“It’s like no time has passed.” Emma laughed. “It’s been years, and I love how you’re just as straight as if we’d seen each other yesterday.”
“Friends tell you what you want to hear,” Dani said. “Real friends tell you what you need to hear.”
Chapter 6
Her finger hovered over Cole’s name on the screen of her phone, and Emma sighed deeply. She’d run through the conversation a dozen times in her mind, but she was still nervous. She steeled herself and made the call, secretly hoping he wouldn’t answer.
“Hey,” Cole said, his warm tone making Emma smile.
“Hi.”
“Can’t wait til tomorrow to see me?” he asked playfully.
“Actually, I’m calling about tomorrow.” She sat down in her favorite living room chair, pulling her legs up underneath her. “I think we should keep things between us to ourselves.”
The pause on the other end of the line made her squeeze the arm of the chair nervously.
“You mean … you don’t want anyone to know about us?” Cole asked, the warmth gone from his voice.
“It’s not that. It’s … Layla. She’s interested in you, and she’d be upset if she knew I’ve been seeing you. And my Mom would be put off, too.”
“Why? Doesn’t she like me?” Cole’s shocked tone made Emma cringe.
“She adores you, Cole. But she wants you and Layla to get together. My Mom thinks I’m a free spirit who only needs art to be happy, but Layla wants to get married.”
Emma couldn’t read Cole’s deep exhale.
“I don’t know what to say. You really caught me off guard here,” he said. “I was looking forward to seeing you at your parents’ house tomorrow.”
“You’ll still see me,” Emma said. “But what would we do? We can’t just grope each other randomly. My parents would be mortified.”
“I wasn’t planning to grope you.” Cole’s agitation was obvious. “But I thought it would be nice to tell them we’ve gone out.”
“We will. Just not yet,” Emma said. “I need to figure out how to tell Layla. It’s just for now, okay?”
“Yeah, if that’s what you want.”
His cross tone made Emma feel guilty, but she knew Layla would flip out if she knew about her and Cole. She stayed in the chair after ending the conversation with Cole, biting her lip as she wondered if her reservations had anything to do with her guilt over snagging Cole before Layla had a chance to.
*****
Eliza Carson wasn’t capable of doing anything small, Emma thought with a smile as she looked around her mother’s kitchen. Trays arranged with tiny designer pastries and perfectly shaped miniature sandwiches lined the counters. Glasses were organized in neat rows, and multicolored bowls awaiting fluffy fruit salads and marinated vegetables sparkled.
“Emma!” her mother called, rushing toward her with a large hug. “We haven’t seen you in a while. Where have you been?”
“Oh, you know me, Mom, I get carried away with my art sometimes.”
“You look great, honey.”
“Thanks. Can I help with something?”
“Can you make some watermelon coolers for me? You just pour the ingredients into these jars and shake. I pureed the watermelon already, so there’s not much work left.”
“How many people are coming to this cookout, Mom? You’ve made so much food!”
“Oh, you know I enjoy these things, Em. We invited quite a few of the neighbors.”
“How do I look?” Layla asked, making a grand entrance into the kitchen. In a short white skirt and form-fitted tank top with a colorful scarf, Emma couldn’t deny her sister looked beautiful. With freshly blown-out hair and the glow of a tan, she was a slight contrast from her pasty younger sister.
“You look gorgeous, honey,” their mother said, lining up lime juice and glass jars on the kitchen table.
“Em, you remember who’s coming, right?” Layla asked excitedly.
“The future Mr. Layla Carson?” Emma said sarcastically.
“And his mother tells me he’s still single,” their mother said in a low, conspiratorial tone. Emma looked down at the table, jealousy threatening to surface on her face. She was going for casual cute in her favorite old jeans, sandals and a form-fitted t-shirt. Of course Layla would outshine her.
“Finish these drinks up, girls. People will be here any minute,” their mother said, bustling to organize the food.
