"Em, that's… I had no idea. That's amazing."
"Why would you have any idea?" Her comment feels like a slap, but I swallow back my retort and accept it. I earned that with my own ignorance. I could’ve done some research and found that out real fast.
"Fair enough. How'd you pull it off?"
She turns the coffee cup in her hands, staring at the cardboard sleeve, and I can see her deciding how much to give me. After a few seconds, she takes a breath and starts talking, but carefully, choosing each word.
"Nan passed not too long after you left. She left me some money, not a fortune, but enough to finish school. I transferred to a program in Raleigh that did culinary and business together, got my degree, and came back here." She pauses and takes another sip. "I found an investor who believed in the concept. Took about a year to get the space ready and another six months before we turned a profit. But we're doing well now. Really well, actually… And the original investment is already paid back."
"That's incredible." She always talked about making her love for baking into something, but I never imagined an entrepreneur. I figured she'd be making cakes out of her kitchen or something."Your Nan would be proud." I feel speechless. Emily is all grown up, fending for herself and thriving in this world now. It's amazing to see her doing so well, though what did I really expect to see when I got back here?
Sometimes, it feels foreign. This town was frozen in time in my mind for so long, it feels like I don't know anyone who lives here anymore. While some things didn't change at all, some things changed so dramatically, I can't wrap my mind around it. Emily isn't a twenty-year-old hopeful anymore. She chased her dreams and they came true.
Her eyes soften for half a second before she catches herself and puts the wall back up. "She would."
"I'm sorry I wasn't here for that. For any of it." My head hangs for a second, though I still look up at her through my lashes. I expect that to crack open Pandora's box, but it doesn't.
"Yeah," she mumbles, and it feels like instead of blowing up, she's turning inward, locking up her heart out of my reach so I can't hurt her anymore. It's a fair response, but not the one I hoped for.
I try a few more angles. I ask about her parents and she says they're doing fine. I ask about the boardwalk and the pier and she gives me short answers, just enough to be polite. I ask if she still watches old horror movies on Sunday nights, which used to be our thing, and she tells me she doesn't have time for movies anymore.
She's giving me nothing to work with and the frustration is starting to build. I'm sitting across from a woman I used to tell everything to and she won't give me more than three words at a time. I'm starting to feel like she's being unfair toward me. I'mhere now, trying to apologize and make things right, and she's shutting me down and boxing me out.
"Emily." I set my coffee down and lean forward. "I know you don't owe me anything, but I came here because I want to actually talk to you. If you'd rather not be here, you can leave. I won't be offended."
She takes a breath and looks out the window at the boardwalk, where the afternoon crowd is thinning out and the sun is setting. She looks antsy, like she wants to say something but she doesn't feel safe.
"You want to walk?" I ask. I remember that about her. Emily never could sit still when something was eating at her, and a coffee shop isn't where she's gonna open up. I should've known that from the start. She'd pace her dorm room, walk laps around the quad, drag me to the waterfront until she'd burned off whatever was bothering her. She has never been one to sit at a table and hash out a problem.
She scowls at me, but I think I'm finally getting somewhere when she says, "Yeah. Let's walk."
We take our coffees and head out onto the boardwalk. By the time we reach the steps down to the beach, there's enough space between us and the tourists that it feels private. Emily kicks off her sandals and carries them in one hand. I roll my jeans up a cuff because the tide is creeping in and the sand near the water is wet.
She's quiet for the first few minutes. We walk side by side with about a foot of space between us, close enough that our arms almost brush but don't. The waves are low and barely making any noise as they roll in and pull back. And the beach is almostbarren. As dusk swallows the shore, folks retreat to their homes, leaving us in peace and quiet and alone. Though this isn't how I thought we'd "get alone" together.
"The town's changed," I say, trying to break the ice. It feels colder than a deep freeze right now. Nothing I anticipated has happened, and all I want is for her to say something to me, even if it's a blow up.
"Some of it." She takes a sip of her coffee. "The people haven't, though. Still the same gossip, same drama. Charity told half the congregation about this coffee date before I even left the Easter thing." I catch a ghost of a smile and chuckle.
"I figured…" Charity has a big, loud mouth. Though, the good news is if I need to know what someone thinks of me, I know exactly whom to ask. "And that new kid at the coffee counter has a nasty attitude. Who are his parents? And what have people been saying about me?"
She almost smiles at that. "Beaufort's not great at minding its own business." She sighs but there's a heaviness in it. It's not a light, gleeful smile of a woman happy to be out on a walk. She feels something she's not talking about, and I feel like it's going to rise up and bite my head off.
"You've changed too," I tell her, tiptoeing on the line she drew in the sand between us as we walk farther into the darkness away from the lights of the boardwalk.
I stop next to her and wait because I can tell she's working up to something. I watch her eyes scan the water's edge and then lock on my face. When she turns to me, I see the trail of tears over her cheeks. I didn't even realize she was crying.
"Why did you never call?" she asks, looking so hurt, it feels like a knife in my gut. "I waited so long… and you never came home."
And there's the punch I knew was coming.
Something tells me I get one shot at this, and if I screw this up, I may not get a second chance.
8
EMILY
Iturn away as the breeze off the water picks up and tosses my hair into my face. It gives me a reason not to look at him as tears continue to streak down my cheeks. I've been carrying that question around so long, I thought it would never get answered. Now I’m not sure I want to know his stupid excuse.
