In a Rush

Chapter 13

chapter thirteen

Emme

Today’s Learning Objective:

Students will fly in fancy jets and catch confusing feels.

After the charity ball, Ryan was tied up with meetings in Los Angeles, Vancouver, Tampa, and back again to LA. He still found time to get me a key to his condo and a shiny black Amex that I’d been instructed to use for anything I wanted.

When I’d asked for clarification on what anything I wanted might include, Ryan suggested I hire some movers, put the key to good use, and relocate to his condo where I’d be less likely to wake up buried under the ceiling.

I suggested a miniature Shetland pony and an endless supply of antibacterial wipes for my classroom instead.

The next day at school, I received a lovely bird’s nest fern, a hardcover class set of Edward Tulane so pristine I wouldn’t let my kids within five feet of the books, and a stuffed Shetland wearing an Arizona Wildcats jersey.

And two thousand rolls of antibacterial wipes.

He was busy that day and didn’t get around to returning any of my OMG WHAT DID YOU DO?!?!? texts until I was half asleep. He’d insisted it was nothing, and while that was partially true—he had enough money and enough people working for him to make these things happen with barely a thought—it was that he had thought. He’d remembered Edward Tulane and he’d remembered the plants on my desk.

I felt…special.

I had a hard time trusting that emotion because it had a terrible way of proving itself to be an illusion but he’d remembered the books, the plants, all of it.

He’d remembered me .

It was risky, letting myself spend time with that thought. As risky as everything else we were doing though probably worse since it lulled me into believing these gestures had nothing to do with our fake relationship.

It made me wonder if this was fake at all.

The internet clamor quieted by the end of the week, which was great, though my students were suddenly very interested in my love life. Lots of questions about everyone’s friend Mr. Ralston. A few questions about my ability to get everyone tickets to home games. And one kid asked if I knew where Hersberler was with his contract negotiations.

I didn’t mind that part. It was harmless, and soon enough, the fascination had worn off. Kids were great like that.

It was the messages from brands wanting to send me everything from clothes and shoes to detox teas and collagen powders that felt like I’d tumbled into someone else’s life. It was the requests from magazines and newspapers asking for interviews that taught me to swallow my coffee first and read emails second to avoid choking. It was the texts from folks I hadn’t heard from in ages who made it seem like we were the best of friends and didn’t even pretend they weren’t looking for gossip.

It was overwhelming. Jamie tasked herself with shutting off the direct messages on all of my apps, closing comments on any old posts, and making my profiles as invisible as possible. When she was done with that, she dug into my email to weed through the invitations and offers and assorted outreach. She informed me I’d need an assistant just to handle my emails if I ended up marrying Ryan.

She still referred to him as Daddy Football and I still died a little every time I heard it.

I’d managed to avoid getting a close look at the dark side of it all—the unbelievable vitriol that came with being the topic of conversation on the internet and everything that went along for the ride—and I hoped I could keep it that way as long as possible.

When my mom had married her fourth husband, part of her plan was to become a regular on some reality series featuring pro sports wives and girlfriends. After three disappointing marriages where she had to pretend to give a shit about football, baseball, and then hockey, I didn’t blame her for leveraging her next husband’s status for a bit of her own.

Dell Hanshauer was a retired basketball Hall of Famer who was kind of a jackass and always called me Emma but he was a household name. Even people who knew nothing about basketball knew about Dell. He had a plum prime-time gig on the leading sports network and a podcast deal that was worth more than the cozy town on the New Hampshire seacoast he called home.

All of this was great—the ongoing Emma incidents aside—except for the part where my mother became a reality TV star when I was a teenager, and this drama-obsessed world of ours formed and announced their opinions on every last thing about her.

I’d never wanted to be in the spotlight like that.

This flood of attention washing over me right now, it was different than her reality series. It wasn’t television, it wasn’t manufactured conflict. I told myself it wouldn’t be like that. My situation, my choices—they weren’t the same as my mother’s.

Although.