“We’ll need leaded and unleaded,” Layla said, reaching into a cabinet where their parents kept alcohol and grabbing a bottle of vodka. “So how’s it going with your work guy?”
“It’s good,” Emma said, unable to suppress a smile.
“You should have brought him with you, I’m dying to meet him! What’s his name?”
“It’s Brian,” Emma said, spitting out the first name that came to mind when she thought of work. “And we’re not serious or anything.”
The large deck behind the house was starting to fill with friends and neighbors when Emma wandered out. She tried to look casual as she scanned the faces for Cole.
“Dad!” she called, seeing the back of his tall, lanky frame as he cleaned the grill.
“Emmaline!” He hugged her tightly, pulling her feet off the ground. “How’s my baby girl?”
“Good. It’s good to see you.”
She glanced at her phone when it beeped with an incoming message, smiling when she saw it was from Cole.
You look really hot today...
Her cheeks warmed as she scanned the yard for him. She saw Mrs. Williams, the elderly neighbor who gave out giant caramel apples for Halloween, and the Dickinsons, the family that somehow managed to fit two parents and six children in one house.
“Emma, set these up for me, honey,” her mother said, gesturing to a group of lawn chairs leaning against the wall.
She unfolded the chairs, her ears perking up when she heard Jenny Marlowe, Cole’s mother, talking to someone.
“… at least we have Cole around all the time now!” she said brightly.
“Cole!” Layla’s overly warm tone made Emma tense immediately. She couldn’t help but look up as her sister crossed the deck, arms in the air for a hug ten feet before she reached him. She pressed her body against his, throwing her hair back and laughing.
Emma forced a lawn chair open more roughly than necessary, her mouth set in a thin line. Layla still had her arms around Cole’s neck, though he’d ended his half of the hug.
“Emma!” he called, making his way over. She returned his embrace, jumping a little when he nipped her earlobe, which was concealed by her long hair. “Good to see you.”
“You, too,” she said, trying to keep the familiarity she felt out of her tone. But it was hard. It wasn’t just his jeans and worn navy t-shirt, or the cologne she remembered from the night at the gallery, but his voice and even the feel of him that she recognized in a way that felt so good.
“No more braces and side ponytails, but she’s still our little misfit,” Layla quipped, approaching behind Cole. Emma gave her a dirty look.
“Emma, I could use your help in the kitchen,” their mother called from inside the sliding glass patio doors. She sighed to herself, wishing she had stayed home to paint. Being around Cole was nice, but she wouldn’t even see him if she was just the kitchen help all day.
“Let’s catch up later,” Cole said as she left. She smiled and turned, sensing that between Layla and her mother, it was unlikely.
*****
“Your mother tells me you’re an artist, Emma. What kind of paintings do you do?” Stella Goodin asked. She was a gray-haired neighbor Emma hadn’t spoken with much even when she lived at home.
“I like abstracts the most, but I’ve done landscapes, portraits … all kinds of things.”
“Abstract?” Stella wrinkled her face in distaste. “That’s just a scam. Just random paint thrown onto a canvas. Do you know I saw on a TV program that one of those sold for more than a hundred thousa
nd dollars? Can you believe that?”
“Um … I don’t know.”
“Emma, did you get the dessert trays out yet?” her mother asked impatiently. It was the first time all afternoon Emma had been glad to get orders from her.
“I’ll do it now,” she said. “Nice talking to you, Stella.”
Emma sighed deeply as she walked out to the patio with a large platter of chocolate covered strawberries and brownies. She wondered how much time her mother had spent swirling white chocolate in neat layers on top of the milk chocolate.
“Can I help with that?” a deep voice called from behind, and she felt a hint of goose bumps on her arms. His voice affected her every time she heard it.
“Sure, thanks.”
“Let’s go make out in your old bedroom,” Cole said in a low voice only she could hear as he took the tray from her hands.
