by Scott, Shae
I blow out a breath and shake my head. It blows my mind to think that Emery hadn't seen her dad in so long. Not when they've always been so close.
"Henry, I'm going to ask you something and I'm sorry if it steps over some kind of line, but do you think Gabe was hurting her in any way?" I hate asking the question. I hate the idea of him agreeing with me more.
Henry seems to think about it for a minute before answering. "No, not physically," he says. His confidence in his answer breaks the tension in my shoulders and I breathe a little easier.
"But, I don't think she was happy there," he continues. When I got up there it was like looking at a broken bird. Hardest damn thing I've ever seen. She was just sitting there on the kitchen floor. Had been all damn day. My little girl was sitting there all alone with not a single person to comfort her. Broke my heart." His voice cracks with the memory and he clears his throat before continuing.
"I think she just married into a family that was completely different than anything that she knew. They weren’t like her and I don't think she ever fit in. I think after so long of trying to live up to what they all expected she lost herself a little. At least that's what I've gathered from what she’s told me."
What he says makes sense. As sad as that makes me, I'm relieved. "I hate seeing her hurt this way," I admit.
"Me too. But she'll work through it. I know she will. I think you've been good for her. Just having people around that care about her is going to help her more than anything," he says.
I settle back into my seat. "Yeah," I agree, lost in my own thoughts, replaying all of my time with her these past few weeks. I hope Henry is right. I hope that with time, and people that care about her, she'll make her way back. The idea of not seeing that fire in her eyes again is too hard to accept. I make myself a promise right then to make sure that she finds it again.
Emery
I LOOK FORWARD TO THE nights when Cole comes over, which he does almost every night. I'm pretty sure that it's less about fixing something and more about checking in on me. If it were anyone else it would probably annoy me, but I like that he checks in on me. His presence calms me. It's the one time of day when I stop thinking about everything else and just relax.
He hasn't pushed me to talk about Gabe or anything about my life back in Connecticut. We don't talk about the history between us either. It's a safe zone and I like it.
He has to have questions. He has to have some sort of opinion about how I've changed since he last saw me. I'm not the same girl he knew and I guess part of me figured that he'd run off when he realized that. But he's still here.
Being around him again, I realize that in a lot of ways he’s the same guy. He's just older and smarter. And a hell of a lot sexier, if I'm being honest. But at his core, he's still the same Cole. I guess that's where the calm comes from. I'm comfortable with him. I'm safe with him and everything inside me remembers it.
I try to have some sort of treat for him on nights he stops by. Or dinner since the idea of him going home to eat cereal is too much for me to handle. Besides, it makes me feel useful. I like having someone to take care of.
It's nearly seven when he shows up at my house. It's Thursday and I can tell that the long week has gotten the best of him. He looks exhausted. I point it out as he takes a seat in my kitchen.
"Why didn't you just go home? You don't have to worry about coming over here. You work all the time. This house isn't going to fall apart if you don't show up with your toolbox one night," I smile.
He shrugs, "I like coming over here. I like seeing you after a long day."
My heart flips.
"You aren't working on anything today," I say firmly. He lifts his tired eyes to mine and smirks.
"Is that right?" he challenges.
I can't help but smile. That smirk gets me every time.
"Yes. You're welcome to stay here and hang out if you want, but no working on anything. You should probably go home and sleep though," I suggest. I don't really want him to go, but from the looks of him, he's been burning his candle at both ends and he could use some down time.
He seems to think on it for a minute before responding. "I really don't want to go home to an empty house and eat cereal. Maybe we could order a pizza and watch a movie or something."
I tense involuntarily, his suggestion taking me off guard. I don’t know why, but it almost feels wrong. Like I’d be betraying Gabe. But that’s ridiculous. Cole and I are friends. Friends can eat pizza and watch a movie. It’s not like he suggested that we make out on the couch like we did when we were teenagers. Besides, he's exhausted. He just wants to relax with some company. There's nothing wrong with that. And he's done so much for me, I can't deny him this.
He watches as I go through my internal monologue. He knows it well. He knows there is no reason to jump in with an argument to persuade me until I've worked it all out in my head and come up with a verdict.
"Pizza sounds good," I say finally.
That earns me a smile.
"Pepperoni?" he asks, fishing his cell phone out of his jeans to order.
"No pineapple. That's gross," I warn. He laughs at the old argument.
I listen as Cole orders our food and I grab some plates from the cabinets. I grab some silverware and my cloth napkins and place them neatly beside the plates.
My stomach is full of nerves. As much time as I've spent with Cole so far, this feels different. I wonder if it's because I'm hanging out with a man or because it's Cole and we have a history. Whatever it is, it's not going to do me any good to dwell on it so I work to push my anxiousness aside.
I grab a beer from the fridge and offer it to him. This time I have the kind he likes best. He takes it with a grateful smile. "Pizza should be here in about half an hour."
"Want to go pick out something to watch?" I ask. My voice sounds far away.
"Lead the way."
I grab the remote and hand it to him as I take a seat on one end of the couch.
