cares about them. Why does he need a fake fiancé? I decide to press him about it later. For now, I need to close my eyes and pray I can keep my wits about me.
By the time we get to the Stag homestead, as I've been imagining it, the place is brimming with people. Thatcher leads me around to the back yard, where clusters of picnic tables and coolers dot the yard. I see kids blowing bubbles while adults stand chatting, animatedly. Everyone looks so comfortable, so happy to be there. My family "picnics" are loosely veiled political fundraisers where everyone wears suits and stands stiffly, drinking from real glasses.