The one thing I’d always hoped my mother would do was build a life that wasn’t about a man. All those years we’d spent between the marriages, the times when we had to pick up and start over somewhere new—I’d wanted her to stop looking for the next one. I’d wanted her to exist as a fully formed person first and not as someone’s wife or ex-wife.

My life wasn’t about a man. But now I saw how it could be.

Ryan’s winning streak didn’t stop with books and antibacterial wipes.

Ines was invited to visit an engineering firm that specialized in robots and thermal things—I didn’t catch most of the details—and they offered her an internship on the spot. Ines, being Ines, asked for a few days to consider the terms.

Once we’d agreed it was a fantastic opportunity with the side benefit of relieving a ton of stress, I blew up Ryan’s phone with long, gushing texts thanking him for his help. He claimed he knew nothing about it but offers like this one didn’t fall out of the sky.

Grace and Ben were visiting some family of his, so Jamie came with me over the weekend to finally chop off a few inches of hair. On an impulse, I added a few deep burgundy overtones to my dark brown base too. I panicked a little when the hairstylist turned me around for the big reveal. I smiled and made noises about how much I loved it while silently promising myself I could always change the color back and the length would grow out.

Within a few days, my hair only crossed my mind when I realized I had less to twist up with a clip or the feathery fringe pieces fell into my eyes. Though I was too busy at school to pay much attention to how I looked. There was a miraculous string of days— consecutive days!—when my class didn’t attempt any sort of mutiny. I didn’t want to jinx anything but it seemed like we were turning a corner.

Still, there were times when I wondered what it’d be like if I’d picked a job that didn’t require me to be “on” every day. Something where I could sneak in a little late and half listen during meetings that could’ve been emails. Maybe it would be boring and maybe I’d end up with a list of reasons why teaching was actually the better gig but at least no one would ball up their assignment, throw it at another kid’s head, and yell that they weren’t going to do any of this stupid math junk.

It was enough to make me want to settle into a rocking chair and mutter “Kids these days.”

Jamie had always known she wanted to teach but I didn’t come to that conclusion until college, and mostly because it made my dad furious. According to him, the only worthwhile majors involved business. Pre-law if I wanted to push my luck. He’d spent all four of my years at the University of Vermont trying to talk me out of my education degree. It was a waste of my time and his money, he’d said.

That pretty much summed up my relationship with my father.

The only thing better than the sudden shift for the positive in my classroom was the promise of spending the weekend with Ryan. We were going to the Kentucky Derby, and though that wouldn’t have been otherwise high on my interest list, I felt like I was in a different universe when I was with him. In many ways, it was an entirely different universe, but it wasn’t the posh parties that did it for me. It was that my old friend was the safest place in the whole world. I could be a wreck, I could be at my all-time lowest, and that didn’t change anything for him.

I could even kiss him at a busy brunch spot with his sister and all of Boston looking on, and that still wouldn’t change anything.

“What…is this?” Grace asked, tipping the headpiece from side to side. “It’s giving Medusa.”

“It’s a fascinator,” I said, running through my packing list for the weekend. “People wear them to the Derby.”

“Is it a choice that many make or a requirement?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. But Wren insisted I bring three so it sounds like a requirement.” I motioned to the hatbox sitting open on my bed. “That one’s the most over-the-top.”

She gave me a meaningful glance. “Set it aside for me when you’re done with it. I love a good Medusa moment.”

“You really do.” I pointed to a pink peony fascinator. It was smaller but still whimsical. “I’ll probably wear that one. I like the way it plays off my dress.”

I’d ended up with another yellow dress but this one had a full, flowy skirt with pale pink flowers embroidered throughout. This dress not only allowed me to breathe and navigate stairs but also high kick to my heart’s content.

Unless I got up close and personal with a whole lot of Kentucky bourbon, I didn’t see any reason I’d be high kicking but I liked having the option. A girl’s gotta live.

“You’re right. That is cute.” She held the pink headpiece up to the dress hanging over the back of my door. “And you won’t accidentally turn anyone to stone.”

