Heart Block

by Melissa Brayden

  “I might be in trouble here,” Emory finally whispered. “Doesn’t feel casual.”

  Sarah shook her head slowly in agreement. “Maybe trouble’s okay.”

  “I didn’t plan on this.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “It’s like no matter how many barriers I put up, you’re able to decimate each and every one.” Emory moved away, and when she did, her eyes flashed a vulnerability Sarah had never seen in her before. It was clear she was uncomfortable and it pulled at Sarah.

  “Don’t run from me, Emory.”

  “I’ll probably screw up.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “But I want to try.”

  Sarah leaned in and kissed her softly. “Then we will.”

  Emory took a deep breath and smiled. She took Sarah’s hand as they walked the short distance to her car. “Let me know how it goes with Grace.”

  “Okay.” And then a terrifying thought occurred to Sarah. “What if she says something to my parents?”

  “I get the impression she’s protecting you a bit, so I don’t think she would do that. But would it be so terrible if she did?” Emory seemed to be testing the waters a bit. “I’m going to take the freaked out expression on your face as a yes.”

  She should probably explain. “Don’t be upset. I think it might be best for them to get to know you a little first before I say anything…about this.” Emory didn’t respond. Her face was carefully blank. “You know, so they have a real life reference and not just a perceived idea to draw conclusions about. Make sense?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I was actually hoping you’d come to my older brother’s birthday party next Sunday. You can meet everyone together, all in one fell swoop.”

  Emory seemed to brighten at the mention. “Done. I would love to meet your family. I’m actually kind of excited about the idea.” She then leaned in for one final toe-curling kiss that left Sarah thinking about so much more. They were one spark away from a fire that wouldn’t be so easy to put out, and it was beginning to feel like the worst kind of torture.

  “We need to schedule a more adult themed date. Soon. No eight-year-olds allowed. Did I mention the word soon? Because I meant to.”

  “I think I could be agreeable to soon.” Emory raised an eyebrow. “How soon are we talking exactly?”

  “Are you free tomorrow?” Sarah feathered her fingers through Emory’s hair.

  “Damn it, I’m not. My sister’s coming into town, and I’ve agreed to have dinner with her and her family.”

  “Vanessa? That’s great news.” Sarah practically bounced with excitement. “I’m happy you’ll get to spend time with her. I can’t imagine my brothers not living close by.”

  Emory seemed to mull this over. “I wouldn’t go with wonderful. As I’ve mentioned before, Vanessa and I are very different people, and tomorrow is going to be, what’s the word I’m looking for? Hell. Tomorrow is going to be hell.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic? I bet you wind up having a great time.”

  *

  Twenty-two hours later and Emory was not having a great time. She and Vanessa had signed the papers for the sale of the house earlier that day at the realtor’s office and decided to meet that evening for dinner.

  Traditionally, the day had been a hotbed of passive aggressive comments and thinly veiled judgments from Vanessa, mostly aimed at her. Deciding to be the bigger person, she’d let them all go.

  Emory had opted to cook dinner for her sister’s family at the beach house, thinking the in-home environment might relax everyone a bit more than the ambiance of an expensive restaurant would. Plus, Vanessa hadn’t ever actually been inside her house, as they’d always spent family dinners together at her mother’s house. She’d been kind of excited, much to her own chagrin, to show off the place to her older sister, hoping with some strange backward childhood derived reason that she would like it. No such luck.

  Vanessa and her minions arrived half an hour late. She breezed in wearing a striking red dress with a wide belt and gorgeous Jimmy Choo pumps. Her twelve-year-old twin nieces, Calie and Chloe, were dressed like miniature trashy pop singers in short-shorts, fishnets, and matching low-cut blouses. She didn’t let herself dwell too much on the style of parenting that had allowed for such ensembles. Lastly, her brother-in-law, Lawrence, strode in behind them looking utterly bored with the world and his place in it. Kill me now, she thought to herself.

