Something to Talk About(38)

“You know, I’m really tired.” She ignored the way Avery’s face fell. “I think I’m just going to eat and shower and hop in bed. I don’t think I’ll be very good company.”

“Emma,” Avery said quietly. When Emma didn’t reply, Avery nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I’m gonna leave you everything, okay? I can eat with Dylan and the twins. Don’t forget to put leftovers in the fridge before you go to sleep. Then you can feed yourself for a couple days.”

“Great,” Emma said. “Thanks.”

Avery didn’t push her. She hugged her one more time instead, then came up on her tiptoes to press a kiss against Emma’s forehead.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Emma said.

She collapsed onto her couch as soon as the door closed behind Avery. Stared blankly at the ceiling.

It didn’t seem fair.

Emma was happy that her sister’s bakery was doing well. Of course she was. She loved Avery, wanted her to be successful in everything she did. And Avery was successful in everything she did. Since high school, or really their whole lives, Avery had always been successful. Not that Emma wasn’t—she got an all-state honorable mention in cross-country and stage-managed the school play every year. She did well. But Avery was always the best.

Emma had adored her back then. Still did. Rationally, she knew it was a little bit of a case of sibling worship, but it never stopped her. Avery had always been great, and Emma had always wanted to be like her. When they were younger, Avery had known what she wanted to do and so had Emma. But Avery flew through training as a pastry chef, while Emma dropped out of film school. Their paths diverged.

Emma was back on track, though. She was finally figuring out who she wanted to be, was taking steps toward a career she yearned for. Jo was a part of that. Jo was helping her.

It wasn’t that Emma didn’t want Jo to help Avery. But it didn’t seem fair. Emma had finally found something for herself—not that Jo was a something, but—

Emma didn’t want to share her.

She didn’t think Avery should get her. Avery didn’t really need help with accomplishing her dreams, did she? She already had the bakery. She was already living her dream. Emma was just figuring hers out. She wanted to carve out her own space for once, not to follow in Avery’s footsteps or her shadow.

Jo wasn’t Emma’s to share, though. Clearly. She’d lied to her. Emma wasn’t important enough for Jo to tell her anything. Jo breezed out of work early so many afternoons, came in the next morning and never mentioned anything. Emma thought—she thought they were closer than that by this point. Thought she would have warranted some kind of acknowledgment.

But Jo was her boss, not her friend. She was Avery’s friend, apparently, but not Emma’s. Emma liked being Jo’s assistant, but—it had felt like a job that mattered, and if she could’ve been rational about it, maybe it would still feel like that. She used to love how she knew every part of the show, like it was a machine she could tinker with. Now she felt like a cog in that machine. Necessary but replaceable. Jo had said she was hiring a new assistant, not a new Emma, but clearly Emma was just a slightly more complex cog.

It didn’t matter. Six months from now Jo would move to Agent Silver, and Emma would be an associate producer. It didn’t matter if they weren’t friends.

When the lasagna was ready, Emma took it from the oven and left it on the counter. She showered, the water cold enough to leave goose bumps in its wake. Then she put the entire dish of lasagna into the refrigerator and went to bed at eight p.m.



* * *



—

Emma didn’t go to temple on a regular basis. She went—when she had time, when she was thinking about it, when she needed to surround herself with community. She went Saturday morning.

Emma liked the routine of services, liked the tradition. She liked losing herself in recitation and song. She liked sitting next to Ruth, whom she sat by at every service she attended. Ruth was fiftysomething with wild brown curls and a vibe of someone who took no shit. She grinned wide when she saw Emma that morning.

Everyone at temple was so nice, and it was wonderful, really, but it made Emma sadder. These people weren’t strangers, but she saw them once a month at most. The fact that they could seem to care so much for her highlighted how little Jo cared.

It shouldn’t matter. Jo had always just been her boss. This was no different, really. Except this was the first time Jo made Emma feel unimportant. That part was new. Emma hated it.

Ruth gave Emma a look when she skipped kiddush, the meal after service, and left right away. Emma waved her off. She wanted to be alone, maybe wanted to wallow a little.



* * *



—

Emma talked to her mom every Saturday. Sometimes they talked during the week, too, but her mom got mad if she didn’t call on Saturdays, even if they talked on Friday.

She didn’t want to talk to her today, would rather get a lecture on not calling than a discussion of her week. But her mom called her, and she couldn’t not pick up.

There were the standard pleasantries, and then:

“Honey,” her mom said, and Emma already sighed, knowing what was coming. “I talked to your sister. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Emma said. “I told Avery I’m fine. I’m not mad at her.”