“I’d love to, but my Mom would be looking for me within ten seconds. She’s had me on the run all day.”
“You’d love to, though?” His grin reminded Emma of the boy she’d been crazy about.
“Can we hang out when we’re done here?” she asked.
Her mother’s excited squeal made Emma tip her head to look past Cole.
“It looks even better now than it did ten years ago!” her mother said, pressing her hands to her cheeks with excitement.
When she saw Layla, Emma didn’t know whether to be jealous of her or embarrassed for her.
“Is that … ?” Cole asked, puzzled.
“Oh, yeah. That’s her prom dress,” Emma said.
Layla made a show of sashaying over to them.
“Remember this?” she asked Cole, grinning.
“Yeah, I do,” he said, reaching a hand behind his neck and looking uncomfortable.
“Put one of yours on, too, Emma!” one of the neighbors called.
“I never went to prom,” she said shortly.
“The one from my senior year is in my closet,” Layla said. “You might not be able to fill it out on top, though.”
“I think I left some stuff in the kitchen I need to take care of, actually,” Emma said, turning.
“Let’s dance!” Layla said to Cole. “For old time’s sake!”
Emma rolled her eyes and stepped into the house. It was quiet inside, and she enjoyed the solitude as she loaded dishes into the dishwasher. Neighbors called their goodbyes as they left, and her mother came in to help with the cleanup.
“I can always count on you, Emma,” her mom said with an affectionate look.
The remaining partygoers made their way into the kitchen, and Emma heard Cole talking to his father about work. Hiding that they’d been seeing each other was harder than she’d expected it to be. She wanted to be standing next to him, rather than scrubbing baked-on macaroni casserole out of a metal pan.
“I need a ride into the city,” Layla announced. “Is anyone going that way?”
“Why didn’t you drive?” Emma asked, her hands dripping as she turned around.
“I was out with Lane and she just dropped me off here,” Layla said. Emma looked at her skeptically. Layla never rode with anyone. She always had to be in control and insisted on driving herself everywhere.
“I’ll take you home,” their father offered.
“But I need your help cleaning up,” their mother said quickly. “Cole, are you going into the city?”
“Yeah, I am,” he said.
“Great! You’ll give Layla a lift, won’t you?”
“Sure. Emma, can I give you a ride, too?”
“She doesn’t live in the city,” Layla said.
“I don’t mind.” Cole glanced at Emma with a small smile.
“I’d like to spend some more time with Emma,” her mother said. “We haven’t seen much of her lately. Her Dad will take her home later.”
Emma turned back to the sink, not surprised that she would be scrubbing dishes while Layla left the party with Cole. She put the metal dish she’d rinsed into the drying rack with more force than necessary.
“Careful, Emma,” her mother admonished. “Some of those dishes are older than you are.”
“Bye, everyone!” Layla called. “Call me later, Em!”
Emma refused to turn around until they were gone, and she exhaled loudly when the kitchen had emptied. She put more energy into cleaning than she needed to, finding it was an outlet for her frustration.
Her phone beeped from inside her purse, and she pulled it out, her pulse racing as she read the message from her sister.
Cole’s taking me out for drinks! Then I’m taking him home. Call you in the morning. xoxo
Emma wished for the strength to crush the phone with her hand. She didn’t want to be a shallow, jealous person, but the envy seemed to be coursing through her veins. Nothing but several hours with paints and canvas would help.
“Why don’t you stay and play cards with us?” her mother asked when they finished cleaning.
“I need to get home, actually.”
“Cole Marlowe’s gotten even better looking with time, hasn’t he? I’d love it if he and Layla got together.”
“Dad, can you take me home?” Emma called loudly.
“Is everything okay?” her mother asked.
“It’s fine, Mom. I’m just tired.”
Emma glanced at the strapless bright purple dress Layla had left draped over the back of a kitchen chair. Her older sister had gone to prom three times, only missing it her freshman year. Emma had only been asked once, by a boy who said no one else would go with him, actually said it as he asked her, and she’d declined.