“You say that like it would’ve been a problem,” I said, checking off items on my list. “I’d enjoy wielding that kind of power.”

“I mean, yeah, same.” She opened a shoe box and frowned at the nude strappy heels that looked like a sprained ankle in the making. “I’m sorry you’ve had to do all of this by yourself.”

I set the list down. “All of what?”

She waved at the packages piled up beside my bed but shook her head and said, “Everything with Teddy and now this thing with Ryan. I’ve been distant and scattered and self-centered, and you’ve been getting semi-engaged all on your own. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said, and I meant that. In truth, she had been distant and scattered. But she’d also threatened, with no amount of hyperbole, to call off her wedding if it saved me from some discomfort. It would’ve made me responsible for the future of her marriage and that was a pretty huge burden to put all on my shoulders, but I knew she cared. “You can keep talking about how much you love me and all the reasons you hate living with a boy but I’m going to try this on for you because I’m worried it makes me look like a muffin.”

“He starts projects and then—I don’t know, he just forgets about them,” she called as I undressed in the closet. “I am not going to micromanage his tasks but I’ve thought about putting him on a sticker chart.”

“Not to infantilize your fiancé or anything but he’d probably like that,” I said, fighting my way through this dress to find daylight. “Also, let’s introduce him to Ines. Maybe they’ll finish each other’s projects.”

“I like my oven too much to risk that,” she said.

I emerged from the closet, a hand at the back of my neck to keep the dress’s halter ties in place. “What’s the verdict? Am I a muffin?”

“Not a muffin,” she said, frowning at the short pink dress with a very full, ruffly skirt. “But some kind of pastry. I want to say cream puff but I’m not sure that’s accurate.”

I fluffed the skirt. “That’s all I needed to know. It’s okay. This was just a backup option.”

As I returned this dress to the garment bag, Grace called, “You’re kind of famous now. I’m not sure I like that.”

“Because you’re worried I’m going to forget my humble roots? Hate to break it to you but hiking up five flights of stairs to my pastrami-scented apartment every day pretty much guarantees it’ll never slip my mind.”

“Because people know who you are now,” she said. “People can be weird and creepy.”

That was true. Nothing weird or creepy had happened but I didn’t feel quite so anonymous in the world anymore. I told myself it was mostly in my head but then someone would stare at me a beat too long at the grocery store and I’d question everything.

Before leaving town, Ryan had insisted on having Bowen drive me to and from school. Something about public transportation having “too many variables.” I didn’t argue with him. Who wouldn’t prefer door-to-door service over crowded subway lines with constant delays and breakdowns? Even better, Bowen always had coffee and a smoothie waiting for me. A prince among men, that Bowen.

Or perhaps his boss was the real prince.

Grace continued, “I don’t want your life to become social media fodder.”

I returned to the room, presenting another dress for inspection. As I turned in a circle, I said, “I don’t think it will go that far.”

“Which part? The internet’s interest in you”—she adjusted the dress’s straps and then nodded her approval—“or the marriage?”

I went back to the closet instead of answering the question.

I left for the private airstrip outside the city immediately after school on Friday. Ryan was flying in from somewhere—I’d lost track of all the cities and time zones—and we were traveling to Louisville on his plane together.

I wasn’t sure what his meetings were about but I knew from the minute I saw him jogging down the plane’s stairs that he was pissed. His jaw looked like it was going to snap at any minute.

But then he closed the distance between us, wrapped one arm around my waist and brushed his free hand through my hair, saying, “I like it.”

It took me a minute of blinking at him while he studied the black cherry strands tucked over my ear to figure out what he meant. “Oh! Yeah? Really? I wasn’t sure?—”

“Yes,” he growled.

I stared up at him as my belly flipped over. Heat spilled over my shoulders and down my spine. I could feel the warmth flooding my face. “I thought about changing it back.”

“Don’t,” he said, skimming his fingers through my hair, over my cheeks. “Don’t change it. Unless you’re not happy. But I think it’s gorgeous.”

My face was definitely red now.

