I go outside, out the front door, because I want to be alone and I don’t know where else to go. Even being out here, hidden in the dark, away from everyone else, it’s not enough. I need to get away.More so than this, I need to get as far away as I possibly can. But not just back to my apartment, not back to my regular old life, I need something more than that. This knowledge descends upon me like a fine mist. Once it settles, it’s taken hold. I need to get out of here, and in a major way. I’ll call Megan, she’ll come get me. The wedding is over, and I don’t think Mom will be that upset if I don’t stick around for the whole party. But first, there’s someone else that I need to talk to.
I find Zack out back, talking with a friend. I wait until he looks over and sees me standing there. “Can you give me a minute?” he says to the friend, who smiles and nods. Zack comes over to me.
“Hey, Emma,” he says. “How are you?”
“You know how you told me that we’re family now and I could ask you for anything?”
He nods. “Absolutely. And I meant it. What’s up?”
“I need to borrow some money.”
“How much?”
I tell him the amount. He doesn’t bat an eye. “Done,” he says. “And . . . you don’t have to elaborate, but is everything all right?”
“Yes,” I say. “Now it is. And I will pay you back.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I will.” I take a deep breath. “But I really appreciate this. Thank you.” I hesitate, but then I give him a hug. He’s not a bad guy. His son might be an ass, but he’s not a bad guy.
Megan answers on the third ring.
“Hey!” she says. “How’s the wedding?”
“I need you to come get me.”
“What? Is everything okay?”
I glance over my shoulder at the house. I’m standing near the end of the driveway, and I can make out people walking around inside, but I can’t tell who is who. “It’s actually not,” I say. “And I need to get out of here. Can you come get me? Please?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Now?”
“If you could.”
“Is it . . . is it Jai? Did something happen?”
I kick at a clump of grass. “That’s one way of putting it,” I say. “I’ll tell you when you get here.”
We hang up, and I go back inside, only to make a quiet exit. I get my bag and then I tell Mom that Megan’s coming to get me.
“Now?” she asks. “What time is it? I thought you were going to at least stay another day or two. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Mom. I just want to get back to my place. I’m tired.”
“Well, why don’t you just go lie down upstairs, sweetie? That way we’ll all be togeth—”
“No, Mom. I just need to get going, and Megan’s already heading over. I promise though—everything really is okay. I just want to get back to my place.” Mom herself is also a little tipsy, so she doesn’t push the questioning much further.
“Well, okay then. Thank you so much for being here on my special day,” she whispers. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
My sister is less willing to let me off the hook so easily. “You’re leaving now?” she says. “Why? Let’s go drink more champagne. It still tastes like water. I didn’t actually wind up puking, though Chris says I’d feel better if I did.” She leans toward me and whispers conspiratorially. “What he doesn’t know is that I feel great! So let’s have a few more. Come on, sis, it’ll be fun!”
“No, Jess, I can’t. I’ve already had way too much. And maybe you have, too.”
“So then why are you leaving? If you’ve had so much, you should be going to sleep it off, not leaving.”
“I just . . . am. I have to. I’ll explain later.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I buy this.”
“I’m not asking you to. But I’d like to say good-bye, and I’d just appreciate it for right now if you didn’t ask me anymore questions.”
She gives me a hug. “Okay, Emma,” she says. “You’re such a weirdo sometimes. But I won’t ask anymore questions, so long as you promise that everything is okay. Is everything okay?”
I don’t actually know the answer to that, but I just smile and nod. I hope that everything will be okay. What that actually looks like, I’m not sure, but I am going to try to find out. And I know that I’m not going to find any of the answers that I’m looking for here, in L.A.
I walk down to the end of the driveway to wait for Megan. She, too, looks concerned when I slide into the front seat after throwing my bag in the back.
“Emma,” she says, “what’s up? What’s going on?”
I buckle my seat belt and then let my head fall back against the headrest. “I’m fine. And I’m not trying to freak anyone out; everything is okay. I’m not having a nervous breakdown or anything. Or at least I don’t think that I am.”
“So . . . what then? How was the wedding?”
“Oh, the wedding was fine. What’s not fine is Jai.”
“Uh-oh,” Megan says, glancing over at me. “What happened?”
“What happened was hearing the wedding vows, and just being in that atmosphere, it inspired me and made me realize that when you have a good thing with someone, you hold onto that. Basically everything that he’d already said to me. So I went to find him after the ceremony was over to tell him this, and what do I find instead? I find him with that hot date of his, and they’re about to have sex.”
“Shit. Are you serious?”
“Yes. So basically everything he was saying to me was complete fucking bullshit. And I’m an idiot for believing him in the first place.”
“You’re not an idiot. You’re not. This whole situation is totally fucked up. It really is—it’s like something out of a movie. Like really, what are the chances of a guy you meet online being your stepbrother? There’s no way you could’ve known, no way I could’ve known, and you’re not an idiot. I mean . . . you actually make a good couple. You probably don’t want to hear that.”
