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Emma sat back in her chair, the match to Marilyn’s. “I bought into the professional athlete stereotype of cocky men with too much testosterone. And I was hurt that you had someone more important than me in your life. I had less of your shadow than I’d had before.”
“We were still friends, Em.” Why couldn’t the other woman have seen that?
“I know. I was childish.” Emma shrugged. “And I didn’t want to share you. I also was jealous of the fact that you’d won again.”
Marilyn frowned. “Won what?”
“The happily-ever-after before I did.”
“I hadn’t realized that we were in competition.”
“I know. But in my mind, we were.”
“Since when?”
“Since college.”
How was it possible that she hadn’t noticed Emma’s competitiveness before? Maybe she hadn’t wanted to see it.
“That’s ridiculous.” Marilyn crossed her arms.
“I know.” Her friend hesitated. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think of us as being in competition anymore. I need to compete based on my own talents and stop comparing myself to you.”
Relief eased the tension in Marilyn’s neck and shoulders. “I’m glad you finally realized that. I’m not interested in being anyone’s role model, Em. We each have to develop our own strengths and not compare ourselves to other people.”
Emma gave her a steady stare. “You were comparing yourself to someone who didn’t even exist.”
Marilyn frowned her confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You were trying to be the perfect Devry offspring by becoming a partner in a high-profile clinic.”
Marilyn shrugged off her disappointment. “Yes, well, that didn’t work.”
“And the perfect Mrs. Warrick Evans to silence the gossip columnists.”
She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “No matter what Rick or I do, the gossips won’t be silenced.”
Emma shook her head. “No one’s perfect, Mary. The point is your patients and colleagues admire you. And as far as Rick’s concerned, you’re perfect just the way you are. I’m going to stop competing against you. But you should stop competing against nonexistent standards of perfection.”
Was that what she’d been doing? Unconsciously setting herself to fail by establishing unattainable standards? Why had she done that? “Thanks for the advice.”
“I’d better get back to work.” Emma stood. “I know it will take a while for me to earn back your trust. But I will. Maybe in time, we could think about opening a practice together. You could take care of expectant mothers and I could care for their kids.”
“Maybe.” Marilyn watched Emma return to her rounds. The idea of opening a practice together held appeal. A month ago, she would have rushed into the partnership with Emma. But now, their friendship needed time to heal—if it ever could.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable taking questions?” There was concern in Troy Marshall’s voice as well as in his ebony eyes.
From the back of the room, Marilyn scanned the crowd of broadcast and print media representatives gathered in the Empire Arena’s conference room Friday morning. The younger reporters seemed eager. The veterans tracked her movements as though she was chum in the water and they were planning their attack.
She pulled her attention back to the anxious expressions of the trio surrounding her, Troy, Jaclyn Jones, and Andrea Benson. She’d resented these three people at the start of the Monarchs’ postseason run. Now as she stood in the rear of the conference room with them, she was grateful beyond words to count them among her strongest supporters.
She glanced at the single sheet of talking points gripped in her right hand before offering Troy a weak smile. “I don’t want to, but I think taking questions would make the press conference a stronger presentation. What do you think?”
Troy looked grim. “If you’re nervous, they’ll tear you apart.”
She hadn’t expected such candor.
Andrea gasped. “Troy.”
