“You look gorgeous, dear,” Grandpa Frank says, giving me a swift kiss on the hand. They’re a beautiful couple, and look much younger than they actually are. Grandma’s perfect crown of platinum blonde curls, Grandpa’s swoosh of silver hair, and their bright white smiles make them look like an advertisement for the swankiest retirement community around.
“Grandpa, Grandma, this is Emerson—Deb’s son,” I say, glancing Emerson’s way. He’s got both hands shoved into his pockets, and his mouth is a hard, solemn line.
“Ah,” Grandpa says, without warmth. “Well. Hello, Emerson.”
“Hey,” Emerson nods.
“I’m Jillian. It’s nice to meet you,” Grandma says, offering her hand for Emerson to kiss. I watch, trying not to laugh, as he takes her hand and gives it a good solid shake instead.
“And here’s the man of the hour himself,” Grandpa says, looking up as Dad walks into the kitchen with the justice of the peace—a balding man with a cheerful red face.
“Are we starting soon?” Grandma asks, “The girls are playing bridge at three and I’d really prefer not to be late.”
“We’ll start as soon as Deb is ready,” Dad replies curtly. “I’m sure she’s just putting the finishing touches on—”
“I’m all set!” Deb sings out from the stairs.
We all turn to watch her grand entrance as she clatters down the last few steps and struts her stuff our way. I can practically hear my grandparents’ jaws crack against the tile floor as Deb meets us in the kitchen. Her rhinestone-encrusted heels must be five inches high, and fully visible beneath the micro minidress that’s serving as her wedding gown. A huge, flowing bustle trails along behind her, and her already voluminous blonde curls are stacked a mile high in a hairdo that would make the most seasoned pageant girl raise an eyebrow. Her makeup looks painted on, most especially her hot pink lipstick. She looks positively ecstatic...but not exactly the picture of the blushing bride we all had in mind—especially my grandparents.
“I can’t believe our wedding day is finally here!” she squeals, leaping into my dad’s arms. She kisses every inch of his face, leaving little smudges of pink all over. I’m a little concerned that my grandparents have literally turned to stone beside me. Dad manages to pry Deb off of him long enough to turn her Frank and Jillian’s way.
“Deb,” my dad says through a forced smile, “These are my parents.”
“Oh. My. God,” Deb breathes, splaying her hands out over her heart. “You are just about the fanciest people I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”
“Yes. Well,” Grandma says, unable to form any additional words.
“That is...some dress you’ve got there,” Grandpa attempts.
“Dad,” my own father hisses warningly.
“Oh, you like it?” Deb chirps, giving us all a little spin. “I got in at forty percent off. Still a rip off, if you ask me, but heck—it’s a special occasion, right? And it’s not like Bob here is hurting for money.” My grandparents’ eyebrows shoot up, disappearing into their hair lines. Deb falters, looking back and forth between them. “I’m sorry. Was that tacky?”
“Ah, so you are familiar with the word, then,” Grandma says coolly.
I glance at Emerson, embarrassed by my grandparents’ icy behavior. But his face is totally unreadable—I have no idea if he’s even listening. Deb, not knowing what to do with my grandparents’ disdain, turns to Emerson and me with a tight grin.
“Now you two look so darling,” she sighs tearfully. “Our big happy family, at last.”
I catch grandpa rolling his eyes as the justice of the peace claps his hands.
“So!” the jolly official says, “Shall we head to the backyard for the ceremony?”
Deb grabs hold of my dad’s hand and yanks him out the back door. They’ve set up a flimsy white altar in front of the pool, which is filled with floating flower blossoms. Emerson walks out ahead of me, keeping his eyes straight ahead, and my grandparents bring up the rear. Deb’s heels sink into the grass as she teeters toward the altar on my dad’s arm. Emerson stands beside her, and I take my place next to Dad. The justice of the peace stands between them, and my grandparents move front and center, all but wrinkling their noses.
The wedding of the century, indeed.
