Maybe Later(70)

My injured hand and droopy attitude haven’t helped them much, but I feel less lonely because I’m with them. Somehow, Simone has cheered me up from my foul mood. She smiles when I talk to her and loves that I sing to her. I promised to teach her how to play the piano once she’s settled in Denver. Or at least we can learn how to play the xylophone I gifted her together.

“Hand over the infant,” I demand. “I need cuddles.”

“Have we discussed her name?” Laura cocks her perfect auburn eyebrow and gives me one of those mean green glares that remind me of Ramen.

“We might have said a few words about Simone, blah, blah, Joy,” I stop and glare back at her. “I’m still not sure how to feel about her stealing my middle name.”

I pretend to be hurt, but actually, it’s an honor that they named her after me. But I have to give her a hard time. That’s the only way I can handle all the hurt my weak heart is trying to work through.

Laura huffs and yells, “Al, she’s getting weird again.”

Alistair comes out of the kitchen giving her an apologetic smile. “You have to understand, love, Emmeline has never dealt with heartbreak.”

Then, like a grown-up trying to mediate between children he turns his attention to me.

“Em, sweetheart, I love you, but stop trying to annoy Laura. She’s too stressed out.”

He runs both hands through his blonde hair.

“This is worse than college,” he declares. “I forgot that you two can’t be in the same room when you’re anxious, stressed, or on a deadline. I don’t know how you survived living together for six years.”

We had ice cream, music, and wine to get us through the stressful moments. But now, their fridge is empty, we have to be quiet, and Laura can’t drink. Everything is peachy.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never been through a break-up,” Laura argues. “I was seven the first time I had one.”

“Never. Ever,” I repeat. “I was a heartbreak-virgin.”

“That’s not a real term,” she complains. “You had sex before, didn’t you?”

I nod. “At sixteen with Paul Matthews. Hottest guy in music camp.”

“He was a counselor,” Alistair protests.

“Did he break your heart?” Laura asks.

“He was only seventeen,” I add to Al’s version. “And no, he didn’t break my heart because I knew it was just a fling and would be over by the end of the week.”

“How is that possible?” She gives Simone to me carefully, so I don’t hurt my arm, or hurt her with the cast. “You’ve gone out with guys before, right?”

I look at Alistair who has known me since elementary school.

“Amy would call dibs on every guy Emmeline ever liked. Em would just move on with her life. Remember what happened with Brian Walker?” he asks Laura. “It had been happening ever since we were in elementary school. The same scenario repeated until college when they went their separate ways,” he says as he tapes another box.

“You witnessed my non-existent love life during college. I had a few hookups because I’m human, but that was it. Now, you’re up to date,” I conclude the story.

“It was bound to happen,” Al adds. “Em never learned how to have a relationship.”

He pulls my cap and asks, “What happened? I thought you were doing better?”

“Jackson said relationships aren’t worth it,” I pull Simone closer to me. “Which is fine, but that fantasy of trying to get the two of them together and have a threesome is gone.”

“That’s it, I’m shutting down Amy’s account. If you want to talk to him, introduce yourself as…yourself,” he says exasperatedly. “Are you visiting your parents?”

“Call your therapist,” Laura says from the kitchen.

“I’ll think about it. There’s still a lot to do. You should let me pay for the plane tickets. This little one would be more comfortable in first class than a cross country road trip.”

“And how will our cars get to Colorado?” Alistair frowns.

“Leave everything to me,” I say.

I grin. I’ve finally worn him down.

Thank you, Laura mouths.

“Bring me my laptop, big guy,” I request. “We can make things happen. You just man the keyboard and do as I say.”





*



Sunday, June 12th, 1:03 p.m.



My parents sold the penthouse and moved to a brownstone in Beacon Hill. According to the real state website, their new place is valued at two million dollars and has three bedrooms. Instead of dropping by their house, I called, but I only got their voice mail.

“Mom, Dad, it’s Emmeline. I’m in town and would like to see you if that’s possible,” I say after the message and leave my phone number.

“What happened?” Laura asks.

I shrug. “They’re not there or they’re screening their calls. Either way, I’m sure they’re going to ignore me.”

This week I’ve told Laura all the secrets I’ve kept since I met her. How demanding it became being Emmeline Lancaster and how detached I grew from people—afraid of rejection. If I didn’t let people in, they would leave me. The only reason why Alistair and I remained friends is because we met when I was almost six. Laura and I just clicked. We had that magical connection that you don’t let escape because it is unique.