Six, Maybe Seven

by Katie George

Chapter Twenty-Eight

  JAMIE WAS FURIOUS, that much I could tell. A magazine sat on the table, one of those ridiculous tabloids I used to spend so much time reading. I only knew where this was going; he knew. I picked it up, opening it to the ear-marked page, seeing the photo for myself. The image of my kissing Sam, on the beach where we’d sworn ourselves to secrecy, only to have that moment taken from us. The photo made me cringe; it made me cry. I hurt to know what I’d done to myself, for allowing this position to happen, because it was not me. I did not want this. It took that image to offer proof that Sam’s life would never satisfy me. I wanted to be known as a good girl, not this person on top of a man at a beach.

  “What are you up to, Em?” Jamie croaked, the brotherly timbre terrifying me. He was meatier now, buff like a self-sustainer, one of those guys living in a hut in Montana. He looked good, I admitted to myself. “I leave, and when I come back, you’re like this?”

  “So, it’s not okay for me to do things with a guy? But when you and Nina dated, it was perfectly…”

  “What Nina and I did was okay because we were not being photographed. Emma, this is trash.”

  “I didn’t know we were being photographed.”

  “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe Sam did? There’s a reason I cut it off with him, Emma, and that’s because he’s not what you’d think.”

  It was like a train had run into me at that moment, not really because of what Jamie had to reveal, but because he had not told me sooner. It was then that a tear streaked down my face, the first time Jamie had ever made me cry, and when I knew our relationship really had changed. It was entering new territory, something I was not sure was hostile or friendly. “What did you hear?”

  “Sam’s a bad influence, Emma. He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’s got this star mentality, okay, that he doesn’t necessarily exude when he’s around normal people. But I have seen it, when we’re alone, and he begins to admit things himself. He puts his faith in himself and dope, Em. A new girl all the time, even when he’s with you. This same rag has a photo of him and Melody Allsbrook. You’re playing yourself, Emma, and I can’t see you stabbed in the heart.”

  “Why wouldn’t you tell me sooner?” My voice was hard like stone. “I’m not that emotionally involved with him, anyway.” It was a lie, but there was some truth in it. Like anything, lies sometimes contain truth; some truth contains lies. There is yin and yang in both yang and yin.

  Jamie tensed and offered, “I don’t want to tell you how to live your life. But this,” he held up the magazine, “is just too much. What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking,” I said, my voice strained, cracking like ripped paper, “that I am twenty-two, and I wanted to do what other people do.” I fingered Jamie’s ring, feeling it twist against my flesh. My skin was red, irritated, just like my heart.

  Jamie sat down beside me, the traces of anger void from his face. He was now prepared with understanding. “Hey, I’m sorry, Em. You know I’m like a brother to you, and you’re going to hate me sometimes. And you know I’m the way I am because I love you.”

  “I know,” I nodded.

  “Listen to me,” he said, his eyes familiar, the lilt in his voice similar to when we first moved into our apartment. I was suddenly transported, back to a late May or early June day, this past summer, when we had first moved here. I’d just come home from a jog, and he had been lying on the couch, a cloth on his face. Now, I appreciated his chiseled features, the etching of his countenance signifying his growing age. “I love the fact that you are different than most people, Emma Richmond. You’re not a party girl; you don’t smoke, drink, any of that stuff. You listen to disco with me, and you’re my most trusted friend. I honestly think sometimes that you and I are soulmates—as friends of course.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. But then I know you, and I know there is something about you, something uncontrollable, like a hurricane on steroids. You were never meant to be in one place, that I can tell you.”

  “What are you saying, Jamie?”

  The playfulness had shrunk back, and the next thing I knew, he whispered, “I’m afraid that I’m too harsh on you. Emma, I’ve been needing to tell you something for a long time now.”

  “Yes?” I asked, careful to keep my feelings in check. Somewhere inside my gut, a hope furrowed, blossoming carefully, unwilling to unravel. “What is it, Jamie?”

