by Lainey Davis
He closes his eyes. "I'm going to tell them. After the wedding. I promise." And he rolls over, snoring in my bed before I can even decide if I want him to spend the night.
Thirty-Three
EMMA
I can't muster up the energy to leave my room, but I'm also not ready to fall asleep yet, so I stretch, reach for my phone in the heap of clothes on the floor, and call Nicole.
She picks up immediately. "Listen, my so-called friend. You have kept me waiting for like 36 hours to hear about your weekend with the Reindeer. This better be good." I can tell Nicole is still at work. If she's at home, her voice echoes off her nearly empty apartment walls.
"You know it's Stag. And anyway, you can't yell so loud your co-workers hear, Nicole." I hear her chair creak as she adjusts her seat.
"Yeah, yeah. Spill it, Ems." I sigh. "A sigh like that? Shit, I should get some ice water."
"Funny you should mention ice," I tell her, and proceed to fill her in on the wild, mind-blowing sex I had with Thatcher.
"So he gave you an orgasm before your first orgasm was done…orgasming?"
"Pretty much."
"Jesus, Emma. Can I have a ride when you're done with him?" I know Nicole is kidding, but it doesn't sit right with me. I don't like the thought of Thatcher with someone else. I frown. "Your silence is very telling, friend. Want to tell me more about that?"
I look over to Thatcher's sleeping form. He's rolled onto his stomach and one long arm dangles off the edge of my bed. He's so tall that his toes peep out from the bottom of my blankets, suspended in the air, making me giggle. "He's here right now, Nick. I, like, texted him for sex and he brought sandwiches, and I thought he'd leave after, but now he's asleep." I blurt it all out so fast that I don't have time to hold anything back.
"Hmm," she says. "I'm going to have to meet him. I need to see how he acts around you."
Usually, I don't move ahead with a guy until Nicole gives him at least a thumbs sideways, but I feel sheepish at the idea of asking Thatcher to meet my best friend. "I don't know…"
"Let me know the next time you're going to see him and I'll at least give you a ride. Before he gives you a ride." She bursts out laughing so loudly I look at Thatcher, making sure he doesn't stir. "Seriously, though, Emma, I'm really glad you found someone who gives you hot sex. You deserve some hot sex. Never settle for mediocre sex."
I sigh. "I see that now. I really had no idea. Did I tell you Dr. Khalsa has me doing a trial of medical marijuana?"
"Jesus! I'm coming over. Wait. You have a naked man in your bed. Shit. When am I supposed to hear all about this??"
Once I get Nicole to calm down I am able to tell her how Thatcher stole a hit from my "science weed" as she calls it. "I still can't believe some dude got to see you for your first high. I've known you for years! Can I watch you get high tomorrow?"
"Of course, Nick." We share a laugh and plan for her to come to my apartment tomorrow evening. Once we hang up, I realize there's nothing left to do but crawl under the covers with naked Thatcher, and try to sleep. I try to ignore my sense of longing for him to drape that inked-up arm over my shoulders.
Thirty-Four
THATCHER
I open my eyes to see what's tickling my face. I know I have long hair and a beard, but I don't usually half choke myself on my own locks. Then I remember. I fell asleep at Emma's after two rounds of, frankly, the best sex of my life. When I turn my head, she's there next to me in the bed. Her red hair is sprawled everywhere. Thick and straight, it has strands of gold, brown, and umber. I can't help myself--I reach out and start to run my fingers through the silk, stroking it and watching the colors shift in the light. I look at the contented smile on her face and, rather than feel eager to get the fuck out of here, I feel so damn glad to wake up beside her. I was supposed to be talking with her about our exit plan for this contract. I need it to be her who breaks things off, or else the whole thing was pointless. But right now, ending things with Emma is the farthest thing from my mind.
