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“Hi,” I say.
We look at each other.
“You talking to your secret admirer again?” I tease.
He frowns. “No.”
“Okay.” I turn around.
No way am I going to stick around sulking here, not when Emerson is clearly hiding something from me.
“Wynona,” he says.
“What?” I ask, fists balling. Don’t cry—don’t you dare cry. “You said this time would be different. But you’re already keeping things from me.”
“It’s not important,” he says.
“Then why not tell me?” I force myself to exhale. “I’m trying not to be a spaz, Emerson, but with how you’ve been distant lately, and now this—”
“It was just an offer to go on tour,” he says. “That I turned down. Not important.”
His face has a wooden determination to it.
“An offer to go on tour with your music?” I ask.
“What else?”
“That doesn’t sound not important to me,” I argue.
“Listen, Wyn,” he says, exasperated already. “We can argue about this. Is that what you want?”
“No,” I snap. “I just want to know the truth. What’s going on? When did you get this offer?”
“A few days ago.” Emerson shrugs. “But I’m not interested. It’s fine.”
“Not interested in a tour that could further your career?”
He looks me straight in the eyes. “I’m not about to imperil things like last time.”
“And you didn’t think I should have a say in it?”
“Things are complicated enough already.”
I turn away, talking to the wall. “I think you should go on the tour.”
“So you don’t even want to try, then? Try and make this work? Try and stay another week?”
“I won’t have you making that kind of sacrifice for me,” I say, rounding to look at him beseechingly. “Don’t you see, Emerson? You’d end up resenting me. I wouldn’t want you to miss out.”
“I wouldn’t be.”
I sit down on the bed, getting dressed in a hurry.
“Where are you going?” he says.
“To my room. To think.”
Next thing I know, I’m walking down the hallway, breathing hard.
It’s odd. I feel shit about the situation, obviously. But I almost feel... sick?
I lurch into my bathroom just in time, vomiting into the toilet.
Afterward, I feel glorious, like I’ve been freaking exorcised. As much as I love the odd spa day with Josie and Sierra, I’ve never had one—no matter how many deep-tissue, hot-stone massages and mani-pedis we’ve gotten—that made me feel anywhere near as good as a nice vomit.
But still, I’m not one to just upchuck for no particular reason. There’s always a reason.
I gaze at the unappetizing contents of the toilet in confusion. As if it’s evidence that could explain a thing or two to me.
Because really, I don’t have the foggiest idea what it’s doing there.
I didn’t drink that much last night.
I’m not crazy-nervous or distraught.
Anyway, I don’t vomit because I’m nervous or distraught.
I flush it down so I don’t have to look at it anymore, then go to lie down.
Maybe it’s the stress of getting back together with Emerson? AKA the ex.
As I lie on my back and follow the decorative root-like line formations on my ceiling with my gaze, I try thinking it over.
As much as you can think over what-to-do-when-the-wrong-thing-is-the-thing-I-want-and-he’s-choosing-that.
But wrong choice or not, it does sound like Emerson has made up his mind about it.
Just an offer to go on tour. Not important...
But of course it is. Music is Emerson’s calling, his dream, his life.
A warm flutter goes through me. And he’s willing to give it all up for you.
Which doesn’t mean I should let him.
The last thing I want is for him to throw away a good opportunity on account of me.
I lean back and do a bit of air bicycling, hoping the added endorphins might kick some hyper-thinking into action.
No dice, though.
Finally, I roll onto my stomach, heave myself out of bed, and head to Josie’s room to relay the situation to her.
“Aren’t you a saint,” she says, crunchily, once I’ve given her the CliffsNotes version.
She’s mid-bag through some crunchy Cheetos, her favorite. She never would share those, even when she got a family-size bag and was supposedly trying to lose weight.
“It’s mostly just self-preservation,” I say with a self-conscious half-chuckle. “If he gives up that tour and later ends up resenting me... that would be complete shit.”
“That would,” Josie agrees. “But he is an adult. And he already made his decision.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” I agree. “But still, it is a big deal.”
“He sounds like he’s really serious about you,” Josie says thoughtfully.
“Don’t remind me.” My tone is hesitantly rueful. “Part of me wonders if it’s this island or magic or something.”
Josie rolls her eye mid-crunch. “Please. That man has been crazy about you since day one.”
“Yeah, yeah, so crazy about me that he dumped me.”
“For your own good, need I remind you?”
“No,” I admit. “You’re probably right. I’m being stupid. My business can wait. And can you believe Mom and the dogs... ?”
“No poops inside for three days,” Josie says proudly. “It’s a milestone.”
