by Katie George
Chapter Twenty
THERE WAS A soft rap on the door as my knuckle met wood. I’d finally gathered the gumption to visit Sam’s apartment. He had agreed to my coming over, finally, and a gaggle of nervous energy rushed through me. I’d been an emotional soul over the past few weeks—maybe even months—but nothing prepared me for when Sam opened his front door, his curls freely bouncing like waves on the sea, his eyes bright.
“Emma.” It was a simple beckoning.
“Hey,” I purred, holding up the bag of takeout burgers I’d brought as a housewarming gift.
“You brought manna.” He pulled me close to him, delivering a sweet kiss to my cheekbone, allowing his hand to drape over my hip.
“That I did. And I’m finally at your place instead of a shaggy apartment I share with a cat and a couch potato. I think he qualifies more as a couch potato chip, because he sneaks those things daily. ‘I’m a health nut,’ he says, and then I catch him with an entire bag under his bed. It’s the kind of things that…”
“Em, you’re nervous.”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Emma.”
I followed him inside, allowing the cool, modern ambiance to draw upon me with the force of a UFO whizzing through space. The place was ultra-sleek, with silver painted everywhere, not a speck of dust to be seen. It was like walking into an interior designer’s lair, where spick-and-span was the only Bible. An open concept space led to the kitchen where the granite was gray as mountaintops. In the living space a couch kneeled before the largest flat screen I’d ever seen in my life. Large open windows showcased the city, where the jagged rays of sunlight crept past the mountains. The glow cast a rainbow effect on the light hardwood floors, also highlighting the massive bookshelves lining the wall beside the TV.
“This is your apartment?”
“It is. Welcome. But I’m thinking about moving soon.”
“What? You want to move from this place?”
“It’s not really homey, Em. Can’t you tell?”
“Did you hide an OCD diagnosis from me?”
“My maid comes over a lot. She’s like a mom to me. I promise—it isn’t anything big. I can take of things by myself, but Mary needs a job, and she’s been a lifelong…”
“This is so beautiful.”
“I agree, but I don’t want the bachelor pad life for much longer. I’m not saying I want to settle, but I’m twenty-nine, about to turn thirty. A lot of my guy friends are starting to get married, the whole shebang.”
“I see. You’ll fit in more with the Beverly Hills crowd.”
“Em, please, don’t give me that look. It makes me feel like the devil.”
“Sir, don’t even try. You know that you’re a lucky little son-of-a-gun, but I’m okay with this. All right? No, I’ll never own anything like this apartment, but someone’s got to live in it, right?”
He shrugged, his brown hair tinging red in the sunset’s rays. “You’ll show me Texas, right?”
“You’ve showed me some of Los Angeles, I’ll give you that.”
“What’s it like?”
“What does that mean?”
“The farm experience.”
“The complete opposite of this. Imagine instead of people and skyscraper, land and cattle. That’s my upbringing in a statement. But I’m humbled that I came to this from where I was. I was meant to be here—in LA, I mean. Not your apartment.” A wave of embarrassment hit me. I didn’t want him to think I was just into his money.
He closed his eyes, taking my hands in his. “Emma Richmond, let me just tell you, I’m glad you came into my life. Silly, maybe? True, yes.” Suddenly, he pulled me close to him, letting our bodies touch, which suddenly electrified every facet of my skin. He smiled, obviously experienced; I tensed, obviously confused.
“Em, I won’t hurt you.”
“Everyone hurts everyone else.”
“Be positive, okay? I’m not the bogeyman.”
I pushed him away, though I wanted him to be with me desperately. I breathed quickly, feeling the sigh releasing tension, gulp by gulp. “I guess I just want to know what we are.”
“Typical girl,” he winked.
“Maybe—but I want the truth. If you want me, I want us.”
“I think we are two people whose lives are mingling in a fashion that can only be described as something meant to be.”
“Don’t speak poetry, Sam. I’m asking a hard truth. What are we?”
