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“I know, but you need to know. She was a bartender in some small town, we met at my last—”
I slam my beer bottle on the dented wooden bar, foam rising and spilling over my hand. “Are you kidding me right now? I told you I wasn’t ready.”
“Well, sometimes you need a little push in the right direction.”
“Maybe I took your advice as a teenager, but I’m a big girl now, Emmett. I managed to survive the last few years without you ‘pushing me in the right direction.’” I raise my hands for air quotes, knowing he’s partially right, but I don’t like it.
“Jenna,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant you never want to have tough conversations, but this needs to happen, for us.”
For us. Right now, there isn’t an us. We’re old friends who kissed and went to dinner. We’re old friends who used to have crushes on each other but grew apart when one of us found someone better.
“Don’t turn this around to bemyfault. I wasn’t the one who got married, Emmett. Youmarriedsomeone and had achildwith them.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Fine, you want to have a tough conversation? I feel like a fucking idiot!” I point to my chest, stabbing my finger to my breastbone to accentuate each sentence. “I was the idiot who sat here, single, waiting, telling everyone I didn’t want to date because I was waiting for you. Because you were going to move back and eventually, I would get to be the one . . .” I let my finger fall, turning to look over my shoulder at the band starting to warm up behind us. Watching the guitarist tune his strings before turning back to the bar. “God damn, Emmett, we were only a few months away from you being here, from us finally getting the chance to do this right.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
Well then, he knew it and still decided to string me along while he lived his own life, which makes the hurt sting that much more.
The noise in the bar rises, someone pulls out the stool next to me and it scrapes on the floor, their elbow digging into my back. A speaker crackles as the microphone is plugged in, and it becomes too much. My skin feels tight, and the noise too irritating, so I stand up, my chair tipping backwards and falling to the ground with a thud.
“I need to get out of here. I can’t do this.” I stand my chair upright and dig into my purse to throw a few bills down on the bar top for my drink. “Thanks again for dinner.” I grab my purse off the bar and sling it over my shoulder.
I storm to the stairs, placing a hand on the wooden rail for balance as I quickly take the dozen steps down to the second floor.
“Jenna,” I hear him bellowing behind me.
But I don’t stop, I race down the stairs and swing around the second floor, walking through the empty seating areas and down the stairs to reach the first floor. It isn’t until I’m halfway there that I remember our jackets are still in the empty coat check on the floor above. It crosses my mind to abandon it, but November in the Midwest is frigid, and I wouldn’t survive the walk to the Red Line without it.
I turn around, taking the stairs two at a time. I’m halfway across the floor before he meets me. Face flushed, chest puffing, looking disheveled and angry. It doesn’t intimidate me one bit. He can act like the Hulk all he wants, growl and beat his chest, and I’ll meet him toe-to--toe.
“Jenna,” he says, arms up to block my path, “stop and talk to me.”
I push past him and circle the empty bar to the coat check and rip our jackets off the hanger so fast it spins three times before clamoring to the floor.
“Son of a bitch,” I snatch it up and try once, twice, to hang it on the bar, missing every time. With an annoyed scream, I chuck it to the ground, the wire pinging as it bounces and stops at Emmett’s feet.
He comes into the L-shaped coat check, so damn tall and broad-shouldered he blocks out all the light along with my path.
I shove his coat to his chest, but he doesn’t reach up to take it from me. I shove again, refusing to meet his eye contact. When he stands like the big, dumb, brick wall he is, I unfold it and drape it over his shoulder before trying to squeeze past him. His arm reaches out in front of me, knuckles pressing into the wall.
“Jenna,” he starts again, “you aren’t going anywhere.I’mnot going anywhere. We are going to hash this out right here, right now, once and for all like the adults we are.”
The tone of his voice says the words he isn’t saying.Quit acting like a child, Jenna.Grow up, Jenna.
Well fine, if he wants a fight, I’ll give him a fight. I’ve been fighting with him in my head for the last few years, screaming, begging for answers and only being met with silence.
“Fine, Emmett.” I toss my jacket and purse to the floor. “Tell me about her. I’d love to hear all about the woman you fell in love with, the one you promised your life to. Made a child with. Tell me all about the woman who’s better than me. I’dloveto know.” I take a step back and cross my arms over my chest. “What’s her favorite TV show? Did you make her breakfast in bed? What was your absolutefavoriteSaturday family activity, hmm?” I clasp my hands together and prop them under my chin, letting my immaturity show.
He groans, letting his head fall back, staring at the ceiling a beat before swallowing hard. “Sometimes you can be so goddamn immature.”
“Me?” I shriek, and I shove him.
I’ve never been a fighter. I’ve never fought the bullies that picked on me as the new girl, never pulled the hair of a girl on the bus who made faces at me. Yet I shove him. I take both hands and shove at his chest as hard as I can, and he doesn’t budge. I let my head hang in between us as embarrassment sets in.
“Do it again.” His voice is low and stern.