My stomach growls and I decide to comb Emma's cupboards and make us some food. That's what a real fiancé would do, right? Might as well play the part since I'm here anyway. I slip on my boxers and dig through the fridge. She doesn't have much, but I figure I can make French toast at least. I get to work and am just sliding the first slices on to a plate when I see Emma padding down the hall wearing my t-shirt. I freeze as a huge, unidentifiable emotion seizes my chest. It's not arousal, although I definitely feel turned on looking at her with no bra, imagining her pink, tight nipples pressed against the fabric of my shirt. I frown, realizing that I'm feeling some combination of possession and pride and, well, joy at seeing her like this in the morning. Limping a little, smiling a lot, looking content.
"You cook?" her smile is dazzling. I'm glad I decided to do something nice for her, if it means I get to see that look on her face.
I shrug. "When I'm hungry." I drop a piece of toast onto another plate and then slide it down the counter toward Emma. "You've got a hitch in your giddy-up, Chezz," I say, grinning when she winces climbing onto the stool.
"Well, whose fault is that?" She takes a bite of toast. "Mmm, this is really good, Thatcher. Did you add cinnamon?"
I nod, turn off the burner, and sit in the stool next to her. I nudge her with my shoulder playfully. What the hell am I doing? I haven't flirted like this in years. I don't need to. Women are usually throwing themselves at me, and I always know I'm going to go back to their place. Emma is different. I care what she thinks about me, and she calls me out on my bullshit if I act like a jerk. I made her breakfast, for fuck's sake. I clear my throat and get to the matter at hand. "So, Emma, like I said, I think we need to make a plan for, you know, after Ty's wedding."
She frowns and puts down her fork. "How am I supposed to break up with you? I'm not doing it in public or causing a scene at the wedding, let's be clear about that."
"Jesus. No. You don't even have to actually do anything. We just need to agree about what we're going to say you did. Will do. Whatever." I finish my toast, thinking. "You know it has to be you ending it, right? We talked about that."
She nods, pushing her fork around in the puddle of maple syrup on her plate. I think for a bit, sigh, and tell her, "I think it can work if we just tell my brothers your parents don’t approve of me. Which is true anyway."
Her jaw drops. "Thatcher Stag, I would never end a relationship with someone because of what my parents think! No. Absolutely not!"
"Emma," I put my hand over her hand. "This isn't about what you would really do. Remember? This is about convincing my family that I'm not an oversexed playboy."
"They're going to think I'm some frivolous child who does whatever her parents want her to do!"
"Well who cares what they think of you?"
She recoils from me, staring. "Are you serious? This whole thing is about you caring what they think of you, Thatcher." She sighs and stomps off to the bedroom.
"Hey," I chase after her. "Come on, Emma." She throws my jeans at me.
"I have to go to work, so you should probably get dressed and take off. That's your M.O. isn't it? Morning meeting? Busy day ahead?" She yanks on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, throwing my shirt back to me before she slides her feet into a pair of Toms. "Look, Thatcher, thank you for the great sex and the breakfast. I don't accept your proposal for this ending to our illusion, but I'll think on it and get back to you in a few days."
"My proposal?" I fish around under her bed for my shoes. Shit, this gives me a sense of déjà vu.
"Yes. This is a business transaction, right? I'm negotiating our exit clause. But first I'm going to go meet with my editor and you're going to leave my apartment and do whatever it is that you do."
I'm used to women being angry when I leave the morning after sex, but I'm not used to feeling like I want to make things right. This shit with Emma is screwing with my head, because she's supposed to just be someone I'm making a deal with, and now everything i
s complicated and layered. I shake my head and rest a hand on her shoulder for a minute since I feel like kissing her, but know that she'd probably slap me.
When I get in my truck I pound the steering wheel a few times. "Fuck!" I shout in the empty cab. This is why I don't do relationships. Even when it seems like it's just fun, it always gets intense.
Before I can check myself, I aim my truck toward downtown and pull into the visitors lot at the hospital. I'm in a foul mood, and I feel like telling my father a few things about how fucked up it is to leave your family when they need you. They moved him to a private room on a different floor. The nurse in the hallway tells me he's getting released soon and they're hoping someone can convince him to check into a rehab center now that he's been safely detoxed.
I don't greet him, just walk in and sit in the chair beside his bed. He drops the newspaper he's holding and turns to look at me. "Didn't think I'd see you back again."
