Everything After(73)

“Will you stop talking to Rob?”

Emily squeezed his hand. She thought of the confidence that Rob gave her, the unconditional support, the ability to see herself differently. She needed that. Now more than ever. And she’d promised him that they’d be friends. That she wouldn’t disappear. “Please don’t ask me to do that,” she said. She looked into his eyes, willing him to see her, to see her sincerity. “You don’t have to be jealous. He’s just a good friend now.”

That was what she and Rob had agreed when they said good-bye. That they would be friends, they’d talk, they’d exchange music, but that was where things would end.

Ezra looked out of the porthole window. “I guess I can live with that,” he said.



* * *



—

    When they got home, they started therapy—together and on their own. They shared secrets, they told the truth, and they found news ways to compromise, a deeper understanding of what their relationship needed. All while Emily made music, wrote music, a whole album’s worth that she sent to Rob. The ease with which the music and lyrics flowed was both a surprise and a salve. Some songs were about Ezra, some were about her mom, and some were about Rob. What she’d said in Mexico had been true.



* * *



—

Emily and Ezra didn’t have sex for more than a month after the miscarriage; they just used their lips and tongues and fingers. And when they did make love again, they used protection. The idea of getting pregnant scared Emily, because it could be paired with another loss. And Ezra admitted how worried he was that he wouldn’t be able to handle the heartbreak if something went wrong again, either. But two months in, something started changing for Ezra.

“I think we’re strong enough,” he said one night at dinner. “I think we should try again.”

“I don’t know,” Emily answered. It wasn’t only her fear of loss that was stopping her now. She had just rediscovered her passion, was changing her life, and she was worried about what a baby would mean.

Later that night, Emily played her new songs for Ezra for the first time.

“They’re beautiful,” Ezra told her. “Like you. Like our baby will be.”

It was ironic, she thought, all that time that she was ready when Ezra wasn’t, and now that he was ready, she needed more time.



* * *



—

A few days later, just as she was putting on her jacket, heading out of the counseling center at the end of the day, Emily got a call from Rob.

“I have an idea,” he said when she picked up. “Can you be ready to perform—a full set—in six weeks? I’ll be doing a show in New York again, once we get this whole radius clause worked out, and this time I need an opening act.”

“You mean it?” Emily asked, waving good-bye to Priya as she headed out the door. “You’d really want me to open your show?”

“Of course I mean it,” Rob answered. “I sent your songs to my manager to convince him I wasn’t crazy. And Diana put in a good word for you.”

Emily walked down the steps of the building. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just say yes,” Rob said.

If this had been two months ago, her saying yes would have meant the end of her marriage, she was pretty sure, but now, after all the talking they’d done, the secret-sharing, the work, she hoped Ezra would support her, even if it made him nervous. She hoped he would want her dream to come true.



* * *



—

    The next day Emily officially went on leave at NYU. Ezra had said that even though he still didn’t trust Rob, he didn’t want to hold her back.

“You trust me, though,” Emily said. “Right?”

“Right,” Ezra said, a smile blooming on his face, as if he’d just then realized it. “I do trust you.”

That night he took her out to dinner at the Clocktower, a restaurant they’d been saving for a special occasion. He ordered a bottle of champagne and toasted Emily. “To my wife,” he said. After they sipped their champagne, he looked at her and said, “Em, I’m really proud of you.”

It felt to Emily like the sweetest thing he’d ever told her.





62



“I brought you something,” Priya told Emily a couple of weeks later, when she stopped by Emily’s apartment to say hi. The show was a done deal now, and Emily spent most of her time rehearsing.

“Oh yeah?” Emily asked.

Priya produced a pair of green socks. “I know this may sound silly, but a friend of mine told me that green is the color of fertility, so when you wear green socks, it increases your chances of getting pregnant. And I wore green socks the day I got pregnant with Anika, so . . . maybe?”

Emily laughed and took the socks. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it.” She put them down on the table in front of her, next to the two mugs and the teapot she’d set out there. “Though we still haven’t been trying.”

“No?” Priya said.

Emily shook her head. “I thought a baby was what I wanted more than anything, but now that I have a chance to perform again, I worry that . . . what if it derails everything before it’s even begun?”