He turned away, a wave of frustration appearing on the curve of his lips. He stared out into the skyline, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I’m obligated to date Kira Kearney, that actress from the latest Galaxy Wars movie, okay? Our publicists are arranging it, Em.”
“I don’t know who that is, but what does that mean? You’ll be off pretending to be with another girl? I shouldn’t be surprised—it happens all the time, doesn’t it? Sam, let me just be very clear: I’m a traditionalist. I like you a lot, more than a friend, got it? You know, I think anyone else would just succumb to who you are and that junk, but this is Emma Richmond. I never cared about the Sam Woodshaw actor shell—I care about the man standing before me. See, I am twenty-two. I have options. But I want to know, right now, if we are something that has a chance, or something that is fleeting. Women my age get married, have kids by now. I know I’m young, but I’m not going to waste away the best time of my life.”
He stood, open-mouthed, shocked. He was still like a statue, but he blinked hard. There was a sudden murkiness between us, like a drape standing in our way. Finally, he breathed. “Emma, that’s a lot to ask.”
“You just said you’re buying a house to settle down.”
“You want to know the truth, Em? I just got a call from my agent. I landed a film in Iceland for a few months. It starts in a couple weeks.”
“What? What about Luke Cho’s film?”
“Well, some stuff has to be sorted out legally on that one, but we’ll start shooting in late spring. But, yeah. Honestly, I don’t want either of us to be tied down for that long. I like you, obviously. You catch my eye, and all that, but you’re right—you’re twenty-two, you should be having fun.”
“You’re saying we should have an open relationship?”
“Don’t bring out your pitchfork just yet. Let’s resume our relationship when I get back. Whatever we have.”
“So, when I reveal my heart to you, the least you can respond with is some cock-and-bull story about your leaving for Iceland? I hate this. I wish I were a nun.” The anger boiling in me really was a combination of period and frustration toward the situation—it wasn’t all about Sam. Partially, I just wanted to have a longtime relationship. Something to talk about with my friends (even the married ones). I’d never had the experience before, and, finally, the first guy I truly did want to be with wasn’t a commitment type.
I opened the door, poking my cheek out with my tongue, ready to cool down, but feeling the steam blow out of my mouth. “Sam, your apartment is nice, your friendship is nice, but I don’t want to see you anymore. You’re right, I’m not going to waste any more of our time. Bye.”
Then I was gone, not exactly sure how this conversation had turned from positive to downright negative, from zenith to nadir.
THE CHILL OF the night was refreshing, especially compared to the drought of the hazy, lazy summer. Lacey came over around nine o’clock with a basket of food items, including (shockingly) more popcorn, some fruits, chips, blueberry breakfast bars, and water bottles. She placed the basket of love on the counter before a slew of words came rushing from her mouth: “WhathaveIgottenmyselfinto, hmm?” The last syllable was drawn out like a chant.
Jamie sat on the stool, as it was his last night home. He’d be jetting off to Mexico City in the morning before taking a commuter plane to a remote village in the middle of the jungle. He began to suck on little balls of pomegranates, spitting out the seeds into a napkin at his side. He had broken down on the health nut issue yesterday by
gobbling down a whole box of pizza, so today was a new breath of fresh air to invigorate the physique he wished to present. The stitches had finally dissolved, and he’d pulled out the ties, but his eye still looked a little scary, as the popped blood vessel remained a presence. However, it looked ninety percent healed.
“You know,” he said genuinely, his voice drawn out too, which made me think nostalgia was lengthening time, “Lacey, you’ve gotten yourself into one of the best times of your life.”
“Are you trying to be romantic, James?” I asked, nudging him as I bit into an apple. “You see, Lace, you have this short period of stress, but then the wedding day will come—a giant wave of emotions. It will be, as Jamie did say, one of the best days of your life.”
“But… What if Carson and I don’t make it? What if it’s not my calling to be a pastor’s wife?”
