Then she remembered when she and Will had gone out to a fancy restaurant because her twenty-sixth birthday had been on a Tuesday and, with their busy schedules, he’d forgotten, so he’d made it up to her the following Saturday.
As she applied conditioner, little things she hadn’t picked up on before slowly came back to her. Like the Christmas she’d really wanted a charm bracelet. Nothing fancy, but she’d had her eye on it. She’d hinted like crazy, showing him the silver charms—a coffee mug, a little stack of books, and a tiny cross—and when the holiday came, he’d given her a couple new sweaters instead, confessing that he hadn’t known what to get her.
And when she’d had presentations at the school board office a couple of times, he’d never asked how they went, even though she’d always asked him how his songwriting sessions had gone. She’d teased him—something about the creative brain and how he forgot things. But today, those little moments held more weight for her. Now they seemed like quiet disconnections that had eventually led to his final betrayal.
But her conversation with Patrick last night whispered to her:
“It is resolved.”
“I don’t think it is. I think it feels like it is.”
Will had never been the type to spend all that money on a fancy ring. So why now? In her anger and pain, had she misread his attempt to woo her last night? Had something changed in him? Would he be a better man? Surely a big ring didn’t ensure that he’d be more attentive, and she’d never wanted anything flashy. But was the gesture his way of saying he was ready to put her first? And even if it was, did she want the new-and-improved Will?
Emily finished her shower, toweled off, and got dressed, trying to squelch the panic that had risen. She’d wanted to divide her old life and her new one into nice, neat sides, but this morning, the two sides were interwoven and tangled, and she couldn’t unwind them. She wasn’t a new person as she’d thought, but rather a bit of the old and the new. And Patrick had been able to see that before she had. She tried to push it all out of her mind as she applied lotion and combed out her wet hair.
Her stomach rumbled. Having skipped dinner, she was definitely in need of sustenance.
Quietly, she opened the door and padded downstairs. She was the only one up. An orange glow hovered over the horizon through the kitchen window as she loaded the coffee pot and clicked it on. White light illuminated the dim kitchen when she opened the wide stainless-steel fridge to assess her breakfast options. She pulled out the carton of eggs and then dug around in the cabinets until she found a pan, spatula, and dishes to cook with.
With a pop of the gas stove, she lit the pilot light and set the pan on the burner to warm. The coffee pot gurgled behind her. She cracked two eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork. They hissed as she poured them into the pan. She turned down the heat, then poured herself a cup of coffee.
Emily stood barefoot on the cool tile, scrambling the eggs. There had been a time when mornings like this were part of herrhythm. She’d regularly asked Will to come over for breakfast before he went off to write. And she’d made breakfast according to his preferences, waiting to cook until he’d arrived at her apartment, never considering his silence while she prepared their food as he scrolled his phone, or the messes he never helped clean up, that she’d never mentioned, chalking it up to his mind being full of creative ideas. Then, he’d brush her cheek with a kiss and hurry off. But now, in this unfamiliar kitchen, with its fancy appliances and chef-grade tools, the morning was entirely hers. She didn’t need anyone’s approval to have eggs, to fill her coffee mug first. Will’s state hadn’t even occurred to her, even though he was right upstairs.
While she struggled to completely tease out the new version of herself, a different inner growth had been discreet and gone unnoticed, like something unfolding on its own schedule, only revealing itself this morning. As she continued to scramble the eggs, she realized she didn’thaveto worry about Will, Patrick, or anyone else. And she recognized a brand-new feeling of belonging—to herself. Her tether to her old expectations—her timeline for getting married and having kids—didn’t matter anymore. And it was freeing.
She turned off the stove, plated her eggs, and took her coffee to the table. The warm, nutty flavor of the coffee soothed her as she sat with her hands around her mug looking out at the view of the Gulf. Seagulls dipped into the water as the orange sky turned pink before the electric-blue sky began to emerge.
“Hey.” Blair’s voice sailed over to her.
Emily set down her coffee. “Hi.”
Watching Blair walk around with her phone again was a welcome sight. She’d been doing that more and more lately, and it was good to see her getting back into the swing of things.
“How are you?” Blair asked.
“Decent.”
Blair offered a smile that looked like relief and moved to the coffee maker. “You sleep okay?”
“Despite the drama, like a rock. I can’t believe I missed all the action last night. What did you all do after dinner?”
Blair poured a mug of coffee and came over to the table, setting her phone down beside her. “Well, we went out to the pool for a while and talked about how long the guys wanted to stay at the beach—I think they might stay through today and leave tomorrow. But the whole time the atmosphere was kind of weird.” She leaned in and whispered, “Will had to clean up all the rose petals, and while he tried to participate in conversations, I can guess he was embarrassed by how things went. He hung around for a little bit and then went upstairs.”
“He can’t expect me to fall right back into our old life,” Emily said, shaking her head.
“When he did talk, he asked a lot of questions about Patrick.”
“I’m a grown—single—woman. I can do what I like.” She didn’t have to tell Blair that, but defensiveness swelled anyway.
Blair nodded in encouragement. “When he went to bed, Rocko and I hung out with Tyson and Sienna for an hour or so. It was clear we all wanted to discuss what had happened, but no one was going to with both of you upstairs to possibly overhear.” She ran her teeth along her bottom lip as if deliberating something.
Emily offered a questioning look.
“Before Will went to bed, we heard him crying in the bathroom. He seems to really be struggling with this.”
Unsure of how to respond, Emily busied herself with her coffee mug, taking a long, slow drink. She could go back to her regular life. Will would probably be incredible…for a while. But would things go back to the way they were? And if she did go back, would she be able to manage her wild thoughts every time he canceled their plans on short notice or decided to go to thegym? But then again, should she just give up on everything she’d built with him if he was truly sorry for what he’d done? The tangled sides of her were fumbling for a clear answer.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Blair asked.
