Maybe Later(67)

This is the first time in my life that I feel like I fit perfectly with someone. We work in harmony, and when we’re out on a date, we have so much fun.

“What’s going on, Em?”

She shrugs, stands up and looks around the room. “This room is the size of my entire apartment. Do you have a bathroom?”

I shake my head and laugh.

“Second door, right past the walk-in closet,” I say. “Once you’re done, the kitchen is downstairs. Follow the bacon scent.” I point her in the direction of the ensuite bathroom. “Follow the scent of bacon to the kitchen. I’ll be downstairs.”

I take my time preparing eggs, pancakes, and bacon. I should’ve asked her what she likes, but it didn’t occur to me. I was too busy thinking about her long legs and how fucking amazing she looks in my shirt.

“You own too many suits for a computer geek,” she says, walking toward me. “I was going to take a shower but remembered that I can’t get the cast wet. This is going to be a pain in the ass.”

“How’s your head?”

“I have a slight headache, but it’s manageable.” She rubs her face. “Thank you for everything. Seriously, I was just planning on going home.”

“Em, what’s happening?”

She looks around the house and gawks. “You do well for yourself, don’t you?”

“Does that change things?”

“I guess I never asked you much about your life,” she says absently. “You’re a great guy.”

“I just rescued you, took care of you, and I’m about to get the ‘you’re a great guy’ speech? No good deed goes unpunished, does it?” I ask bitterly.

She shakes her head.

“You’re like a mail-order boyfriend,” she says. “Too good to be true.”

She exhales harshly.

“The house I grew up in was pretty similar to yours,” she explains. “Marble floors, clean lines, leather furniture, and no color.”

“I paid someone to furnish it. I didn’t have time to make it a home,” I explain to her coldly.

“My parents were old when they had us. They own one of the most prestigious law firms in Boston,” she continues. “Mom tried to get pregnant for a long time. She was forty-two, and he was fifty when they finally did. Twins. That was their first disappointment. They only wanted one child. Mom didn’t have the patience for children. She wanted us to be perfect.”

“You hate perfect,” I conclude. “But you try to achieve it.”

“It was hard to keep up with their standards.” She looks around the house. “I couldn’t live in a place like this again. I love color and all the books and antiques I have around the house. I plan to travel someday and find new treasures.”

The passion in her voice is accelerating. I’m taken by her plans even though I know exactly where this is going.

“Mom liked to be the best, and so she wanted to have the best children. We had to excel at everything.”

She laughs. “Amy always thought I was my parent’s favorite.”

“What did you think?”

“Their love was conditional to how we behaved and performed. We were nothing but show dogs to them.”

I flinch at the comparison.

“For Amy, it was a competition for their love. It strained our relationship. We didn’t get to choose our own colleges. We had to go to their alma mater, where my dad taught a class each semester. I was going to be a lawyer and Amy wanted to become a teacher.”

I plate the eggs, set them on the kitchen island, and offer her more orange juice.

“Everything was cut and dry,” I offer, she nods. “What happened to your sister?”

“I interned for them from since high school. Twice a week I had to go and help at the law firm. During my sophomore year, they hired a third-year law school student. He was bright and old money. Mom wanted me to date him.”

She eats some of her egg, drinks orange juice and continues. “He was good looking but too perfect—one of those people who hide their flaws behind their perfectionism. My parents were obsessed with him. My sister and I had a big fight where she called me childish and immature. I had my future planned—with the career and the man she wanted. She was just going to be a teacher. I yelled at her because she should’ve chosen whatever she desired and stopped following what my parents wanted.”

She claps her hands hard. “Then it hit me, I was doing exactly the same. I began researching colleges, tuition, and eventually told Brian to go fuck my parents and forget about me.”

“And you began to create your own future.”

Her eyes find mine. “Because of my selfishness, my sister died.”

“My parents wanted to marry into his family. Who cared which daughter Brian took home?” she explains. “But that’s the thing about men like him. They’re dangerous.”

“Did you change schools before or after they got married?”

“They never got married. He had a pilot’s license, took her flying, which she hated, on a cold, windy morning, and he was drunk.”

I remember the first emails we exchanged. How she confessed her fear of flying.

“Do you still fly?

She nods a couple of times. “I do, and I think about her every time I’m up in the air and wave at her hoping she’s not mad at me. The craziest part is that I keep her alive as Amy Walker. That was her dream, to become Amelia Paige Walker—that was his last name.”