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“I went to a museum.”
“Interesting. I thought you have no time to chat since work is so busy.” His maddening laughter annoys me deeper than I care to admit. “Common decency… heard of it?”
The heat in my cheeks begins to rise, the air around me stifling hot as anger consumes me. “I could say the same for you,” I grit, feeling suffocated by this conversation. “I told you I needed space, and you refuse to give it to me. Let me process the fact that I saw you doing some drug deal outside your place in the middle of the night.”
Silence falls on his end.
“Exactly, I didn’t think you would have a response to that.” I shake my head, disappointed in him. “I have to go.” I’m about to hang up since he chooses to keep quiet, and just before I do, he calls my name one more time before admitting he is using right now.
Standing, alone on this busy street in New York, I just want to break down. My short-lived happiness of visiting the museum and wanting to share it with Mama is once again overshadowed by Wesley.
“I don’t know what to say. Or how to feel. Look…” I switch my tone to more sympathetic, “… I’m here until tomorrow afternoon then off to Vancouver. I need to clear my head, I think this will be good for us.”
“If you say so.”
“I believe so. Bye, Wesley.”
I wait for him to say goodbye, but it doesn’t happen, forcing me to end the call.
With a heavy heart, I battle the fierce wind that makes it difficult to walk, and hail a cab back to the hotel where Emerson and I are sharing the penthouse suite.
Back at the suite, I find Emerson laying on the sofa FaceTiming with Logan. She ends the call with her ‘I love you’ and turns to face me.
“You okay? You’ve been quiet today,” she says, stabbing her fork into a salad bowl she’s balancing on her lap.
“Full schedule and just the time zone.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, how’s Liam?”
“We broke up,” I admit, quick to add a smile and derail the topic. “You looked so natural today with that mommy-blogger group this morning.”
“I’m passionate about being a mommy.” She beams, showing me some photos of Lola that Logan sent her. “It’s hard being away. Really hard. I never expected to form such an attachment, you know? I always thought I’d be one of those moms who happily would hand off the baby. Now, I know why my mom cried when my brother and I left home.”
I understand, partially. Being away from your mother is tough. Though, Emerson’s maternal instincts are something I just don’t have. Motherhood, babies, a woman’s yearn to procreate, it isn’t for me.
Liam tried to convince me, but it only ended up in us arguing. Even Phoebe would try to persuade me by showing me hot men carrying babies. I protected myself when I had sex, I even researched tying my tubes. It isn’t a phase, and unlike other women, I welcome my periods each month.
I am not lying when I tell Wesley I’m getting them. I can easily skip the white pills and avoid them but don’t want to risk anything. My cramps are a dead giveaway that it’s on it way in the next two days and totally explains my mood.
“What do you say to you and me going out tonight? Have some fun, just us girls?”
“Sounds great.” I grin, happily. “In fact, I would love to. I think that’s just what I need… a girls’ night out.”
***
Aurora has rescued me from an almost fashion disaster. I didn’t expect to go out to some fancy club, bringing mainly work attire and a pair of jeans in case. It’s late, and after today’s dramas, I could have easily gone to bed and called it a night almost regretting my earlier enthusiasm.
Emerson is raring to go, clearing it with Logan, and ensuring we have two bodyguards. She plans for us to go to a low-key club that plays Spanish music in a quieter part of the city. An older crowd frequents, though the tapas and sangria are apparently to die for.
Emerson looks gorgeous wearing a long-sleeve black dress and strappy heels that almost come to her knees. She complains about her hair being in terrible condition, asking Aurora to style it into a side wave.
I can’t fault Aurora on the dress she found for me—ivory lace that sits on the top of my shoulders, though slightly shorter than I normally wear, the hemline stopping mid-thigh. Aurora is vocal in telling me how much she loves my hair, styling it into waves that fall gracefully down my back.
“Argh… I love your hair so much. I really should stop cutting mine,” Emerson complains.
“I’ve always worn it long. Mama has long hair, too. It’s our thing.”
“You don’t speak much about your mom, or back home, for that matter.”
