Not Today, But Someday(21)

“I’ll take her first thing.”

“We’ll get the service, Nathan. I don’t want you out there until it’s all dry. I worry about you.”

I decide not to argue with her.

“Your towels are so soft,” Emi says, addressing my mother. Once again, her eyes are the first thing I notice about her, and she seems more familiar to me again. “And your house is... overwhelming. Thanks for letting me freshen up.”

“You’re welcome, dear. And thank you. I spoke with your mother. You’ve really worried her,” Mom says.

My new friend comes and sits next to me at the kitchen island. I offer her the apple I’d cleaned up for myself, and to my surprise, she accepts it. Mom notices and gets me another one from the fridge. “She’s leaving my dad,” Emi says. “I honestly don’t know how to deal with this.” She takes a bite of the apple and chews it slowly, tracing the marble pattern of the countertop.

“I’m sure it’s not easy, Emily.” Mom leans on her elbows on the island, attentive to Emi. “Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. “Mom–”

“He cheated on her. I caught him,” Emi continues. I look at her, biting my lip, allowing her to speak. “He took his mistress to this restaurant. I was there with some friends, and this woman’s laughter rose above the noise of the entire place,” she says evenly. I can tell that emotions lie just beneath the surface, but I admire her strength as she continues. “I watched her for a few minutes, thinking it was sweet how her date was feeding her fruit dipped in chocolate. They had a fondue pot between them. He held a cherry up by its stem, covered with chocolate, and fed it to her. The chocolate dripped down her chin, and he stopped her from wiping it off with her napkin. I was entranced. It seemed so intimate. I was imagining that being me someday. I even nudged my friends and got their attention, showing them what I was watching. And then her date leaned in and licked the chocolate from her face, eventually meeting her lips with his. He kissed her for a long time, and one of my friends said, ‘That looks like your dad.’”

Mom has a distinct frown on her face, and she puts her hand on Emi’s arm. Chocolate.

“I hadn’t even looked at the guy. But my dad has a distinctive mole on his neck... and it was him.”

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry,” Mom says. I’m glad she speaks up, because I’m at a loss for words. “That must have hurt you so much.” Emi nods. I want to know what happened next, but I’m afraid to ask.

“I hate him,” she says. It stings to hear her say that. I was angry with my dad when he died. I felt betrayed by him, too, but I could never say that I hated him. He was my dad.

“Hate is such an ugly word,” Mom says, now moving to the side of the island that Emi and I are sitting on. She puts her arm around Emi’s shoulders. “But you have every right to be angry with him. You need to find an outlet for that anger. Nathan can tell you all about that.”

When Emi looks up, the whites of her eyes are red, and the green color I’d seen before is deeper, even more faceted. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to replicate the depth of color in her irises– but it won’t be for lack of trying. “I’m sorry,” Emi whispers, looking at me. “You must think I’m awful. That I take him for granted.”

“I don’t think that at all. Mom, I’m going to show her the art room.” I wait for her to object, unsure if she’ll be okay with us up on the third floor, alone, when she and Victor will be settling into their bedrooms on the first floor at the other end of the house.

“I think that’s a good idea, Nathan.” When Emi stands up, apple still in hand, she embraces my mother tightly. Mom shuts her eyes and runs her fingers through Emi’s straight hair, comforting her as best as she knows how. It’s one of the things my mom does best. It’s why she’s so good with the terminally ill children at the hospital she volunteers at. “And Emily, just try to get a good night’s sleep. You’ll probably feel much better with a clear head.”

“Okay,” she says with a smile.

“Nathan can get you some extra blankets, if you need them.”

“Thanks. Thanks so much, Mrs. Wilson.”

“It’s Donna,” she says. “Always call me Donna. And anytime.” Mom kisses her forehead, making Emi smile and blush. I can tell she already feels better, and a part of me wishes that I could have made her smile, blush... that I could have made her feel better.

Emi follows me up the spiral staircase to the third level of our house. This is considered the entertainment floor of the house. All of Mom’s parties take place here. We have a built-in theatre in the east corner. My art room takes up the entire northwest corner of the house. It has a wide balcony where I can take my easel and work, or just sit and enjoy the sunset across the small reservoir and lush landscape of trees. The room has its own fireplace and skylights, both of which provide me with unique lighting. My favorite is natural lighting. It’s when colors are the most pure.

“Is this some sort of poisoned apple?” Emi asks, taking another bite of it and wiping her nose with the back of her hand. I stare at her curiously, taking a slight detour into the library to grab the nearest box of tissues. “How’d your mom do that?”