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A wry grin tugs at my lips. “I wouldn't go quite that far.”
“But you certainly wouldn't have come to a place like this of your own volition,” she presses.
“Probably not,” I admit.
“And you wouldn't because it looked a little too – poor – for you to enjoy?” she digs at me harder. “You probably would have gone to somewhere a little – fancier?”
I laugh and raise my hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, point taken,” I say. “In my defense, it's not like I inherently think I'm better than anybody, or somehow above anything – for the most part – but I was raised going to those fancier places. It's not like I knew any better. It was just kind of ingrained into me.”
“Fair enough, I suppose.”
Emily smiles then takes a swallow of beer. I lean back in my chair and follow suit, my eyes never leaving hers. She is a hard one to figure out. She grew up with money and yet somehow managed to stay pretty down to earth. It makes me curious. I realize how little I actually know about her. Back in school, sure, we talked, and I got to know a little bit about what makes Emily Hall tick, but we weren't together long enough for me to know everything. And then it ended before I had the opportunity.
The memory of our relationship ending sends another wince of regret through me. Talk about arrogance – I’d told her that whatever she was dealing with wasn’t as important as me. I guess I’m glad she called me out about the restaurant instead of that.
I just want to find out more about her. Maybe this is my chance. “How is it you remained a salt-of-the-earth kind of person?” I ask. “I mean, it's not like you grew up without being able to enjoy the finer things yourself.”
She gives me a small shrug. “For all of his bluster and flash, my dad actually had simple tastes,” she admits. “Oh, I mean, he loved nice things – sports cars, nice suits, and all. But, underneath all of that, he was actually pretty simple. He taught me to enjoy the simple things. It's a lesson I've always appreciated.”
She takes another swallow of her beer and I can see her struggling to control her emotion. Even now, a few years removed, she still struggles with talking about her father. It's something I can understand, but another curiosity I have. After she told me that he'd died and left her nothing but debt, I've wondered how she's coped with and reconciled that in her own mind. I just haven't had the spine to ask her about it so far because it seems pretty insensitive – even to me.
“I think it's because my parents both came from lower-middle-class families. They didn't always have the nice things growing up, and often went without,” she continues. “Once my dad got his law degree and started to really make some money, they were able to indulge themselves a little more. But Dad still retained some of those lessons he grew up with – things he passed on to me.
“So, when you say I grew up with money, it's technically correct. But he instilled in me a core belief that I didn't need to act like I was wealthy. I was well taken care of, don't get me wrong. I never went without and always had nice things. I just didn't have the need to flaunt or flash my lifestyle like pretty much everyone at Rodham.”
I nod, some of the puzzle pieces that make up Emily Hall falling into place. “And I would imagine that sort of principled upbringing helped when – ”
She nods and cuts me off, obviously knowing where I was going. “It did. It helped a lot.”
“Are you angry at him?”
“I was. For a long time. But at some point, I realized that it was selfish,” she confides in me. “He didn't do that to me. He probably wasn't even thinking about me at all, to be honest. I know it wasn't his intent to prevent me from finishing out my education – in fact, that was the thing he thought was most important.”
She pauses for a moment to take another drink and collect herself. The raw emotion roiling around inside of her is palpable, even from my side of the table. I catch Mrs. Alvarez's eye and motion for her to bring out another round of beer. She nods and arrives with them a minute later. Obviously sensing that Emily is upset, the older woman puts her arm around her shoulders and squeezes, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. Emily looks up at her and smiles, whispering a thank you to her.
Finally feeling composed, Emily looks back up and offers me a weak grin. “Sorry,” she explains. “It still hits me a little hard sometimes.”
“There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Emily. I understand.”
“I just remember how proud he was when I told him I wanted to be a lawyer. That I wanted to follow in his footsteps,” she says. “I remember he talked about us hanging our own shingle out together and being a team. We were going to do it together, in tribute to Mom. I remember it's something I was really looking forward to.”
“That has to make it all the harder. I'm so sorry you went through that.”
“I just wonder if he knew at the time he was talking about us opening our own firm that he was going down the path he ended up on,” she ponders, almost more to herself than to me. “I mean, I wonder if he knew he was going broke.”
“I couldn't say.”
She gives herself a small shake, as if to shrug off the memories. “Anyway, it is what it is. I had to do what I could to survive,” she states, matter-of-factly. “And here I am.”
I raise my bottle to her. “Here you are. Unbent and unbroken.”
A rueful laugh passes her lips. “I don't know about that. Some days I feel downright shattered.”
“Because you're not doing what you were meant to do.”
“Probably. But there's nothing I can do about it,” she replies. “Life doesn't always go down the way we script it out in our heads.”
“That's true. It's full of unexpected twists and turns.”