I take a deep breath and press my fingers against my temples. “I just feel like everything’s totally fucked up. And I need a change. A major change.”
“What are you going to do? Do you have anything in mind?”
The headlights illuminate the pavement as the car speeds across it. For a second I let myself imagine that Megan is driving us somewhere far away, somewhere new, somewhere that I can try to forget about everything that’s happened.
“I’m going to go to Paris,” I say.
Megan’s mouth drops open but she doesn’t say anything right away.
“I’m just going to do it. We can sublet my room, or I’ll give you my share of rent.”
“Emma . . . what? Paris? Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to go there, and it just kind of occurred to me now, but I can do it.”
“And how are you going to be able to afford to live over there and pay rent over here? What if we can’t find someone to sublet? And how long are you going to be gone, anyway?”
“I don’t know. If it’s long enough, I suppose I’ll get a job over there. I’m not going to need much—just a space that I can focus on my painting. I’ve never actually given myself the time or space to do that, and I think now is as good a time as any. And Zack loaned me some money. Doing something like this is one of those things that sometimes works out better if you don’t plan it out down to the very last detail, if you just let yourself act on instinct, and do what you have to, because if you don’t, you’ll know you’ll go crazy.
Well. My flight for London leaves today, and I should be ecstatic, but I’m not. Kate is still passed out in my bed; I slept on the couch, though it was more like I only dozed, trying to stay alert enough to rouse myself when Emma came downstairs.
But she never does.
Slowly, the rest of the house begins to stir; Dad comes down and says good morning
, then heads into the kitchen to make breakfast. I hear the coffee maker starting up. Then it’s Stephanie, then Jessica and her fiancée, Chris, I think his name is, and he starts talking to me about L.A.’s football team, though he calls it soccer. Kate comes down next, a sheepish smile on her face.
“Didn’t mean to get so drunk last night,” she whispers to me. “Hope I didn’t make a total fool of myself.”
“You were fine,” I say, and I wonder if she has any recollection of Emma coming into the room or not.
Kate has a cup of coffee and chats with Dad and Stephanie for a little bit, then says she’s got to take off and meet up with another friend, someone both she and Dad know, down in La Jolla. Emma still hasn’t appeared, and I wonder if she’s simply waiting until Kate has gone.
“I’ll walk you out to the car,” I say.
“I’m going to be in town until Friday,” Kate says. “I’ll probably stay in La Jolla for a couple days but then head back this way if you want to get together again.”
“Love to, but my flight’s leaving today,” I say.
She grins. “Counting down the hours?”
“Of course.”
“Well, tell your mum I say hi. I did run into her not too long ago.”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, recalling that conversation. “She did mention something, except she told me that you said you had already seen me. I was a little confused.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t actually remember how the whole conversation went down, but I started to say something how your dad had been in touch and I was going to fly out to L.A. to surprise you at the wedding, but then I didn’t know how your mum was feeling about the wedding and everything . . .”
“She seems pretty okay with the idea, actually.”
“Well, that’s good. I figured she’d probably be fine with it, but, you know.” Kate smiles and I give her a hug, tell her that I hope things in her personal life will smooth out.
“Thanks,” she says. “And, I don’t know the details, but I can tell something’s up with you, too. So I hope that works itself out, too. And, if you ever do want to talk about, you know that I’m always available to listen. No matter how much time goes by, okay?”
After Kate drives off, I go back into the house where everyone is sitting down to Swedish pancakes and strawberries and glasses of orange juice.
“Got a plate for you right here,” Dad says. “It’s too bad Kate couldn’t stay.”
“She was very lovely,” Stephanie says. “And she was telling me a little bit about her work—I can’t imagine having a job like that! But it’s pretty cool.”
I sit down at the table, across from Jessica and Chris. “Shouldn’t we wait for Emma?” I say, in what I hope is a nonchalant tone.
Stephanie puts her fork down. “She didn’t say good-bye to you?” she says.
I shake my head. “Say good-bye? She left?”
“She left.” Stephanie frowns. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She just decided that she needed to leave early last night and she took off. She had Megan come and pick her up.”
“I did lend her some money,” Dad says, and everyone at the table stops what they’re doing and looks at him. “She came to me and asked if she could borrow it. Is she in some sort of trouble?”
“I would certainly hope not!” Stephanie exclaims, looking at Jessica. “Do you know anything about what your sister is up to?”
“I think she’s fine, Mom,” Jessica says. “You don’t need to freak out. I don’t exactly know what she’s thinking, but I don’t think she’s in any sort of trouble.”
“Did she . . . did she say where she was going?” I ask, again trying to keep the nonchalant tone in my voice despite the fact that my pulse is racing. I figured she’d taken off last night, but only for a little while, maybe a walk around the neighborhood or something. I’d assumed, when I got up this morning, that she’d been in her room, under this same roof.
“She didn’t, but I’d imagine she went back to her apartment if Megan came and got her.”
“Maybe I should take a drive over there,” I say as casually as I can. “After breakfast. Just so I can say good-bye. Also, I just really enjoyed getting to drive that car of yours, Dad,” I add hastily. “I wouldn’t mind the chance to take it out for one last spin before I head home.”
