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Julie’s mother-in-law had come into town to coo over her wedding china. Fine.
Grace had a head cold and was so stuffed up that Emma’s name had come out as Ebba when she’d called to cancel.
And Riley . . . Riley had a sex date. Which, given Riley’s sexual history . . . Emma was going to give her this one. The girl had earned it.
Still, she could have used the company. She’d gotten home from North Carolina on Saturday; the trip was somehow worst than she’d anticipated. And that was saying something.
Her father had been doting in his overbearing way, but, as usual, he had this annoying habit where any question about her felt like a deliberate segue into something he wanted to talk about. Making matters worse was his new girlfriend, who, true to the cliché, was a full year younger than Emma and Daisy, and loved hot pink lipstick, hot pink nail polish, and hot pink cars.
A direct quote.
And Daisy . . .
Daisy had been the most painful part of the trip. Her sister was a pale shell of her usual self. She smiled at all the right moments and laughed when she was supposed to, but there was none of the vibrancy that had long been her twin’s identity.
For the first time in her life, Emma had felt like she was dragging Daisy toward the light instead of the other way around.
And that wasn’t an easy task when your heart felt like it would never beat again.
Emma’s original itinerary had her returning to New York on Sunday evening, but she hadn’t
been able to last that long. She’d made some pathetic excuse to her father about work, and returned a day early.
On the way home from JFK, Emma had honest-to-God fantasies about stopping by a pet store and getting a cat.
Emma was allergic to cats.
That’s how bad things were.
So, yeah, she’d needed this girls’ night in a big way, but she’d learned over the past couple days that there were other ways to forget about the fact that the only guy you’d ever loved had walked away from you. Again.
All Emma had to say on that was thank God for Netflix.
She’d managed to avoid Cassidy at work for the past few days, but that wouldn’t last forever. And when luck ran out, she was going to need something stronger than wine.
Or, she could get a life, and figure her shit out.
Eventually. Eventually, Emma would do just that. But for now, her evening was looking an awful lot like a nice California wine, sour cream and onion chips, and a Sex and the City marathon.
Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda were women who got what she was going through. When her actual friends were unavailable, at least her HBO ones were always free.
It took Emma longer than usual to hoist herself up the three flights of stairs to her apartment, the venture made more difficult by the bulk toilet paper that had been too good a deal to pass up, as well as the grocery bag stuffed with essentials.
And by essentials, of course, she was talking about the three Cs: Chardonnay, chips, and chocolate.
Perfect.
Emma was struggling to keep the TP under her arm while digging around in her purse for her keys when she saw him.
Somehow she managed not to drop the bag. Or the purse. Or the toilet paper.
Somehow her knees didn’t buckle as she approached the man sitting patiently outside her apartment door.
Somehow she managed not to throw herself at him.
“Cassidy,” she said, coming to stand in front of him. No suit today. He was wearing a navy zipper sweater that brought out the blue of his eyes, jeans, and scruffy looking boots. A brown leather messenger bag was slung crosswise over his body, different than his usual briefcase.
He climbed nimbly to his feet, holding what seemed to be a medium-sized garbage can in front of him.