“Lacey, this is the nerves speaking,” Jamie said in a soothing, therapist-styled voice. It sounded ridiculous, but it made Lacey’s eyes cease watering. “You’re in love with Carson. Did you forget the time he came to school, dressed up in an expensive suit, and how he got all of our senior class to hold up signs pointing to, ‘Yes!’ And then he asked you to spend the rest of your lives together! You did not seem one bit nervous then.”
“I guess it is the whole being in front of public thing. I’m just a shy bird.” Jamie and I both cocked our heads, to which she shrugged it off. “Am I really not shy?”
“No,” we both said quickly.
“Okay, well, sure, I’m anxious. What bride isn’t? I’m just at a complete loss. Is twenty-two too young? I mean, I don’t know…”
“Lacey,” I said, my voice rising in temperature, from chilly to burning, “I would be extremely appreciative if a guy loved me as much as Carson loves you. Stemming from that love, I would find marrying him to be one of the most important signs of commitment, especially since people don’t get married a whole lot anymore. Plus, if to be with him meant I’d be a pastor’s wife, I’d live. It’s not the worst position in the world.”
Lacey looked at the floor, her eyes big and cornflower blue, and she finally breathed, “I guess I’m just hyperventilating on this one. Em, I never want you to feel like you’re not going to find that special someone. You will.”
Jamie bit his lip then, and I saw a drop of blood appear. “What happened to Sam?” The tone was slightly laced with bitterness, as if he did not approve of my dating his friend.
“We’re not together. He’s not what I need, Jamie. You should know that, Jamie.”
“You weren’t going to tell me?”
“This happened yesterday, okay? You weren’t home, I was all alone, and then today, you were all busy preparing for Mexico. I didn’t want to burden you with the news.”
“Emma, as your best friend, I have to say you always tell me everything. But not telling me that?”
“Okay, cut it out, you guys,” Lacey said, her position suddenly the therapist one now. “You sound like an old, bickering married couple. The truth is, you guys are about to be separated for a few months. Like normal people, you guys should be spending that time together happy and blithe, not bickering. I will leave now.”
“You just got here!” I shouted.
She nodded, a piece of her hair shining in the glow. “I know, but I think you guys need this time more than I. You just gave me some good, old-fashioned advice. Now I think you guys need to prepare for what’s about to happen. I’ll see y’all soon, bye.”
We were silent, unprepared for this change in events. After I shut the bolt lock, I returned to Jamie, who was still munching on the pomegranate. Eventually, he spoke, “Emma, this will be hard for us.”
“We’ll be okay. We used to spend years apart, since we didn’t know each other.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
He blinked a few times, and then said, “You are the closest person in my life. If anything happens to you, I want to know. You may not get a response right away, but call me. We’re not going to lose what we have.”
“Eventually, we will.”
He gripped my hands in his, the juice from the pomegranate quite sticky. “Stop being pessimistic. Emma, I love you, and if you love me, we will communicate. We won’t let a few thousand miles separate us. I’m talking as if I’m going to war, but I just really worry about how the lonely atmosphere will harm you. You won’t have sturdy Jamie to protect you.”
“I think the cat offers more protection than you do, James.”
“Low blow.”
We knuckle-fisted our hands and then I began to clean his mess. “Why don’t I drop you off at the airport tomorrow? It’ll give us a little time before you leave.”
“No worries, Em. I’d rather have my car down there than have you risk it all driving. Let’s be honest: Your driving skills aren’t the best, sweetie.”
“Okay, well, I just wanted to play mom.”
“Some of the other actors have their personal chauffeurs drive them, but not me. I’m representing agricultural, blue-collar America.”
“I’ll miss you, you know that, right?”
“But the Earth’ll keep turning. We’ll make it, Em. It’s not like I’m going to die. I’m just going on a little quest. It’s late, and you’ve got work tomorrow. Let’s get to bed.”
I nodded, but the blessing of his friendship seemed greater at this moment than ever before.