I hope that none of them will get the brilliant idea to suggest that they accompany on this journey, and fortunately, my luck holds out. Still, I can’t make myself look too desperate by jumping up and begging Dad for the keys before I’ve finished eating. I’ve got a bad feeling though. It’s making my stomach clench; I have to force every bite of maple syrup-drenched Swedish pancake down my throat. At this point, there really doesn’t seem to be anything more important in the world than explaining to Emma that she misunderstood what she saw with Kate, and that the fact she was going to tell me she didn’t care what other people thought and she wanted us to be together . . . well . . . nothing could make me happier.
I decline a second helping when my plate is finally clear, and then ask Dad for the keys, saying that I’d like to go out now and get back so I don’t have to rush to get to the airport. But right as I’m about to leave, I realize that I don’t actually know where Emma lives. I turn and go back into the dining room and Stephanie writes down the address for me.
“Tell her to give me a call when she can, will you?” she asks, and she looks mildly irritated. “Tell her we’re all a little worried and would just like to know that everything is fine.”
I nod and slip the piece of paper into my pocket. “I’ll tell her.”And along with that, there’s a million other things I want to tell her, too. I want to tell her that I’m sorry for blowing up the way I did the night before the wedding, for being so impatient with her. I want to tell her that I’ve never felt this way about another girl before, and that though it may not seem like it on the outside, it’s a little scary for me, too. But that I’m falling in love with her. I am in love with her.
That’s it.
If I get to her apartment and I only have the chance to say one thing, it’ll be that.
Emma, I love you.
But right as I pull up in front of the building, I see Megan there, unlocking the door, about to go in. I throw the car in park and jump out, nearly getting run over by a passing car as I do so.
“Megan!” I say, hurrying over to her. She turns and jumps.
“Oh!” she says. “What . . . what are you doing here?” She fiddles with the key in the lock, her purse slipping off her shoulder as she does so. It falls to the ground, spilling open. “Shit,” she mutters, bending to pick it up. I kneel down and help her, though she snatches the tube of lip gloss and a crumpled receipt from me as though I’ve got some sort of communicable disease. She stuffs everything back into her purse and continues to fiddle with the lock until the door finally opens. She starts to go in. “I don’t think I should be talking to you.”
“What? Why not? I just wanted to see Emma. Is she home? I just wanted to talk to her for a second. I didn’t realize she’d left last night and . . . well . . . there’s just a few things that I wanted to talk to her about. I’m actually heading back to London later today, so I figured I should just come over and talk to her in person quickly.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t know what Emma told you but it’s not—”
“Listen, Jai—I don’t want to get in the middle of this, okay? This is between you and Emma, and I happen to know—for a fact—that she doesn’t want to talk with you. SO I think it’d be best if you just left, okay?”
“But—”
“And don’t even think about camping out here and spying and being a stalker. Because she’s not here. She’s not here, and I’m not going to tell you where she went, other than it’s far away. So you should just forget about her, okay?”
And then she goes inside, letting the hea
vy door swing shut behind her. I stand there, shoulders slumped. So this is what it feels like. I am not used to feeling like this, I’m not used to having no other options. Really, the only thing that I can do right now is to get back in my dad’s car, drive to his house, and get ready for the airport. Whether or not Megan’s telling the truth about Emma being here doesn’t matter; she’s not going to come out if she is inside, and if she isn’t, then . . . who knows where she actually is.
I start to walk toward the car, but stop to pick up a card. It’s a business card, and it says Megan Cole, screenwriter, on it, with her phone number. It must’ve fallen out of her purse. I should just leave it, or throw it away, but I slide it into my pocket next to the slip of paper Stephanie wrote their address down on. I might need it.
I drive back to Dad’s place, the only thing on my mind an endless loop, like horrible song lyrics you just can’t get out of your head.
She’s gone. She’s gone, and there’s not a thing that I can do about it.
Four Months Later
Denis sat next to me in the oil painting workshop and I couldn’t help but be completely impressed by the life-like African animals he was able to paint on his canvas. You’d almost think they were photographs if you didn’t know better.
But now, he’s poised above me, and his skills in the bedroom vastly pale in comparison to his skills on the canvas. He’s propped himself up on his forearms as he pumps his hips, his head thrown back, eyes closed. I know enough French to be able to get by, but he says something totally unintelligible and then pulls out and, lo and behold, comes all over my chest.
He opens his eyes and looks at the puddle. “Wow,” he says, breathless. His gaze finds me and he grins, as though he’s just given me the best gift in the world. “That was incredible.” He rolls off of me. “Wasn’t it?”
I grab the first thing my hand happens to brush against—his Gucci shirt—and I wipe his come off of my tits.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” I say. He’s about to fall asleep, probably with the idea that he’ll wake up after a short nap and we’ll have an encore. No thanks. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.” I hand him the shirt.
Step F*#K: Part Four (Stepbrother #4) Page 3