  He blinked, and a gentle pause stroked my ego. “I’ve been thinking nonstop about Nina. Nina Huston. I saw the wedding announcement on the counter, and I…I’m still in love with her, Emma. I did not think it was possible to love someone after this long, but…”

  My mouth fell open, as this was not what I was expecting of him at all. His eyes were wide, honest, and raw, and so I quickly composed myself, stuffing the hope further down into the pit of my stomach. Why would he have suddenly admitted he not only loved me, but was in love with me? This was Jamie, and that thought was ridiculous. Of course he had been thinking of Nina, the woman he’d loved for years now, a woman whose absence had taught him he loved her more than he knew before.

  I realized how terrible I must have looked, staring at him, open-mouthed. Plus, I had forgotten to mention that Nina wanted desperately to see him, to check her own feelings before committing herself to another man for life. I sighed, sucking in air, and told him the truth.

  “Are you serious?” he asked, the words like tiny thumbtacks in my skin. But then that belief was covered by waves of my own reaction to my best friend still remaining in love to a woman who was also my friend, a trustworthy soul. If Jamie was in love with anyone, a woman like Nina was the girl to become enraptured by. She had a heart of acceptance and joy unlike my boiling-to-the-brim personality. Frustration was slowly compelled to be forgotten; reservation disappeared.

  As Jamie registered the predicament that Nina wanted to see him, my own feelings shifted because of his response. I wanted his happiness more than anything else, and not even the callback for the Mexican movie had produced this joy for him. So I knew this was something special, and I was blessed to have seen this vision of Nina and Jamie together again.

  Ten minutes later, after Jamie had flurried away to unpack his things from the long ride home, I dialed Nina’s number. The familiar sweet melody of her voice filled my ears, and she spoke honest pleasantries, asking me about myself before anything else.

  When I told her Jamie was finally home and willing to meet her, we arranged two days later as their time to reconnect, of course at the apartment. I would introduce them again, just to break the ice, before disappearing, per Nina’s request.

  Once I updated Jamie about the situation, he seemed nervous, his eyes wide as I delivered the news. Eventually, he stalked off to the kitchen to prepare a new vegan dish he’d mastered with some Hollywood hippie girl. Needing air and a change of scenery, I turned on the TV to a geological program where scouts explored a caldera in Hawaii, which of course brought my thoughts to Tyron McKenzie, which prodded my thoughts down the line to James Allen Stewart. As I heard him ambling about in the kitchen, I thought to myself, Soon, he’ll be cooking for another woman, another girl who’ll eat whatever sickness he is about to feed me.

  “You know what,” I suddenly burst, standing up. “Jamie, I’m heading out. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  “Where you going?” he called out.

  “I haven’t been running in nearly four months. It’s November, and I haven’t jogged since…since I met Sam. Oh my gosh, I’m a total idiot.” I ran to my room, strapped on my old tennis shoes, pulled my red hair into a messy up-do, and bolted outside, into the smoggy air, which seemed beautiful after departing the emotional sanctum of the apartment.

  I passed places I drove by every day, or more accurately, places that passed me by every day. I thought of work, of the indie flick I was casting now, which brought to me to Megg Holmwood, who was keeping me in the loop of her romantic relationship with John George. I’d never
seen a woman happier.

  After I had crunched four miles of earth, my legs gave out under an oak in a community park where the squeal of happy children on the cool Saturday afternoon sounded like popping bubbles. I opened my cell phone, dialed the number, and accepted that I had to accept certain things, because certain things were in my deck of playing cards.

  The grass tickled my ear, but then my mother’s voice chirped over the line, “Emma?”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “How are you doing?” She sounded normal, which surprised me.

  “I’m okay. Just wanted to check up on you.”

  “Has an alien replaced my daughter? You want to check up on me?”

  I sighed, breathing hard. This was my attempt at a first step, at patching up the holes we both created together. What my mom did to me was not my fault, but what was my fault was living in the sorrow she’d created. As I sat underneath that oak in Glendora, California, I took a step I had not taken in years: forgiveness.

  I did not have to love everything my mom did, because there were things I hated about her, but because I had received the ultimate forgiveness, I knew that to better my own life and to give her a piece of life back, I had to forgive her.

