Something to Talk About(56)

Emma knew she wanted more information, wanted to talk it out. But Emma didn’t. She didn’t want to talk about it or think about it or do anything about it. She was focusing on good things.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I got to yell at him, and Jo was really supportive when I told her. He’s not going to direct. I’m never going to have to see him again.”

Avery set aside her plate. “Emma, are you okay?”

Emma sighed. She gave her sister a smile. “I’m fine,” she said. It got truer every time she said it. “I’m going to talk to Rabbi Blumofe about it over the weekend. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m your older sister, of course I need to worry about you.”

Avery climbed right into her space on the couch, wrapped both arms around her. Emma held her sandwich as far away as she could so it didn’t make a mess, but she didn’t pull back.

After they’d finished dinner and were flipping through streaming shows to find something to watch, Emma’s phone buzzed, Mom flashing across the screen when she grabbed it off the table.

“Hello, it’s your favorite daughter,” Emma said as she picked up the phone, grinning at Avery, who rolled her eyes.

“Hi, honey,” her mom said. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Emma said. “Avery’s over. She made me dinner.”

“Oh good,” her mom said. “She’s taking good care of you?”

Avery was currently tearing up her napkin, rolling the pieces into balls, and flicking them at Emma, so she wasn’t sure it counted as taking good care of her.

“Why would she need to be taking care of me, Mother?” Emma was fairly certain she knew the answer.

“Well . . . you know . . . I heard that you might need it.”

Emma laughed. “You’ve been reading the tabloids and now you need to call to check in on me?”

“Sometimes it seems like the tabloids are the only way I can find out what’s happening in your life,” her mom huffed. “You don’t call enough.”

It was her standard line, even though Emma called every Saturday, and usually at least once more during the week.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Emma said. “Jo and I actually are on better terms, regardless of what the tabloids say.”

“Right.”

Avery sent a napkin ball directly into Emma’s eye. Emma cursed under her breath.

“I have to go beat up your useless eldest,” she said. “I promise I’m fine. I’ll call this weekend, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” her mom said. “I love you.”

“Love you, Mom.”

Emma hung up the phone and launched herself at her sister.

Emma had three inches on Avery, long legs and a runner’s body, but Avery was built like a weight lifter. She wrestled Emma from the couch to the ground and almost had her pinned—much to Cassius’s distress—when Emma resorted to tickling. She didn’t relent until Avery called uncle.

“I hate you,” Avery said afterward, still clutching her side.

“Sure you do,” Emma said. “That’s why you came over with comfort food and that superworried look on your face? Super hateful.”

Avery shoved Emma’s shoulder but then held up her hands in defeat when Emma made to start up their battle again.

“Fine,” Avery said as she got resituated on the couch. “I, like, love you and stuff.”

“I, like, love you and stuff, too.” Emma plopped on the cushion next to her. “And don’t tell Mom about anything, okay? I don’t want her worrying about me, too. I’m fine, I swear.”

“Okay,” Avery said quietly. “But you know you don’t have to feel ashamed or anything. You can tell her, if you want.”

“I know, Ave,” Emma said.

She wasn’t ashamed, but she didn’t want to deal with it.

“So I’m not going to tell Mom or tell you how to react to this whole situation or anything,” Avery said, “but if I ever meet Barry Davis, I’m gonna kick him in the nuts.”

Emma giggled.

“Also,” Avery said, scooching farther away on the couch. She patted the cushion between them. “Cash, want up?”

Cassius hesitated for only a second before joining them on the couch. Emma stared at her sister, mouth agape.

“You really do love me!” she said, snuggling into the dog.

“I do, but I’m picking what we watch,” Avery said.

“Deal.”





13


    JO


Jo didn’t know what she was going to say to Emma when she handed over her coffee Thursday morning. She stopped beside her desk. Opened her mouth and—

“You’re coming to the game tonight, right?” It came tumbling out. She didn’t let Emma answer. “It’s the last game and the team is going for ice cream after. I can drive you, if you’d like. You can’t miss the last game.”

Emma blinked. “I was going to go home first,” she said. “I didn’t bring clothes for the game. I only have this.”

“This” being the navy-blue dress with white piping that she had on, that was altogether too fancy for a baseball game. Emma looked good in it. Jo noticed and then set the thought aside.