Little Do We Know(85)

My legs were trembling and my heart was beating so fast, but it felt good. Without saying a word, we walked to the center of the grass and threw our arms around each other. I squeezed her as tightly as I could, and she held on for the longest time, like she didn’t want to let me go.

“If I could go back to that day, I would have done everything differently.”

Emory blew out a breath. “Me too.”

“I should have defended you to my dad.”

“I shouldn’t have called you a fucking sheep.”

I squeezed her harder. “Turns out I was a fucking sheep.”

“You’re not.” She took a step backward and her hands found mine. We interlaced our fingers together. “You believe in something big and important, and you believe it with your whole heart. I love that about you. I’ve always loved that about you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not sure what I believe anymore.”

I told her how the words she said to me that day got me thinking, first in a way I wasn’t sure how to handle, and later, in a way that had changed my life. I told her how I was finally feeling good about questioning my faith, when Luke came along and made me question everything all over again.

“And now?” she asked.

I pressed my lips together and thought about it. I remembered the song we’d sung at Admissions Night, and the dare I’d accepted. “Now I’m just…here.”

She smiled. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.” I smiled back at her, and the sight of her almost made me break down in tears. For a while there, I hadn’t been sure I’d ever be this close to her again. And now that we were, I had to say the thing I’d wanted most to tell her for the last three months.

“Hey,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You know that, don’t you?” Emory’s eyebrows pinched together, like she wasn’t sure of the answer, so I said it again. “It wasn’t in any way your fault. And I never thought it was. I didn’t defend you to my dad, and I should have, but that was about my dad and me. It wasn’t about you. Still, I should have stood up for you that day. I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am about that. And…about everything that happened afterward.” I swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

We were quiet for a long time. And then she spoke. “What am I going to do, Hannah?”

I pulled away and looked at her. “What do you want to do?”

“Move to London.” She chewed on her bottom lip while she thought about her real answer. “Seriously, you should see her, Hannah. Her business is doing great. And she’s so excited about this wedding. It’s all she talks about. And UCLA isn’t London, but I’m moving out in a few months anyway.”

“But she deserves to know.”

She nodded. “So…say I tell her. And she dumps him. And then she stops cooking and stops seeing her therapist and conveniently forgets to take her meds and stops working out. And we’re back where we were, only this time, I’m over an hour away and I can’t take care of her like I did before.”

“Or?” I asked.

Emory reached for a blade of grass. “Or…I tell her. And none of that happens. She defends him. Or he lies to her and she believes him. Or she believes me, but marries him anyway.”

“You’re leaving out the most likely scenario,” I said. “You tell her. She believes you. She calls off the wedding and she’s heartbroken for weeks, maybe even months. But she gets back on her feet. She returns to her clients and the work she loves.”

She plucked another blade of grass, and then blurted out, “D-bag is going to New York on Tuesday. I was thinking that would be a good time to tell her.”

“Do you want me to be there?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Just be thirty-six steps away, would you?”





When I got home from school on Tuesday, I logged on to WeekdayGourmet.com and scanned Mom’s recipes. The dishes were all familiar. Kid-Friendly Stuffed Peppers. Simple Smothered Pork Chops. Weekday Coq Au Vin. They reminded me of the nights Dad and I would tie each other’s apron strings and help her chop vegetables while we waited for delicious scents to start filling the house. She was always proud of her Chicken Parmesan, and Dad and I always agreed it was our favorite.

I was glad to find her recipe on the website, and I followed the directions exactly. I flipped the chicken in the skillet and waited for the pieces to brown, and then I transferred them to the baking pan and sprinkled them with her cheese mixture.

When I heard the door open and close, my stomach dropped.

“You’re making dinner?”

“Chicken Parmesan. Your recipe.”

“But you always have dinner at Luke’s house on Tuesdays. Everything okay with you two?”

“Yeah, we’re great,” I said.

She kissed me on the cheek. And then she took a deep breath in. “It smells amazing in here. I’m going to enjoy every bite and not even think about the calorie count of that dish. And if I can’t fit into my wedding dress at my next fitting, I’m blaming you.”

My heart started racing. I ignored it.

“David’s out of town?” I asked. I said my line, exactly the way I’d rehearsed it, and I’d hit the tone perfectly.