  She told me more about her life in San Diego, the business she’d set up for a good clientele base there, and how she was happy with Victor. She went to church, she promised, and kept in frequent contact with Eric, probably even more than I did. She expressed her political leanings, how she regretted missing out on my college experience; I told her about my new job and even living with Jamie. I even found myself telling her about a boy I was spending time with, but one I knew was a passing memory. She told me to let him go.

  At the conclusion of the conversation, which had taken over two hours, she mentioned, “Honey, thank you for calling me. You don’t know how much this has meant to me.”

  “Mom, I love you, and…” The words were sharp, but necessary. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk. For taking after my rebellious, strong mother.”

  The tears were obvious through the line, but she quickly stopped me. “Honey, don’t. Please, don’t. I’m sorry. You have to forgive me.”

  “I forgive you.”

  The sun was setting, another day closed, another one ready to open tomorrow. So, after I jogged/limped the four arduous miles back home, I slouched into the couch beside Jamie, who held a Kafka novel in one hand and a bowl of cheesy, buttery popcorn in the other. I laid my head on his shoulder, saying nothing, allowing the silence to remind us that we were—sadly and passionately—growing up.

  WORK THAT MONDAY was as long as Mississippi kudzu, dragging on with a batch of particularly difficult actors and agents. Megg, meanwhile, was bitter about her first scuffle with John, and Baylee was a crab because she was experiencing severe and obnoxious cravings. Richard was a doting and loving husband to her, meeting her every need, leaving his business to stand on its own feet as he trekked across town to find the precise brand of refrigerated sushi Baylee preferred.

  It was around two-thirty that I decided to cut out of the office, sneakily of course. I would work tremendous overtime the next few days, but I wanted to stop by the store to grab some fresh flowers and treats to liven up the apartment for Nina and Jamie’s reconnection. It was a romantic reconnection, of course, but one just the same—and I felt myself a little nervous for the response they would receive from each other.

  The traffic was—for once—easy, and I made it home to the apartment within the hour. By four o’clock, only an hour before Nina was set to come over, Jamie paraded in after a long day at the studio. Instead of the normal view of him in t-shirts depicting flying unicorns, he was in a turquoise polo shirt and dress pants, the embodiment of casually chic—at least for a guy. Careful not to look at him too closely, I fluffed the flowers I’d purchased and left them on the recently cleaned dining room table. I’d chosen purple and blue petals, although I wasn’t sure what the flower was exactly; all I knew was it was gorgeous, a mixture of beauty and class.

  Jamie fell onto the sofa, a large sigh erupting from his lips. “You know what I hate?’

  “What? Are you not even going to compliment what I’m doing for you?”

  He glanced over, nodding in appreciation. “Thanks, Tex. Anyway, I hate myself. What am I getting myself into? Talking to another man’s girl? That’s downright dirty, Em.”

  I shuffled over to him, knowing where was this headed. He was going to try to get out of this. I fell beside him, staring him dead in the eye. “Okay, you’re having a loss of faith, bud. What do we always say?”

  “In God we trust,” he whispered, though not very convincing as a result. He raised his eyebrows, the cocoa irises warm beneath. “Em, this is so wrong. She’s engaged to another man.”

  “Think of it as a loan. A tiny loan, which you’re going to see if you’ll take or not.”

  “Terrible, terrible analogy.”

  “You know, I don’t have to get you guys flowers and take care of your wants like a dutiful mother.”

  He rolled his eyes, playfully nudging my side. “You know, Emma Richmond, I’m thankful for you. More than you can ever know. How about we watch some relaxing Game Show Network?”

  “That is far from relaxing, especially when trivia’s on.”

  The minutes passed, ticking away quickly. By five o’clock, the shadows had combed us on all sides of the apartment, the California winter in full bloom. It was November, quickly blossoming into December, and after this soiree between Jamie and Nina, I had to plan for my family to arrive the following week for Thanksgiving. Not to mention how snappy-quick December would melt by, and with it, Nina’s wedding and Christmas.

  The doorbell rang, and Jamie awoke from a quick catnap. He stood up, the bounce back in his step. I pushed him away and hurried to the door, looking out to see the familiar caramel strands, the beautiful face, the posture of a woman in love.

