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I plug my AirPods back into my ears, and the hard metal blasts into me.
I’m running toward the life I want. A life I choose. Towards the most beautiful girl in the world, who loves raccoons and Mike Wazowski. Towards the most beautiful woman in the world, who has had my heart from that first day at the snack bar.
The most beautiful home, away from beaches and palm trees.
I can’t pack fast enough.
32
Emily
Sunday
It’s nice not crying for an hour.
I slump with exhaustion across from my parents, Olive by my side. They suggested Betty’s Café for lunch, just the four of us to decompress after the week I had.
When Olive found me last night, curled in a ball, she said nothing as she tucked herself into me, lifted my arm, and rested it over her. Her soft snores started shortly after, while I stared into a corner, wide awake, thinking over everything with Max.
He hadn’t called since he left, except to speak with Olive. The little stinker has been tight-lipped about what he said.
In my heart, I believe he will be back. That the first time was all Fred’s fault, and there wasn’t some subconscious desire on Max’s part to run away. However, my brain is preparing me for an epic disappointment that will take me years to come back from.
“Honey, do you know what you want?” my mom asks, covering my hand with hers.
I’ve seen the menu a thousand times, but the words swim when I look at them.
“I’ll just get the chicken club, I guess.” I drop the lamented menu as it floats away, off the table.
It lands at feet covered by fuchsia Crocs.
When I look up, I see my nemesis. Miriam.
“Miriam, how are you?” my mom asks. My dad doesn’t notice; he continues to pour sugar packets into his iced tea, but my mother’s voice is laced with contempt.
“I saw your beautiful family and thought I would come say hi.” Miriam stares at me, and I don’t look up. It’s best never to look dragons in the eye. Still, she says, “Emily, can I talk to you?”
I look at my mother and then at Olive, who is busy coloring a mermaid’s hair blue on a worksheet Betty’s Café gives to each kid customer.
“Why?” I ask, leaning back defiantly.
“Please, humor an old lady,” she says, waving me over.
Looking across the table, I’m being encouraged by my mother. “See what she has to say. Tug your ear if you need help.”
“Kit, is that necessary?” Miriam asks.
My mom throws up her hands.
I stand up, dropping the napkin in my lap on the table. Miriam motions for me to follow her outside, and the heat hits me like a sledgehammer. I cross my arms immediately as a shield against Miriam.
“What do you want, Miriam?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” she says, exasperated. “First, I wanted to apologize for telling everyone you were pregnant all those years ago. That was not my place, and I’m sorry. I’ve been meaning to tell you I’m sorry for years, but it…it didn’t happen.”
“Why, Miriam?” I tuck my hands in further.
“Darling girl. I’ve always thought you were the most level-headed out of your siblings. ‘That girl is going to make it,’ I used to tell Leland. You were valedictorian and got that scholarship to USC. We never told you, but my friends and I used to sit around, talking about how proud we were of you.”