“Ready when you are,” her father said. His familiar pressed khaki shorts, golf-ball advertising hat and white tennis shoes were a comfort.
“Let’s go,” she said, her shoulders dropping.
Then -- 9 years earlier
Emma’s eyes lit up as she saw her sister descending the stairs in her bright purple dress. Though she’d already seen her in it upstairs, there was something special about her walking down the open staircase in it.
Her hair was curled and piled on her head, with some stray ringlets near her face. She seemed to glow, and though Layla was 17 and she was 15, Emma knew she wouldn’t have her sister’s aura of confidence and beauty when she reached her age.
Cole followed her down with his eyes, his hands folded neatly in front of him. Emma had actually broken out in a sweat when she’d seen him walk through the front door in his tuxedo. He looked smooth and dashing, the formalwear offsetting his long layers of blond hair.
“You look great, Layla,” he said as she walked toward him. Emma enjoyed his smile, pretending it was aimed at her. From her spot in the living room’s corner recliner, she might as well have been invisible.
“Let’s get pictures!” Emma’s mother said, and they all paraded outside. Emma leaned over to see out the front window, where Cole and Layla posed, his arm wrapped around her waist. She watched them wistfully until a long white limousine pulled up out front, filled with their friends.
As she made her way toward her bedroom to spend Saturday night with her sketchbook, Emma wondered how two sisters could be so different.
*****
The purple dress was in a heap on the floor when Emma entered her sister’s bedroom late the next morning, her dyed-to-match heels kicked off next to it.
“Hey. What do you want?” Layla asked in a sleepy tone.
“I wanted to ask how prom was. Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah. Close the door, and I’ll tell you about it.”
Emma warmed as she sat with Layla on her bed, eager to be her confidante.
“We went to dinner with four other couples, and the dance was nice, and … guess what?” Layla said, smiling widely
Emma looked on eagerly. “What?”
“I lost my virginity last night,” Layla whispered.
Emma’s breath caught in her throat as she took in her sister’s words. She burned with jealousy at the idea of Layla ev
en kissing Cole, but this … She swallowed her feelings, reminding herself Layla couldn’t find out about her crush on Cole. She would humiliate Emma if she did.
Emma couldn’t help being curious in spite of her bitter feelings.
“You did? What was it like?” she asked.
“It was … good. I’m so glad I’m not a virgin anymore.”
“Did Cole like it, too?”
“Of course. Guys always like it, Em,” Layla said, annoyed. Emma tried to think of something she could say that would please her sister.
“Well … lucky him,” she said. “You could have had any guy you wanted.”
“I know!” Layla smiled. “Okay, I’m going back to bed. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“I won’t. You looked so beautiful last night, Layla. I bet you were the prettiest girl there.”
“Thanks, Em. You’re pretty too, you know. Once you come out of your shell you’ll have tons of guys wanting you.”
Emma smiled appreciatively as she left. But there was only one guy she wished for, and she’d never be pretty enough, outgoing enough or Layla-enough for him.
Chapter 7
Now
Her phone beeped again with a text message, and Emma shook her head, reaching across her desk to turn it off. She glanced down to see if it was from Cole or Layla. Between the two of them, they were testing the limits of her data plan.
Where the hell are you??? Why aren’t you answering? My boss is a fucktard and I need to talk to you about it ASAP. Call me.
Layla. Emma had avoided her since the Saturday cookout, and it was Tuesday. They usually talked daily, but she was afraid of what her sister would say happened Saturday night. She didn’t want to know.
Her anger was primarily directed at Cole. He’d led her on and jumped on her sister at the first opportunity. She’d completed two paintings in his honor over the weekend in her tiny nook of an art studio: Asshole and Asshole Part 2. Rudimentary, but they’d helped her vent.
Now and Then Page 6
