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“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Josie says happily. “Do tell.”
“Well, just... when you’re married, it’s so... permanent. Like you’re really doing this. Like when he’s annoying or a bit of a grumpy jerk, you’re like, ‘Shit, I really signed up for this f-o-r-e-v-e-r?’”
“And?” Josie says, leaning in, her coral lips drawn back in amused horror.
Sierra sighs. “The answer is yes, and yes, I don’t regret it. Not too, too much, at least.”
We all giggle about that.
“Wasn’t this a movie night?” I ask as their gazes swing my way.
Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I feel like I can almost see the questions about Emerson forming in their heads. And I both want to and don’t want to talk about it. So, there you go.
“No,” Josie says in a scolding tone. “This was movie and onesie night, hello?”
She points to her hilariously oversized narwhal onesie and I can’t help it. I crack up.
At that, Sierra flips up the hood of hers, a giant polka-dot octopus, and I flip up mine, a cow. We laugh and laugh.
“Remember that time we went clubbing in these?” Josie recalls, leaning on the side of the couch, giggling at the thought.
“How that bouncer almost wouldn’t let us in?” Sierra says. “How we had to dance so crazily and cause such a ruckus outside that he ushered us in just to get rid of us?”
“I’m surprised he didn’t just boot us,” I say, chuckling myself.
“Oh, no, he had a crush on Josie,” Sierra recalls, her eyebrows jumping as she glances at her. “Didn’t you go on a few dates with him afterward?”
“Yes,” Josie says with a sigh. “But alas, he had a toe fetish.”
We lose it over that.
Then, on comes Clueless, and I go grab everyone some popcorn.
After pausing the movie so Sierra can go to the bathroom, I call Josie over to show her an event on Facebook. It’s a fun outdoor dance party in the woods, and she’s impressed.
But after that, she looks at me carefully and says, “I saw something about Emerson. About the concert he’s in. Do you...”
“Sure.” The carefree voice I use isn’t mine, doesn’t feel how I feel. It’s the one I’ve taken on to deal with this whole thing.
So, she types something in on Google and up comes the article in The New York Times.
Top Classical Concert Showcases Young Talent, the headline reads. And, the first picture of the article, there he is.
Wearing that face, that so-into-it handsome face that convinced me I had to let him go. My gaze is so intent on him that for the first few seconds, I don’t notice.
But then I do.
She’s standing too close to the piano. She’s too pretty. She’s singing along with Emerson’s playing, but that doesn’t seem to matter.
What does is how she’s looking at him.
“Oh, God...”
The words slip out before I can stop them. And suddenly, the voice is gone and every lie I could tell.
It seems ridiculous. Why would I even want to?
Maybe because as tears come to my eyes, I remember that talking about it makes it more real, makes it worse.
Even if it’s true. Of course it’s true.
“Wyn?” Sierra says hesitantly, back from the bathroom.
“I’m sorry.” Josie quickly clicks away. “I shouldn’t have shown you that. I should’ve—”
“No,” I say. “It’s fine. I can’t just avoid it.”
“Maybe you should,” Sierra says quietly. “Though, if you want to talk about it...”
“I feel like a fool,” I say. “I was the one who convinced him to go, was dead-set on him going. And guys, I’m freaking pregnant.”
Their arms wrap around me, and I remember why I wanted to tell them. These girls, these women, they know the depths of me, and almost miraculously, they still like me. They’re my best friends.
Sure, a few times, they’ve been bitches, and that time in high school with that Irish boy made me seriously consider switching out Josie’s eyebrow cream for Nair, but I love them.
“It’s just a picture,” Josie says. “And if Emerson really cares for you that much...”
“He wanted to stay together while he was gone.” The words come out wooden and accusing. The picture is branded into my mind. “I was the one who said no.”
“Hey, listen to me,” Sierra says, holding out a scolding finger. “If this man is your man, some classical music bitch isn’t going to take that away. If he’s your guy, then he’s not going to be swayed from that.”
“But Sierra, four months away when I was the one who insisted—”
“Hey,” she says, finger pressing into my chest. “End of.”
“She’s right,” Josie says. “Listen to the married lady.”
Sierra snorts. “I don’t claim to be some relationship guru, but let me tell you this. Out of all the guys I dated, with all the times it didn’t work out, I started thinking it was me. Maybe I had too many expectations, maybe my head was too filled with Disney princes to give a chance to real, living, breathing men. But here’s the thing being with Nolan has taught me. And mind you, he’s not perfect.” A knowing chuckle. “Far from it. But what it has taught me is that if your guy wants to be with you, he’ll be with you. He won’t make excuses about his job or the timing or his ex who won’t leave him alone. He won’t be incapable of planning out a few dates.” She’s looking far away now, a sort of smile on her face. “That’s the thing, I think, about us women. Sometimes, we either aim too high or too low. Either we have a list of twenty things down to the height, hair color, eye color, shoe size, and a bunch of shallow shit, or we just go for a guy who makes our heart jump a little, even if we’ve been with him half a dozen times and see how it ends. Wyn, from what you told me, a lot went on between you. Emerson said some pretty heavy things while you were at the resort. If he meant them, he’ll be able to wait.”