  Vanessa floated casually into the living room and gazed around. “So, little sister, this is where you live. My, my, looks pricey.” Was that a backhanded compliment? Emory was pretty sure it was.

  “Vanessa, Lawrence, can I offer you a glass of Chardonnay?” She was going to remain super cheerful if it fucking killed her. “Girls, I have several options for you in the fridge if you want to take a look.”

  Her nieces scurried from the room in search of a fruity drink, as Vanessa seemed to consider her options. “If the Chardonnay is unoaked and at least five years old, I’ll take it. If not, some mineral water will suffice.”

  “Chardonnay coming right up,” she sang through gritted teeth.

  “Make sure it’s from California,” Vanessa called after her.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Luckily, the bottle she’d chilled seemed to fit the very specific bill her sister had laid out for her. She retrieved it from the chiller and set to pouring three glasses.

  “What’s that smell?” Lawrence asked, seeming to wake up from his trance and join the land of the living.

  “Um, dinner, I guess.”

  “How nice.” He seemed unconvinced.

  “Not to worry, everyone. I made sure it’s vegan. I looked up a few recipes I thought you might like, and I think it all came out nicely.” She didn’t mention that she’d spent the entire afternoon slaving in the kitchen to make sure every detail of the meal would be to complete and utter perfection. “So tonight we’ll be dining on spinach and tofu cannelloni, apple coleslaw, and some tropical sweet potatoes. We’ll finish with vegan chocolate cake for dessert.” That one had really killed her.

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Vanessa said. “We’re not vegan anymore. It just got to be too hard, and the food never tasted good. But I’m sure your meal will be sublime. Won’t it, girls?”

  “Sure,” Chloe replied with zero enthusiasm.

  Calie shrugged. “Want to see our dance routine, Aunt Emory?”

  “Um, right now?” She glanced at the waiting meal in the kitchen. She didn’t want to hold off too long on serving the cannelloni, but then again, the night was not about the food, she reminded herself.

  “Come on, Emory, let the girls show you. They’ve been working very hard in class the past few weeks.”

  “All right.” Emory sat on the sectional next to Vanessa who pulled out an iPod and plugged it magically into a small set of speakers she apparently carried in her Prada bag for such an occasion. The girls assumed their opening position, which consisted of crisscrossed gangster arms. Interesting. The next three minutes flew by in a whirlwind of bumping, grinding, midriff flashing madness of the like Emory would never forget. The idea that this highly provocative routine came from two twelve-year-olds was enough to make her want to scrub the images from her head immediately and for always. She wondered what her mother would write in her journal about this one.

  Before she knew it, all eyes were on her and the now silent room waited eagerly for her response to the performance. Time to think quickly. She did the only thing she could think to do. She clapped. She clapped hard, if for no other reason than to buy herself a few extra seconds to think of which words should leave her mouth and which ones should not. “That was a…dance sensation,” she finally managed. “A real show of skill and…tenacity. Where did you learn this routine, may I ask?” Big gulp of wine.

  Vanessa beamed and answered for them. “The girls are enrolled in a hip-hop dance class at the country club
in Vale. It’s a great way for them to meet people.”

  Who work on the corner? Emory wanted to ask. “Well, it’s clear you girls are committed to your craft. Everyone ready for dinner?”

  Fifteen minutes into the meal and Emory couldn’t take the inane babbling of her nieces for another minute. They seemed obsessed with three things and three things only. Money, fashion, and how they could topple every kid in their path to social (and probably world) domination. Feeling the need to change the subject, she turned to Vanessa. “How’s your End Hunger campaign going this year? Just a few months from your big benefit, right? Christmastime?”

  “That’s right. I’ve been killing myself making the arrangements. We’ve secured Sting to play the event and we’re working on a big name to emcee. You’ll be there, of course, with a checkbook? It’s important that we represent the Owen name the way mother would have.”

  “Of course, I’ll be there. I’ve never missed it.”