I can’t make myself focus as the justice of the peace starts rattling through the motions. Emerson and I stand facing each other, looking over our parents’ shoulders. I’ve never seen him look so miserable. More than being upset for my own heartbreak, I hate our parents in this moment for causing Emerson so much pain. He’s been through so much already, and now this fiasco? It’s more than anyone should have to bear.
“OK then,” the justice of the peace goes on. “If we could have the rings...”
Emerson thrusts them into my dad’s hand. Our parents slip the gaudy trinkets onto each other’s hands, grinning like two teenagers. The words of their vows and even their “I do’s” fade into white noise as Emerson finally lifts his eyes to mine. We stare at each other, laid bare in this anguished moment. Our gazes say what we never got a chance to: “I care about you more than anything in this world. I’m so sorry you’re in pain.” And as our parents share their first kiss as man and wife, I try my best to tell Emerson one more thing with my silent, pleading eyes:
“I love you.”
And as I look on, my heart breaking, I could swear his blue eyes tell me, “I love you too.”
Chapter Ten
* * *
By midnight, the house is all but silent once more. Leftover food and cake clutters every surface of the kitchen, crushed petals stain the floors, and the plastic flowers on the rickety altar out back have started dropping off, one by one. Dad and Deb have flown the coop, off on the first leg of their honeymoon in New York City. Grandma and Grandpa beat a quick retreat after a bite of cake and three brandies each. The house, my home, feels like a crypt now. But I suppose that’s appropriate—I’m certainly in mourning.
Emerson and I, still dressed up in our wedding day best, sit side-by-side at the kitchen island. There’s an open bottle of vodka and a gigantic round of wedding cake sitting between us, and we’re helping ourselves to an abundance of both. Neither of us can think of anything productive to say, but are loathing to be alone tonight. We sit there in silence, being careful not to brush elbows or even look at each other for too long. As of this afternoon, when the ink dried on our parents’ marriage license, our relationship can only be strictly platonic.
I haven’t been this miserable since my mom passed away. This feeling of running up against devastating injustice is something I’m all too familiar with by now.
Without a word, Emerson refills our glasses of straight vodka. He snatches up his glass and downs his booze in one swallow. Tearing off his necktie, he staggers to his feet. I stare at him as he turns to leave.
“Where are you going?” I murmur, the room spinning as I stand up after him.
“Bed,” he growls, not looking at me.
“That’s it?” I ask around the sudden lump in my throat, “It’s just gonna be one word answers from now on?”
“What did you expect?” he replies, keeping his back to me.
“I expected you to...to be...”
“Your friend?” he scoffs, shoving a hand through his hair. “That was never going to happen, Abby. You know that as well as I do.”
“We have to at least try,” I say softly, reaching out to touch him. At the slightest brush of my fingers, he rips his arm away from me, spinning around with fire in his eyes.
“I can’t do that,” he rages. “No fucking way can I just be your friend.”
“Don’t yell at me,” I say, steadying myself against the counter. “You’re drunk. You’re upset. This isn’t you talking—”
“As if you know the first thing about me,” he fires back, shaking his head. “One fuck, and you think we’re soul mates or something?”
“Stop it,” I tell him fiercely. “I know what you’re
doing. You’re trying to hurt me. Trying to drive me away so that you don’t have to deal with what’s happening. Well too fucking bad. I’m not going anywhere, Emerson. You can’t scare me away.”
“No?” he demands, stepping toward me. He plants one hand on either side of me, caging me in against the counter. “You really think so?”
“Yes. I do,” I whisper, keeping my hazel eyes trained on his face.
Our lips are mere inches from each other, our bodies all but pressed together. The sudden proximity of him sets me to trembling. I can’t be strong enough for both of us. I need his help.
“Please, Emerson,” I say, blinking away the tears that blur my vision. “Could you just...hold me? Just for a second.”
He stares at me, his blue eyes frozen over. But as the first tear rolls down my cheek, I watch the ice crack. The fight goes out of him, making way for the despair he’s been trying to cover up with aggression.