His eyebrow raises, "Really? You're giving me the remote? You never let me choose." He looks at me with a doubtful expression like he's waiting on the punchline to some unspoken joke.
"You can pick," I shrug.
He sits down beside me, choosing the middle cushion instead of the opposite end of the couch like I'd expected him to. "What if I pick football? Or one of those car shows you hate?"
"I don’t hate them. I just gave you shit about it because you watched them all the time. I never really minded."
The smirk is back, " I don't believe you."
"It's fine. You still get to pick. I don't care what we watch."
He still looks doubtful. No doubt he's remembering the Emery from the past. She never gave up control of the remote. There's no telling how many episodes of The Bachelor I made the poor guy sit through over the years.
I settle into the corner of the sofa, pulling a throw pillow into my lap as he scans through the program guide. We don't say much. He glances over at me as if asking my opinion on certain programs. He finally settles on a rerun of Friends. He's such a suck up. He knows it's my favorite show, even now.
When the pizza comes, he jumps up to get the door. "You stay here. I'll just bring it all in," he offers.
It takes a lot for me to stay on the couch. I should be getting the plates. Hell, I probably should have made a salad or something. Before I can chide myself on the oversight too much, Cole comes in with the pizza box, a roll of paper towels and a couple of paper plates. I sit up straighter as he puts everything down on the coffee table.
"I put out plates," I tell him. I had it all laid out. He waves me away.
"No need in making dishes to do. I found these in the pantry."
He puts two slices of pizza on one of the plates and hands it to me. "I got you a soda too." I mumble a thank you as he puts food on his own plate and sits back down beside me. I watch him from the corner of my eye, trying to imagine Gabe and I having a night like this. I can't. He would have never ordered
a pizza in the first place, let alone eat it on the couch from paper plates.
I can't eat much; I'm too distracted by my thoughts. Cole doesn't seem to notice or maybe he does and he is just too much of a gentleman to call me out on it. Either way I'm glad. The longer we sit here, side by side, the more my conflicting emotions swirl in an angry dance deep in my stomach.
We never did put in a movie, instead watching the marathon of old Friends episodes. When the fourth one ends he stretches his arms over his head and lets out a groan. I can't stop my eyes from taking in the strip of tan skin across his hard stomach as his t-shirt lifts. I swallow hard.
"Thanks for letting me hang out here tonight. I needed it," he yawns, the long day and long week getting to him.
"I'm glad you came over," I say, my voice coming out with an embarrassing squeak. Stupid t-shirt.
He smiles, "I should probably head home before I get so relaxed I fall asleep on this couch."
"Okay," I agree, torn between wanting him to leave and wanting him to stay longer.
"I'll put this stuff away." He moves to grab up the dirty plates and the pizza box, but I beat him to it, scrambling to my feet and grabbing up the trash before he can. I'm a horrible hostess tonight. I've let him do everything. It's like I've forgotten all of my manners. It embarrasses me.
I hurry to the kitchen with my hands full. Cole isn't far behind me. "I would have carried that," he chuckles.
"No. You're my guest," I explain firmly. I fold the box into a smaller size and stuff it into the garbage along with our napkins and plates.
"I wouldn't go that far," he says. "It's just me."
"You're still a guest in my home. I shouldn't have let you do everything. Or anything." I avoid his gaze, feeling like I’ve ruined this whole night.
He watches me closely as I fidget. Then he pulls out a chair from the table and takes a seat.
I thought he was leaving.
"Come sit with me for a minute."
Sit with him? I don't want to sit with him. He has this look on his face like he’s about to spoil all of my secrets.
"Please?"
Reluctantly, I go and sit down in the chair across from him.
"What's going on?" he asks quietly.
"What do you mean?" We both know I'm stalling. Avoiding.
"You got weird and fidgety," he says. Why is he picking this moment to be straightforward? I liked it better when he gave me a pass.
"I'm not being weird. I'm just tired." Cop out. His gaze is making me nervous. It never waivers.
"Are you sure it’s okay that I hung out here tonight? I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable." My heart squeezes at his words.
"No. I'm glad you stayed. Really. I'm just. . .I'm still figuring it all out," I admit.
"You get nervous sometimes." He says it so simply, so matter-of fact that I feel my lungs fighting to function properly. I'm nervous now. Nervous because he's calling me out. Maybe I’m not ready to have friends.
"This is all still new to me," I offer.
He frowns, "I'm not new. You've known me your whole life."
"Things are different now," I point out.
"But I'm still the same guy."
"But I'm not the same.”
"Was he not good to you?" He asks the question and I swear my heart stops. Everything around me takes on a fuzzy dream-like quality. I might pass out. I'm not ready for this.
I start to get up. I need to walk away, to escape to my own corner, but his voice stops me. "Wait." My eyes snap back to his, unwillingly. His gaze feels heavy, restricting the breath I try to pull into my lungs. He holds me still with his eyes alone. He's searching for answers I haven't given him. He's looking for something and I'm so afraid of what he’s going to find.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that. It's just. . .I watch you sometimes and it's like you're afraid of doing something wrong. I don't want you to be afraid around me." He's so sincere, even through his strained voice. It's as if the words are being pulled from him.