  “How’s work?” Lawrence chimed in.

  “It’s been a busy quarter, but we’re continuing to make strides in the market.”

  Vanessa frowned. “Truly, Emory, do you really find it fulfilling, bombarding consumers with excessive amounts of corporate news?”

  Emory set her fork down. “I personally don’t think of it as bombarding anyone. I work in news. My company gets the information in the hands of the people who need it.”

  Vanessa took a delicate sip of wine. “Chloe, if you could spend your time healing sick people, like your father, or using satellites to transmit stock quotes to newspapers, which would you choose?”

  As if channeling Tiny Tim, Chloe regarded Vanessa with solemn eyes. “I would heal sick people, Mommy, because that would make a difference in the world.”

  Emory fought with everything she had not to roll her eyes and instead smiled at her niece. “I would hope you would do whatever profession made you happy, Chloe.”

  “What’s that?” Calie screamed, pulling her feet into her chair.

  Emory followed Calie’s gaze through the glass of the back window and couldn’t help but relax into a grin. “Don’t worry. That’s just Walter. He hangs out here sometimes. I think he’s just stopping in to say hi.”

  “A stray dog?” Calie practically shrieked. “He probably has rabies!”

  Emory mulled this over. “Highly doubtful, but maybe I should take him in to see a vet for his shots.”

  “So then he is your dog,” Vanessa said, her expression sour.

  “Well, not exactly. I feed him and sometimes he comes in and hangs out. He’s friendly though. Girls, maybe when we finish eating, I can introduce you. He loves to play.”

  Calie looked at her as if she’d just suggested they skydive off the second story. “Or not.”

  Emory looked outside at Walter who regarded her with uncharacteristically sad eyes. She wondered if he somehow understood that he was not welcome among these new guests. Emory offered him a wink in solidarity.

  “So how’s Lucy?” Vanessa segued.

  “She’s great.”

  “I don’t know how you work together after a breakup.”

  “Because we enjoy and respect each other. We just weren’t right in a relationship.”

  “Well, let that be a lesson to you.” Vanessa gestured with her fork. “Learn something from the experience.”

  “I’ll try.” Though Emory didn’t have a clue as to what that meant or what she should learn.

  “You should try dating,” Calie said. “That way you won’t be so alone.”

  Ouch. That stung.

  Vanessa picked at her food as if investigating a science project. “Not everyone is meant to settle down. I think what it comes down to, girls, is that your Aunt Emory prefers to be on her own, which is why it didn’t work out with her friend Lucy.”

  Feeling the need to defend herself, Emory spoke up. “Well, first of all, that’s not exactly true, and second, I have actually been seeing someone.” Damn it, the words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them.

  “Really? That’s new information. I had no idea.”

  Might as well, she thought to herself. She’d already come this far. “Her name is Sarah, and things seem to be going well. It’s early, but maybe you’ll meet her one day.”

  “We’d like that,” Lawrence offered. Emory smiled warmly at him and nodded, grateful for the rare show of support.

  “And she has a daughter, Grace. She’s eight.”

  Interestingly enough, the room went quiet. Vanessa frowned at her. “Are you sure that’s something you’re ready for? You’ve never wanted kids, Emory, and I always thought that was a very mature outlook given the way you live.”

  Emory stared at the table. “People change. Maybe my priorities are shifting.”

  Vanessa squinted in scrutiny. “Uh-huh. Where did you meet her? This woman.”

  “Well, coincidentally, she works for the company that cleaned and sorted Mother’s house.”

  “So when you went in for a consultation?”

  “No, she handled the job herself so we met at the house. She’s the daughter of the owner.”

  Vanessa smiled and stared at her for a beat. “How interesting.” And she was instantly very fascinated with her plate.

  Emory wanted to let the discussion end there, badly she did. It would have been the smart thing to do, but she couldn’t quite get around Vanessa’s tone of voice. “What does that mean, interesting?”