“Come here,” he murmurs, opening his arms to me.
I rush to him, throwing myself into his embrace. He enfolds me in a fierce hug as the tears come hard and fast. He kisses the top of my head, pulling me tightly against him.
“You can’t disappear on me like that,” I cry, burying my face in the front of his suit. “I can’t get through this without you, Emerson.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rasping. “This is just...It’s so hard, Abby. What am I supposed to do without you in my life? The way I want you to be, I mean...?”
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” I say miserably.
We hold each other, each unwilling to be the first to break the embrace. As the sky begins to lighten, we finally trudge upstairs, entirely spent. I walk ahead of Emerson, my body tired and aching. The prospect of sleeping alone tonight is too much to bear. It’s hard to believe that it was just last night that I fell asleep next to Emerson, my cheek resting against his bare chest. It feels like years ago that our bodies met, collided, moved as one. It was, without question, the best night of my life. And would you look at that? It’s being followed up by the worst.
Emerson and I reach the top of the stairs and pause, each glancing at our bedrooms at opposite ends of the hall. Turning away from each other now seems like the final step, the last nail in the coffin sealing up our barely-formed relationship. After the wrenching, brutal escapade that was our parents’ wedding ceremony this afternoon, I don’t know if I can take it.
“You know,” I say softly. “Today was sort of like a nightmare.”
“That’s for fucking sure,” he murmurs, glancing my way.
“And after a nightmare...isn’t is usually OK for a little sister to crawl into her big brother’s bed?” I ask tearfully.
A slow, sad smile spreads across his gorgeous face. “Nice justification, weirdo,” he teases softly, offering me his hand.
I lace my fingers through his. Silently, we walk down the hallway toward his room. We don’t even have the energy to change out of our clothes. With vodka-clouded heads and heavy hearts, we collapse onto his bed. Emerson wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. There’s no question of things going any further between us now, but this simple comforting embrace is a balm for my battered soul. In an instant we’ve fallen into a deep, mercifully dreamless sleep.
* * *
I’m jerked out of slumber the next morning by the sound of screaming voices. Prying open my eyes, I notice two things straightaway. First, I am massively hungover, having eaten next to nothing yesterday and had half a bottle of vodka to drink. Second, I’m still lying beside the sleeping Emerson, despite the fact that it’s Monday morning and school is set to start in a mere twenty minutes.
But before I can worry about my attendance record, the crash of shattering glass catches my ear from downstairs. Two hysterical voices rage at each other as other objects go hurtling around the ground floor. Emerson’s eyes fly open at the sound of the unfolding chaos, and we turn to look at each other, at a loss. I recognize Dad and Deb’s voices at once, but I’ve never heard either of them so irate.
“Funneling my money to that lowlife junkie!” my dad bellows, as something heavy topples over.
“Your money?” Deb cries shrilly, “You mean your parents’ money, don’t you?”
“Don’t start with that class warfare bullshit—”
“I don’t have to! They already did. You think I didn’t see how they looked at me yesterday? You’d think I was wearing a g-string and pasties—”
“Well, you weren’t wearing much else!”
Something else smashes into a thousand pieces, and I grab for Emerson’s hand, panicked.
“Don’t try and change the goddamn subject,” my dad snarls. “You’ve been stealing from me for your scumbag ex and your loser drug baby!”
Emerson’s fingers tighten around mine, his body rippling with fury.
“My son is not a loser!” Deb weeps, charging up the stairs, “And he’s not staying here in this house for another second!”
The entire world grinds to a standstill as Emerson’s bedroom door flies open. Deb appears in the doorway, thick rivulets of mascara coursing down her cheeks. Emerson and I stare up at her, entwined in his bed, as my red-faced father appears on the top of the stairs. The four of us are frozen in a surreal tableau, and for a second I hope against all hope that this is just another terrible dream
But in the next moment, reality floods back in.
“What the fuck is this?” Deb shrieks, falling back against the door in horror.
