Everything After(53)

A taxi stopped next to them, the driver asking if they needed a ride. Emily shook her head, and the driver sped off.

“I’m sorry, too,” Emily said. “For not giving it more time, for breaking up everything, for taking my grief out on you. I was such a mess. I made everything a mess.”

Rob reached for her hand and squeezed it.

“I was angry with you for a while,” he said. He didn’t let go of her hand.

“I was angry with myself,” Emily said. “All I kept thinking about was what I lost and how it was all my fault—you, music, the . . . the baby we made together.”

Rob stopped walking and looked at her. He grabbed her other hand, so their bodies were connected in a circle, nothing beginning, nothing ending. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole about that. I’m sorry I said it wasn’t real. I thought about it when Corinne was pregnant with the girls. I thought about what a jerky thing it was for me to say. To believe. It was easier, I guess. But it made everything worse. I should’ve been better. I should’ve been there with you, you know? We could’ve felt it together.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “That would’ve been one awesome kid.”

Emily couldn’t speak, because she knew if she tried, no words would come out. Just sobs.

Rob could tell and let go of her hands so he could wrap his arms around her. She laid her head against his chest. “It’s okay,” he said, like he used to, when she would tumble into grief about her mom. “I got you.”

His touch was so calming, so soothing. She took a deep breath. Tears had made it to her eyelashes but didn’t travel any farther. “I’m okay,” she said softly. “I’m okay now.”

He pulled back to look her in the eye. “Yeah?” he said, his breath soft.

“Yeah,” she answered, looking back at him, seeing the depth of his concern in his eyes. “I really am.”

“Emily,” he whispered.

She felt it. The smoldering ember had become a flame. Heat crackled and popped. It danced inside them, between them, around them.

They were close enough that their breath mingled. In that moment, kissing him seemed inevitable. He leaned forward just a fraction and she met his lips. His passion filled her with warmth, with hope, with desire. She felt loved.

Their lips broke apart. “My Queenie,” Rob whispered, as if in awe of what had just happened.

“My R—” was on the tip of her tongue, but then Ezra’s words came to her. The ones he said at their wedding. I will do all I can to give you my best self until the end of my days. And she’d said them back. They were vows they both took, that they both wrote together. This was not her best self.

She stepped away, her lips no longer a whisper from his. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

And that was when she started to cry.

“Queenie,” Rob said. “Emily.” He looked like he wanted to hold her again, comfort her, find whatever had just been lost, but he knew he shouldn’t. His arms hung, useless, at his sides.

Emily felt panicked, her heart a hummingbird against her rib cage, her stomach twisting with guilt. “I’ve got to go home,” Emily said, mascara running down her cheeks. “This was all a huge mistake.”

There were so many things Rob wanted to say, but he chose the simplest. “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry if I pushed too far. If I read into something that wasn’t there.”

He hadn’t. That was the problem. He hadn’t.

But she wouldn’t tell him that.

Instead she said, “Thank you for showing me another way to see myself. But this is the life I chose.” It was all she could do to keep her voice from shaking, to keep from falling apart completely.

He nodded, not taking a step closer, staying where he was, hands still at his sides, as if it took every ounce of his concentration to keep them there. “If you ever . . .”

She took a deep breath. “You know how to get back to your hotel?” she answered.

He nodded. She wiped her eyes, smearing makeup across her cheek. His hand rose, just a hair, as if he wanted to fix it for her, but then it rested back at his side.

“Sleep well,” she said, biting her lip to keep her composure.

“You too,” he answered. He watched her walk away. And just like last time, she took a small piece of him with her.





43



Emily hailed a cab and got inside. She felt shocked by what she’d done, and guilty. Even though it was two o’clock in the morning, she called Ezra. She couldn’t wait for him anymore. She needed him. She needed to talk to him. She needed not to go looking for love somewhere else. She was still hurting from the miscarriage—mentally and physically—and she needed him. She needed him to care for her like he used to. He didn’t pick up, but she wasn’t surprised. He was probably sleeping after his double call. He often turned his phone off when he could, when he knew the hospital wouldn’t be calling him. She left a message. “Can you please come home?” she said, her voice thick with tears. “I miss you. I love you. I choose you. I want you to choose me.”

Then she got out at their building and walked inside alone, her phone in her hand, waiting for him to wake up, hoping it would be soon.