  When she stood before us, I heard my own heart catapult, because I immediately knew that Nina and Jamie still loved each other. As soon as Nina reached out to shake his hand, albeit awkwardly, Jamie pulled her into a friendly hug that lasted a beat too long. Her brown hair on the turquoise of his back pushed me away from my duties as host, because I felt like I was trespassing against their private moment.

  Nina pulled away, heat evident by rosy cheeks. She side hugged me, kissing my forehead. “The trio’s back together,” she offered.

  “Come on, I bought some cookies from the store, and…”

  Nina pointed to the beautiful flowers. “They’re so gorgeous, a mix of my favorite colors. Jamie, you sure you didn’t buy them?” A hint of flirtatious jest beamed between them.

  “I do remember those colors,” he whispered, a memory tugging at him. He rested against the archway, leaning comfortably to reveal a chiseled physique, similarly to how Sam had met me on that first day in June. I noted Nina’s awareness of Jamie’s position, but she was also comfortable. She took a cookie and popped it into the redness of her mouth. “So, Nina, how’s the whole grad school thing?”

  “Busy, like I’m sure a Hollywood actor like yourself is.”

  “I’m sure that isn’t true.”

  “You were always terrible at lying—to me that is.”

  “Because you read me so well,” Jamie breathed.

  Taking this as my cue to leave, I grabbed my keys and a light jacket, heading outside into the fresh night air. Not sure what to do or where to go—and sure as heck not wasting any money on California gasoline—I used my own two feet to walk to a nearby smoothie shop. In between watching CNN, Fox News, and the questionable E! on the various screens, I finally felt the necessary courage to have an hour-long conversation with Baylee, who was known to drain my energy. Had I only known her for a few months? I felt like I’d known her my whole life.

  When I told her what I was doing for Jamie and Nina, she huffed over the phone. “You’re playing a freaking matchmaker? What are we—four-year-olds? But kudo
s to the woman for checking her heart before marrying another man. Let’s be real, she could take a few pieces of advice from my life story. Where are you, anyway? Want to come over? Rich is out, but I’m just sitting here watching that Waco show Fixer Upper. You’ve seen it?”

  “Did you forget that I am from Texas?”

  “Oh, that’s right. Come on, come snuggle with me.”

  “Not that I don’t love you, Bay, but I’m busy. And that’s a weird request anyway.”

  “Doing what, Emma? I know you, and I bet you’re hiding away at some little restaurant watching politics. How boring. How are we friends?”

  “Well, to your first comment, I’m an informed voter. I wish you were the same. And as for our friendship, I’m not sure how we’re friends, but we are, and that’s a good enough explanation for me.”

  After we hung up, I found myself bored and ready to leave the smoothie shop, so I walked outside, staring into the sky, hoping to see a star. In my hometown, the stars would have offered solace and even humility; now, with nothing to see but the black blanket of night, I found myself unsure what to do next.

  In perfect timing, my phone beeped in my hand, divine intervention. Sweetly, I realized it was Jamie who was ringing me up.

  “Hey, can you come home?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Well,” he huffed, “everything went pretty well, until we started discussing the future—and the past.”

  “Hey, I’ll come now.”

  As my car and I ambled down the road, I heard Jamie’s voice ringing in my head, the desperation in his voice. There was something there, something undetectable at the moment, but there just the same. I knew he was in love with Nina, but there was something else, something incomprehensible, a plea. I wondered if there was something more to their conversation, but I knew I would discover whatever it was as soon as I got home.

  He was lying on the couch when I opened the door, a blanket covering him, just allowing his face to remain visible. In this moment, he seemed like the kid I knew. When he saw me, he turned off the TV, his voice emotional. “She loves me, Emma, but she’s afraid to admit it.”

  Even the flowers seemed dead now, just from the depressing note their date had ended on. As I whipped my shoes off, rubbing my soles, I said, “She’s got a lot to think about.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “Can we not talk? Can we just sit here like normal?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “Okay.”

  A few minutes later, he was fast asleep. I stood up, deciding it was time for my falling asleep; only moments later, as I finally fell into bed, my phone buzzed with a text from Nina.

  At a loss, Emma. Meet me for coffee sometime soon?