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Maybe fake-Emerson does have a point.
I’m not willing to entertain that right now.
Will: What
Will: Do
Will: I
Emerson: Send an email and follow up. I don’t think it’s you.
Sinclair: It’s definitely you, Will.
Emerson: No, it’s not.
Will: And you know this because…
Emerson: Because I have eyes and attended my own wedding.
I remember seeing Hughes there for a grand total of about two seconds.
Will: What does that mean?
Emerson: It means, I don’t think it’s a personal slight. Probably unintentional. Send an email.
Sometimes, Emerson drives me out of my mind. Ninety percent of the time, he doesn’t care enough to read a room. The other ten percent, he’s a sage genius about interpersonal interactions.
Will: What if you just told us what you saw at the wedding?
Emerson sends another photo. Daphne, pouting, the hair dryer dangling from her hand.
Will: Jesus Christ.
Emerson: I don’t kiss and tell.
Sinclair: You kissed Finn Hughes at your wedding?
Emerson: Wouldn’t you like to know.
I let the phone fall onto my desk with a clatter and rub my hands over my face. An email? That’s his best suggestion?
It’s not abadsuggestion, but fuck it. I’ll do him one better. I’ll go up to Finn’s office and stick my head in the door and causally, non-angrily follow up.
Awareness prickles at the back of my neck. Somebody’s in the anteroom. If Candy forgot something, she’s being exceptionally quiet about retrieving it. I don’t think it’s easy to sneak in high heels.
I take my hands down at the same moment a girl’s head appears. She leans in like a spy kid from those movies. She’d make a terrible spy. Her bright-red hair is a dead giveaway. Her twin brother leans in next, his head above hers. They both glance back behind them like they’re on an ultra-secret mission, then back at me.
What the fuck?
They exchange a glance. Normally, I wouldn’t have the patience for all this silent glancing, but it strikes me as hilarious. More evidence of damage from the concussion, probably. Because I’m simultaneously glad to see Mia and Ben and finding it hard to breathe. The last time I saw them, I was a nightmare. I’m not any better now.
We all stare at each other.
Mia clears her throat. “Hi,” she whispers. “Can we come in?”
I put aside my shock that she was the one to speak first. The way she screamed when I went after that fucker is burned into my brain. “Sure. And you don’t have to whisper.”
They enter together, Ben looking over his shoulder one more time. Something seems off about this. Any ten-year-old kid would feel awkward in an office building like this one, but Ben’s too careful. And now that Mia’s closer, I can see she’s pale. More so than usual. The two of them hover by the chairs on the other side of my desk, both wearing backpacks. Ben looks at me, green eyes wary. Mia chews at the inside of her cheek, looking in my general direction but not into my eyes.