“We were just—We—” I stammer, looking helplessly at Emerson.
“Get away of my daughter, you piece of shit!” my dad roars, charging into the bedroom. He grabs me by my arm and wrenches me brutally out of bed.
“Dad, you’re hurting me,” I gasp, trying and failing to break free from his grip.
“Don’t touch her,” Emerson shouts, leaping to his feet and shoving my father away from me. He shields me from my dad’s wrath with his solid body, but my dad lunges for me all the same. The smell of booze seeping off of him turns my stomach.
“Are you drunk?” I gasp, staring at my father.
But his swaying stance and bloodshot eyes answer my question. I whip around toward Deb and see that she, too, is standing unsteadily, unable to focus on a single point for more than a second. It’s not even nine o’clock, and they’re both wasted.
“Jesus Christ, Mom,” Emerson growls, staring at his mother in disbelief. “Again?”
“Don’t you judge me,” Deb snaps, shaking her mess of wilted curls. “If you knew the sort of night I had…This man is a monster.”
“I’m a monster?” my dad returns, whirling unsteadily toward her, “You’re the lying, thieving whore—”
“Emerson, no!” I screech, as he cocks back his fist and slams it against my father’s jaw.
Dad goes reeling through the open doorway, and Emerson leaps after him. Deb collapses into a teary puddle as Emerson and Dad brawl on the landing. I rush toward them, ready to throw myself into the fray. But a loose punch from Dad hits me square in the stomach, knocking me back against the wall. Emerson snaps his face toward me, too worried about my wellbeing to focus on my dad. But in the moment of his distraction, Dad strikes back—sending a cracking blow railing against Emerson’s high cheekbone. A sickening crunch rings out through the house.
A scream rips out of my throat as Emerson stumbles against the second story railing. My dad tries to grab him by the front of his suit, but misses. In a burst of rage, Emerson grabs hold of my dad and slams him against the bannister, ready to throw him off the landing.
“Stop it! Emerson, stop!” I scream.
Finally, I seem to get through to him. With gritted teeth, he lowers my dad away from the edge, tossing him roughly onto the floor. He raises his blue eyes to mine, and my heart shatters as I see the furious tears streaming down his face. Stepping over my dad’s drunken, prostrate form, Emerson marches into his room and snatches his mother up by the arm. She c
an barely stand, beside herself with wasted emotion. Emerson swings her arm over his shoulders and all but drags her away, carrying her dead weight down the stairs.
“Wait,” I call out, my voice a strangled cry, “Emerson, where are you going?”
But he doesn’t answer me. He simply makes his way to the front door. I pull myself off the ground and race after him, grabbing for the back of his suit.
“Emerson,” I plead, clutching the bannister as I reach the final stair. “Stop. You can’t go. Not now.”
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. Turning back to look at me, his eyes are full of hardened resolve. He’s shut his heart out of the equation, I know. And try as I might, there will be no reaching him now.
“Goodbye Abby,” he whispers, and wrenches the door open.
He guides his mother across the threshold and out to his Chevy. It isn’t until I hear the engine start that I sink down onto the stairs, hollow and cold. He’s gone. And this time, I know he won’t be coming back for me. I glance around the house, at all the artifacts of my childhood that were destroyed in Dad and Deb’s wake. But of course, it’s not the material things I grieve for, now. It’s my entire life as I’ve known it. The future that will never come to pass.
I sit there at the foot of the steps for hours, listening to my dad’s anguished groans from the landing. At some point, he manages to stand and pull himself into the master bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He won’t come down to check on me. Not in the state he’s in. But who am I kidding? Even at his best, Dad couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about me.
Numbness creeps through my body as I sit stock still, unable to process what’s happened to me. To Emerson. To our splintered family. Nothing that’s happened this morning makes any sense. What happened that set our parents to drinking like that? What was my dad saying about Deb stealing from him? And what about my grandparents’ interference with dad and Deb’s brand new marriage?
Beauty and the Running Back Page 25
