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He opens his mouth, then snaps it closed, turning back to the message to read it again.
“I … umm …”
“You know I speak American, but I’m going to need a few more words than that, love.”
“It’s my mom,” he rushes out. Swallows. Glances back at the message and then at me again. “She … she …” He presses a palm roughly into his eye socket. “She wants to meet up.”
Chapter 26
Christian
Somehow the message from Mom doesn’t fuck with my head. I get through my performance without a single goddamn screw up, and when we come off stage, I’m surrounded by a sweaty group hug. Even overwhelming body stench and heavy makeup can’t ruin the moment, because … thank god.
“Who was right?” Reece asks.
And I’m more than happy for him to say I told you so.
The moment is made even better by Émile showing up backstage and taking me out for dinner. It’s sitting there, listening to him talk about how blown away he was by the performance—and sounding like he legitimately means it—that I realize something.
In a choice between screwing up my performance for Josie, or for him, I’m glad it happened the way it did, because … IthinkI care more about his opinion than any of my so-called family.
At least, that’s what I tell myself until Sunday night when I’m due to meet my parents.
Émile picks me up looking like a million dollars while I’m trying not to sweat through yet another shirt I’ve borrowed from Rush. If I’m going to continue meeting up with people in fancy places, I should probably do the guy a favor and buy a few things of my own.
“Please breathe,” Émile says from the driver’s seat.
“I’m breathing.”
“Yes, but it’s very shallow. Do I need to point out that passing out from lack of oxygen may not be the best way to get this dinner underway?”
I huff.
“That’s better.”
“That wasn’t me breathing, that was me being exasperated.”
“I don’t care what you need to be to get some air into you. Just bloody do it already.”
“I’m trying.”
He’s quiet for a moment before he says, “I know this is what you’ve been hoping for … but don’t let them off easy. If this is some kind of reunion, make them work for it. You deserve it.”
As much as I wish I could agree with him, I know full well that if they offer an olive branch, I’ll plant that fucker and do whatever I have to in order to make it grow.
The restaurant they’ve asked to meet at is some fancy upscale place in downtown Seattle. There’s valet parking and a foyer and,goddamn,I do not belong here. There’s an enormous gulf standing between my life from a month ago, and this palatial dining room, and while I might have been dirt poor and not entirely happy, at least I was safe. Life was predictable. Everything stayed the same, and as much as I might have wanted it to change, I didn’t want it to changethismuch.
I’m definitely only ordering water and a starter from this place, that’s for sure.
Émile’s hand finds my clammy one, and I immediately suck in a long, deep breath. Maybe my first one all day.
That wave of pressure fades and reminds me that not all change is too much.
In fact, Émile might be exactly enough.
For a very long time.
I push the shadow of his words out because there isn’t enough room to obsess over them right now. Maybe he meant what I kinda thought he did, maybe he didn’t. All I know is that it’s only a matter of time before he disappears on me, and I’m not going to hope for anything different when history has given me no reason to.