"Yeah, well you were asleep the last time I came. So now I've been a better son to you than you deserve. Twice."
He closes his eyes, then looks at me. "I want them to let me die, Thatcher. I can't do this without Laurel."
I want to feel bad for him, that he's so wrecked about this, but it's not like my brothers and I weren't wrecked, too. "Fuck you," I spit out. "You had responsibilities. To us. You think she'd want you to treat us this way?"
He just shakes his head. I feel depleted now, so I stand up and shove the chair away and walk out of the room.
Thirty-Five
EMMA
Phil calls me into his office first thing to talk about my draft. I submitted a profile of Juniper, highlighting her journey to Olympic gold while also transforming the law office where she works. Stag Law used to just focus on male professional athlete contracts, but Juniper helped them expand to represent women's sports and other equity issues. Now Stag Law has a huge, national reputation as the go-to firm for equal rights or equal pay cases. They even handle cases for people who need legal protection based on their sexuality. I closed the article by describing Juniper sitting for the bar exam in various states, years after she finished law school and initially took the exam, so she'd be able to serve clients wherever they need.
Phil, of course, wants more. "Needs more grab," he tells me, sliding the marked up copy across the desk. That's it. The extent of his commentary. I interpret this brief speech as him sending me back into the field, which is how I find myself riding the elevator up to Stag Law to shadow Juniper at work for the day.
She greets me with a hug at the elevator and ushers me directly to the kitchen, where Alice is getting ready for lunch. "Can't talk now," she says, stirring a giant cauldron of something delicious-smelling. "I'll ring the bell in an hour and you can sit with me and Juniper and dish!"
I feel awkward accepting their friendship after Thatcher and I just tried finalizing plans to end things. But I had agreed to play the part for two more weeks. I wonder if there's a way to break up with Thatcher but still hang out with his family? I follow Juniper to her office, where the walls are decorated with pictures of her on the podium in Tokyo. I pause in front of a picture of her with Ty. She's got a gold medal around her neck and is beaming straight at the camera. Ty just looks at her, his face utterly transformed by love and pride. He's got an arm around her shoulder, squeezing like he never wants to let go. I want someone to look at me like that, I think, drawing a ragged breath.
"So," I ask her, sitting down opposite her desk. "What are you working on this morning?"
Juniper smiles and spins her laptop around. "I know I shouldn't," she says, "But I'm looking at wedding stuff." She's got a Pinterest board open with different ideas for favors and programs. She bites her lip, waiting for my response. I'm touched that she'd show me something so personal, so obviously important to her.
"You're quite a complex person," I tell her, scanning the different pictures.
Juniper says, "I want to do something that celebrates hockey and rowing…I mean those are really the things that are important to Tyrion and me…none of these templates have quite what I want."
"You know," I tell her, digging into my bag for a card. "Some of the graphic designers at work do this kind of thing on the side for spare cash." I find what I'm looking for. "I bet if you hit up Hillary she could lay out a program for you in a few hours."
"Really??" Juniper claps her hands. "This is the very last thing we have to really do before the wedding. That would be amazing." She snaps up the card and closes her laptop. "Ok, whew. Enough about that. Now we're going to drive over to the football stadium and yell at some offensive linemen who got a drunk and disorderly the other night."
A few hours later, and I know for sure I have Juniper's story rounded out. I can't wait to get back to my revision. I want to show everyone this amazing woman I've met, who can man-handle 300-pound football players and, in the next breath, navigate a settlement with a university who refused to offer equal scholarship funds to the women's varsity rifle team. By the end of the day, Phil agrees they can run the piece a few days before Juniper's wedding. He claps a hand on my shoulder. "Nice work, Cheswick," he says with a smile. "This will generate the kind of buzz we need, and it's writing that's got meat to it." He stands up from his desk, grabbing his bag. "I'd offer you a drink, but you don't do that. So I'm sending you home early to celebrate…however you do that sober."
I can't believe my boss said "nice work" to me. I'm doing really creative writing, interviewing interesting people and getting feature-length assignments in the biggest newspaper in the city. It's like a dream come true! I immediately text Nicole to see if she can get away for a bit.