  “It’s just not like you, Emory. A cleaning woman?” She laughed then. “What’s next, the pool girl? The mail carrier? I mean, even you have to admit, it’s a tad cliché. But,” she said, regaining composure, “we all have our little dalliances. Heaven knows I did before I met Lawrence. It’s probably just something you need to get out of your system. But for the sake of that child, do it soon. It’s not fair to either of them to drag it out.”

  Emory was deeply offended. “I don’t think of it as a dalliance, and her job is not that important to me.”

  “I’m just saying I’m not surprised you didn’t bring her up sooner is all. I get it. I’m not judging you, darling.”

  Really? Because I was just wondering how judgmental one person could be. Realizing no good could possibly come of this conversation, she stood and cleared the dishes from the table, all the while groping for a more neutral subject matter. “So what time does your plane leave tomorrow?”

  “Early,” Lawrence answered. “Six a.m. I have a surgical consultation tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Oh no.” Emory did a happy dance inside her head, already planning her cartwheels. “So soon?”

  *

  “It was horrible. No, it was worse than horrible. It was like some kind of creepy albeit pretentious Candid Camera episode. I mean, the dance, Sarah. I wish you could understand what I’m talking about here.”

  Sarah applied the last bit of pink polish to her toes while she balanced the phone up against her ear and sympathized. “I think you’re doing a pretty good job of describing it.”

  “I’m sorry if it’s too late to call. As soon as they left, I had to find someone to talk to who would completely counterbalance the whole experience.”

  Sarah smiled at the phone. “I’m happy you called. I was wondering how things went.” At first, Sarah was a little hurt that Emory hadn’t invited her to meet Vanessa, but hearing how the evening played out, it seemed to make sense. “Has there ever been a time when the two of you were close?”

  “Um, let’s see, no. The answer is most definitely no. That has never happened. The earth has revolved around Vanessa since I was old enough to remember, and I was merely meant to live happily in her self-proclaimed greatness.”

  “Did you have the chance to talk at all about your mother or how you’re each coping with the loss? If nothing else, you have that in common.”

  “Other than to settle the remaining details of Mother’s estate, no, not a whole lot. I did tell her about the journals though and suggested she might
want to read them, but she brushed that idea off rather quickly. Like I said, we were never a warm, cuddly family, and that’s not likely to change.”

  Sarah struggled to identify in some way, but she simply couldn’t. Her family was everything to her, and she couldn’t imagine life any other way.

  “Enough about Vanessa and my horrible night. How was your day?”

  “Productive. I’ve hired a designer and booked my first two jobs just via word of mouth from our staff in the field.”

  “You’re kidding? That was fast.”

  “I’m ready to get this show on the road. Our official marketing materials should arrive from the printer next week. And I might be interested in taking you up on that press release sometime soon. If the offer is still on the table, that is.”

  “Oh, it’s most definitely still on the table, among other offers.”

  Sarah drew a breath, her mind drifting dreamily to said offers, wishing Emory were there in that very moment.

  “When can I see you again?” Emory asked.

  “Well, I have to stop off at my parents’ house tomorrow evening for a brief planning session for Robert’s birthday. We’ve all been given jobs, and mine is cake and ice cream. Usually, there’s some sort of theme we plan around, so we’ll be making those kinds of decisions. After that, my cousin is taking Grace and the rest of my little cousins, I have five by the way, home with her own daughters for a sleepover. I’ll have the rest of the night free just as soon as I can slip away.”

  “Oh, I have an idea!” Emory enthused. “You could spend that time with me.”

  “You think? I don’t know. I guess that might be fun.”

  “The funnest. I’m thinking you, me, and a picnic on the beach.”

  “I do love a good picnic, but you know, it’s supposed to rain.”

  “No way. Not on my picnic.”

  “You’re right, you’re right,” Sarah laughed. “I forgot who I was dealing with here, She-who-always-gets-her-way, my mistake.”