Chapter 36
chapter thirty-six
Emme
Today’s Learning Objective:
Students will evaluate symbolism in works of art.
I held the ice to my face as I stared out the car window, though I didn’t see the gentle hills and glittering waters of Friendship, Rhode Island as we passed. It was a blur of blue and green, all melding together as the silence between us grew heavier by the minute.
My fingers throbbed from the ice, but it felt like my grip on that bag was the only thing holding me together right now. If I put it down, even for a minute, I’d end up walking in circles around the fact that Ryan came here for me tonight. This wasn’t the right time for us to hash out our issues and he should’ve known that, but he showed up—and he blitzed his way through the party to spare me an allergic reaction.
Unfortunately for me and the silence I was clinging to, it wasn’t a long ride back to the tulip farm. The old Victorian was lit with warm, welcoming light, and I directed him to park near the barn off to the side.
Though it was completely unnecessary, Ryan jogged around the front of his car to help me out. I was fine, but he scooped me off the seat and kept his hands on my waist for a moment after setting me on the ground all the same.
He plucked a bag from the back seat and surveyed the fields. With a laugh, he said, “It really is a tulip farm.”
“Yeah, that’s what I told you,” I said, forgetting for a second that I was trying to maintain some distance here. That I’d told him where I stood, and even if I really appreciated the save tonight, I couldn’t do this with him.
His gaze settled on me and I saw a breath sagging his shoulders. “I know,” he said, and he sounded exhausted. I realized then that dark shadows circled his eyes. “But sometimes I don’t understand until I see it.” He frowned at the blood on my dress. It was pretty awful. “I spend so much time thinking about something that I can’t always make sense of it until it’s right there in front of me.”
I didn’t know what point he was trying to make, so I headed toward the Victorian. It was quiet and empty, and my heels snapped against the hardwood as I climbed the stairs. Ryan was right behind me, his hand on my hip as if I needed the support. I didn’t, but I couldn’t bring myself to brush him off either.
Once in my room, I went straight for the adjoining bathroom to wash away the blood and ruined makeup. Ryan followed, looming in the doorway as I twisted the taps. I shot him a scowl before leaning over the sink. He was quiet for several minutes, watching as I rinsed the dried blood from around my nose and then lathered a facial wash into my skin. There was a low throb across my cheeks from the artichoke-oyster incident. It wasn’t too bad. Better than the swelling and observation in the ER that came with my allergic reactions.
“I’m sorry,” he said when I patted my face dry.
While his words seemed to spring from deep inside him and they sounded more sincere than any other he’d ever spoken to me, a bitter laugh cracked out of me as I turned around. “That’s the last thing I want to hear.”
“Then let me explain,” he said, his hands braced on the doorframe. “It’s not what you think.”
“I don’t want an explanation. I don’t care what happened or why or what you thought you were doing. None of it matters. I just want to know…” I leaned back against the sink, closing my eyes and pressing my fingers to my temples. “Was it just about the business deals? Because every time I trace it back to the beginning and go looking for the signs that the only thing you cared about was using me as a tool against my father?—”
“No, Emme, no,” he whispered.
“—I wonder whether any of it was real.” I stared at him with his overgrown scruff and tired eyes, and a twist of pain cut through me for our friendship, for everything I thought we’d found together, for a future we wouldn’t share. “Was any of it real?”
He heaved out a breath and stared at the floor for a long minute as everything inside me slowly sank.
“Right,” I said, hating the tears filling my eyes. “Well. You should go and I’ll?—”
“Real? You want to know about real , Emmeline? You have no fucking idea how real it is.” He grabbed the loose ends of his bloodied shirt and pulled them apart, tearing the fabric and sending buttons flying. “How real it’s always been for me.” He yanked the shirt from his arms and threw it aside, revealing his bare chest—and a large bandage over his ribs. Before I could ask about that, he pointed to a design near his shoulders. “Your corsage from senior prom. These are the flowers I picked out for you.”
I stared at him but I still didn’t understand. “What?”
He gestured to another cluster of flowers, this one on the inside of his biceps. “These are the ones I gave you for Homecoming. Tenth grade.”
I swallowed hard and pressed my fingers to my lips.
“Clouds, because you liked to complain about New Hampshire being gray and overcast all the time,” he said, tapping a few spots on his chest before moving to the wave design on his arm. “The field trip to the Isle of Shoals? You fell asleep on my shoulder during the boat ride back and that hour was the happiest fucking moment of my entire year.”
I made a noise then, something like a cough and a choked sigh, and All this time?
“These are the stamps from the postcards you sent the semester you studied in Paris. Lines from your favorite movies. Lyrics from your favorite songs.” He pointed to the tall trees climbing up his arm. “Remember the botany project in biology? When we had to observe changes in the ecosystem once a week for the whole semester? And you picked those woods about a mile behind my house?” He laughed as he shook his head. “I didn’t give a shit about biology, but I fucking loved that project.”
My head swam. I stumbled back a step.
Ryan followed me, crowding me against the sink. He took my hand and pressed it to his chest. “When I was in Arizona, I realized there’re orange trees all over Tucson. There used to be hundreds of acres of orange groves around the city, but not as many now.” He tapped our joined hands to a cluster of small, five-petaled flowers over his heart. “Every spring, those trees would bloom and the whole city would smell like orange blossoms and it was like you were there with me. I would go running early in the morning because it was strongest then, and you know what I’d do while I was out there? I’d listen to the goddamn Les Mis soundtrack. I’d think about all the hoodies you stole from me and never gave back. And I’d do the math. I’d count the days and months and years until I turned thirty and I could come and get you.”
A glimmer of understanding prickled over my skin. All I could say was, “Oh.”
He dragged our hands across his collarbones, down his arms, up his sides, and though it took me a minute, I realized those flowers were everywhere. Tucked into every design, filling every space. Everywhere.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I asked, “Why?”
“Because it’s always been real for us. Because I fucking love you.”
“Even then?”
“Always.” With his free hand, he ripped the bandage off his ribs. “National championships,” he said, motioning to the dates of his biggest college and pro wins tattooed there. And then to another date, a fresh one. “The day I married you.”
“But—but—” I dashed the tears from my cheeks, shaking my head. There were too many things happening at once here. “But it was a fake marriage?—”
“It was never fake,” he said, gathering both of my hands in his. “Not a single minute of it, and you know that. I know you know it.”
“But my father,” I said, my voice breaking over the words. “You used me to get him to back down.”
Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and his shoulders drew tight as he sucked in a breath. “Emmeline. You own every inch of my soul,” he said, his eyes still closed. “That’s not how it happened. I swear it on my life. I’d swear it on your life.”
“Then tell me,” I whispered. “From the start.”