When I get to her office, she's in the middle of an intense game of foosball with a group of colleagues. I lean against the wall, watching. I love how Nicole takes no shit from anyone, elbowing some guy out of the way when he tries to offer advice on how she can get more leverage. She sinks a goal and pumps her fist. "Yes! All right. Now, I'm taking a break for two hours. I expect that proposal on my desk when I get back, guys. I'm serious."
She drapes an arm over my shoulder and we walk out into the warm July sunshine. "Friend," she tells me. "We are going to get ice cream, and then buy you a dress for this celebrity wedding, and then you promised I could watch you get stoned." I laugh, relieved I can trust Nicole to help me find a dress my mother would hate, but will make me feel comfortable in a room full of lawyers and professional hockey players. "Do you think you can hook me up with any of those Fury hockey players?" she asks while we wait for our waffle cones. "I need to have some sex that has me limping like you, girl."
Thirty-Six
THATCHER
Emma doesn't call for a few days, and then texts me out of nowhere, demanding a ride to family dinner on Sunday. Ok, she didn't demand. But I don't even know how the hell she found out about the dinner, unless she's been texting with Alice and Juniper. If that's the case, then I am well and truly screwed when it comes to ending this whole thing. Sure, sex with Emma is amazing. But then we always end up in a fight and it's too much work to make peace. Now she's hanging out with my sisters in law. They're getting way too friendly. It's starting to feel like an actual relationship with Emma, and that's a lot of work I'm not interested in doing.
I'm cold and distant when I pick her up, and I can see by her face that she's pissed at that. I'm not even sure why, but I really dig into her and say, "You didn't have a seizure aura today did you?"
She whips her head around to glare at me. "No. What makes you ask that?"
"You're acting like something crawled up your ass and bit you," I sneer at her, knowing full well she's just responding to my bad attitude. I don't even know why the fuck I am picking at Emma. Probably because I had a shit week after seeing my father, a shit meeting with my agent, and now I don't feel like playing pretend at my family dinner.
Emma just sighs and stares out the window. I must be acting like a dick if Emma Cheswick doesn't even feel like fighting with me. Fuck it.<
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We get to the house and Emma disappears with Alice and her sister. Amy looks a little bit like she's going to explode, but I hear her tell Alice she still has 3 weeks left at least. I try to remember what Alice looked like pregnant with my nephew, but that draws up a memory of my mother, swollen and round, pregnant with Ty. I don't have the space to be thinking about my mother today so I head out back to the cooler where Tim keeps the good beer.
I don't even pause to appreciate how it tastes. I work on drinking it quickly until I hear my younger brother coming toward me. "What's eating you, Thatch?" Ty is Mr. Good Mood, sauntering shirtless into the back yard.
"Why the fuck do you look like that?" I gesture at his mesh shorts and sweaty hair.
He shrugs and cracks open a beer. "Juniper and I ran here."
"From Washington's Landing? What's that, like 3 miles uphill?" I chug the beer even faster now. Literally everything is pissing me off today.
Ty sips his beer. "Four and a half. We went around the zoo. Hey, man, take it easy." He sticks out an arm to slow me as I open a second beer, but I shove him out of the way. I down it and grab a third. Used to be, the three of us went running together every Sunday and then ate pancakes with our grandma. Now Ty runs with Juniper. Who even knows if Tim leaves the house anymore. I've been running alone.
When I get back inside, Alice's brothers are watching baseball on the couch, so I sink in next to them and try to ignore everyone until it's time to eat. I'm feeling just about buzzed enough to calm down after 3 beers, but everyone definitely stares at me when I take a seat opposite Emma instead of next to her.
The table creaks under the weight of 12 sets of elbows, and I focus on the scratched wood, precariously heaped with corn, tomatoes, and grilled chicken. Eventually I become aware that someone is talking to me when there's a lull. "What?"
Emma clears her throat. "I was just telling them that I got a new assignment to interview the director at the Center for Organ Research. The national headquarters is here in Pittsburgh, and they're going to talk to me all about organ donation."