I knew I had to stop reacting to Ryan this way. It wouldn’t do me any good and I ended up looking like I’d put my blush on in the dark. He was a secretly sweet guy who’d always said breathtakingly sweet things to me, and I couldn’t let myself choke on all that sugar.

We boarded the plane, a sleek eight-seater with plush carpet and glossy wood paneling. The captain’s chair seats were arranged in quartets and appointed in smooth, sumptuous leather. The bathroom was nicer than the one in my apartment—by a lot—and there was a cozy kitchenette where a pant-suited flight attendant offered me freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, a chicken Caesar salad, or salmon en cro?te.

“Mrs. Ralston would prefer the tangerines I ordered,” Ryan called from behind me. “Give her the whole bowl.”

I hooked a glance at him but he was busy with something on his phone and didn’t notice. Still, I stared at him for a long moment, waiting for one of his half smiles or some light teasing about this curious little situation of ours.

“Could I get you anything to drink, Mrs. Ralston?”

I blinked back at the flight attendant. It took me a second but I asked, “What do you have back there?”

She tapped a manicured finger to her lips as she eyed me. “Hmm. How do you feel about lavender-scented neck wraps?”

As I reclined with a glass of sparkling water, a crystal bowl filled with tangerines, and a heated wrap draped over my shoulders, I knew I’d never travel this comfortably again.

I wasn’t even sure I wanted to travel if it wouldn’t be like this.

Ryan settled on the other side of the narrow aisle as we took off for Louisville. He plowed his way through a family-sized chicken Caesar salad while asking about my day, my kids, my friends’ classes. He asked about Jamie, Grace, and Audrey by name, and that made some small part of me bloom.

He listened to complicated stories about the things I liked about my curriculum but also wanted to completely change while I devoured the tangerines. He let me complain about standardized testing and how there wasn’t enough time for play and social development and other things neither of us could fix. He told me to stop taking the bad days so seriously—and so personally—when I said I doubted my longevity for the classroom if I kept having tough years like this one, and then he thumbed orange stains off my face like I was a precious child.

After the pilot announced we’d be landing in twenty minutes, Ryan slid off his seat to kneel in front of me. I started to join him because what the hell did I know? Maybe this was what you did on private planes.

But Ryan settled his hands above my knees and held me in place. A slight smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he said, “Stay there. Let me do this.”

“Do what?”

He laughed and blew out a breath. Then, “This probably isn’t what you had in mind for yourself and I am sorry for that but believe me when I say there is no one else in the world I’d rather marry. I just hope there’s some part of you that wants to marry me.”

He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and thumbed it open to reveal a diamond large enough to seat a family of four. “ Ohmygod ,” I gasped.

Ryan took my hand and slipped the ring onto my orange-sticky finger. The band was thin, almost dainty, with smaller stones glittering down the sides. “If you don’t like it?—”

“It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen,” I breathed.

“Okay.” He adjusted it on my finger. The weight of the stone had it lolling to the side. “But if you decide you want something different, it’s no problem.”

“It’s enormous ,” I said.

He lifted a shoulder. “Were you expecting something less?”

I stared at the stone as I turned his words over in my head. I guess it had to be the size of a jawbreaker to be believable. No one with his contract, his endorsement deals could get away with anything less than four carats. Not without raising eyebrows.

“As long as it’s convincing, that’s all that matters. Right?”

“What matters to me is that you like it,” he said. “I chose this. For you. I saw this one, kind of round but also square, and it made me think of you.”

“Because I am both round and square?” I teased as I motioned between my hips and breasts.

“Because you’re many things at once,” he said with a laugh.

I pointed at him. “Smooth.”

He shrugged as he leaned back on his heels. Straightening the ring once again, he said, “Is that a yes?”

“You have to ask?”

He dragged his lower lip between his teeth as he met my gaze. “I wanted to give you another chance to back out.”

I dropped down to the floor and pulled him into a hug. “Nah. I’m a sure thing.”

He shook his head against my shoulder. “Not even close.”