"I'm not afraid," I say stubbornly. I want him to leave. I can't have this conversation right now. I can feel the sting in my eyes, threatening tears I've refused to cry. But he keeps going, laying it all out on the table.
"I'm not him. You don't have to be perfect. Not for me." His words send a physical ache through me. That simple statement shattering something deep inside. It's like he's forcing a mirror in front of me, forcing me to look at who I've become. I've done so well at pushing it away to deal with later, but later is catching up with me. Somehow, without even trying or even realizing he's doing it, he's making me see every change. He’s making me feel them. He makes it hard to hide, even from myself.
He looks so sincere as his hands reach across the table to take mine. My heart stutters as he squeezes them. The comfort that his touch gives me is a total contradiction to the chaos in my heart. It's exhausting, to be pulled in so many directions. Pulled by unseen forces, obligations and expectations. All things I've put on my own shoulders, but don't quite know how to put down.
I feel like I should pull my hands away, but I don't. I like it too much and right now that wins out over everything else. It makes me want to confide in him, to let him make it better. It makes me want to take a moment to hand it all over to somebody else just so I can breathe in deep. Just long enough that I can steady myself in the quiet.
“I don't even know who I am," I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. They spill out into the space between us and as soon as they do I want to yank them back and stuff them away.
But there is no judgment on his face as his thumb traces a slow, delicate path across my hand. "You'll get there. You've been through a lot. I'm sure I don't know the half of it. But I know you, Emery. I know the girl hiding there behind everything. Take your time to heal. You'll find your way back," he says. His words are quiet, but firm and I want to believe him. I want to believe that all this confusion will someday make sense, but believing requires faith and I’m not sure how much of that I have left.
Emery
HEALING IS A RAW process. I never knew before, because I never took the time to do it. I’ve always just slapped an emotional Band-Aid on it and went on my way.
The Band-Aids don't stick anymore.
After Cole left last night I sat in the dark and cried. He didn't mean to open up all of the wounds, but he did. He’s always seen me so clearly. Even the parts that I try to hide. He did the same thing last night with his questions about Gabe.
I know he worries that Gabe hurt me. I’ve seen the worry etched in the lines on his face. The questions are there behind his eyes. But Gabe never laid a finger on me. I was never afraid of him physically. But looking back now, I can see that the pressure he put on me, the pressure I put on myself, to be perfect for him and his family. It changed me in a way I never fully grasped until he was gone.
It's as if the whole situation just chipped away at me until I'd lost my foundation. I spent so long teetering on the pedestal that Gabe built for me that I never once realized how far I would fall when I didn't meet his expectations. Trying to please everyone, changing who you are to fit into some mold. . .it's exhausting. And it's lonely. I've been both for a very long time.
The whole conversation with Cole has left me in a funk. One I just feel too fragile to crawl out of. I spend most of the day drinking coffee and sitting at my kitchen table trying to write a list of things I need to do to get out of this hole I am in.
Dad makes lists. He always has a check list for whatever project he’s working on. Hell, he even had one to bury my husband. Surely I can come up with one for how to find myself again. Maybe if I have a list I can start to make some kind of progress. I’ll have something to focus on.
By the time the sun starts to set I have one thing written on it.
1. Get over it!!!
I roll my eyes, crumble up the paper and throw it away. I shuffle through the cabinets looking for something for dinner and decide on cer
eal. I wonder if Cole is having Cereal tonight. Probably not. He’s out of town with Dad until tomorrow, meeting about a potential build, so I'm on my own. It's just as well. I'm not much company.
Cole is right. Cereal is lonely.
Outside the wind picks up, so I turn the tiny, kitchen TV on and find the news. According to the rainbow colored radar filling the screen, it looks like a big storm is headed this way.
I used to love storms as a kid. The wind and thunder never scared me. Instead my parents had to drag me inside out of the downpour so I wouldn't get hit by lightning. It fascinated me. Sometimes I would make up stories about why God or Mother Nature was angry. In my mind, a violent storm was their way of venting out their frustrations.
Once I finish my cereal, I wander outside to smell the coming rain on the air. It's one of my favorite things, the way the air feels just before the storm hits. Now, when it feels like I've been fighting against my own storm for so long, it takes on a different feel. Almost like I have become a part of it. Like we know each other’s secrets.
It doesn't take long before the sky opens up, large drops pounding against the deck. I step back and watch them from the safety of the covered porch, the wind whipping against my t-shirt. I should go in, but there's no one here to make me. So I stay.
The storm is really roaring. It's almost a little scary, the way the wind whips through the trees, bending the branches back and forth, testing their limits. I stand still, watching, completely mesmerized, waiting to see how much it takes for them to snap. To completely buckle under the pressure. The strain. Those limbs weren't built to withstand this kind of battery. Surely they won't make it through this violent storm, not out there fending for themselves, with nowhere to escape to.
