10. Embry
10
Embry
After living with Bryson for two weeks, I felt right at home. We got along great, and we’d fallen into a comfortable routine.
I felt incredibly lucky to have an excellent chef cooking all my meals. He didn’t want me to help, but he let me hang out with him while he worked, which was wonderful. It was like having a front row seat to a world-class cooking show.
Bryson seemed unsure of himself at times, but never when he was in the kitchen. There, he was bold and confident. I loved the way his knife flew as he chopped vegetables into perfectly uniform pieces, and the way his brow creased in concentration as he adjusted spices and seasonings.
My favorite part, though, was when he scooped up a spoonful of whatever he was making and brought it to me to taste. We both knew I didn’t have any constructive feedback to give him, because everything he made was delicious. But he always brought me a sample anyway, holding one hand under it to catch any drips as he raised the spoon to my mouth.
It was surprisingly intimate. I had a little fantasy going about him feeding me an entire meal that way, but I kept that to myself.
Even though cooking was a one-man show as far as he was concerned, he had a totally different attitude when it came to our baking lessons. He claimed he was rusty because he hadn’t used these skills since culinary school, but to me he seemed like an absolute pro. He was also a kind and patient teacher, which I appreciated.
We’d started with macarons, and then we’d made them twice more that first week, in big batches and different flavors. I packed them in pretty boxes and brought Bryson with me as I delivered them to all our neighbors. I was worried about what would happen to him after our year was up and I moved out. He’d been so isolated before, but maybe things would be different if he had some friends in the neighborhood.
After the macarons, we moved on to other recipes. There was so much I wanted to learn, but I asked Bryson to stick with cookies for now. We baked enough to fill a big gift basket and delivered it to the Pink Victorian Crew on the Saturday before Christmas. It made my friends happy, and that meant everything to me.
When we got back from our visit, a padded mailing envelope had been delivered to me. I’d had our wedding pictures made into two photobooks online, one for Bryson to show his family, and one for me. Even if the marriage wasn’t real, the memories were, so I’d wanted a keepsake.
I took the envelope with me when I went upstairs to change, and I sat on my bed and carefully unpacked the books. The shot on the cover was my absolute favorite. It was the two of us doing the Dirty Dancing lift in front of the Las Vegas sign.
Inside, there were a few random photos taken around the hotel, but most were from the wedding ceremony. If I was looking at these pictures as an outsider, I’d definitely buy the story they told. We looked like two people who were deeply in love, making a commitment to each other in a beautiful setting.
I’d barely noticed the sunset because I’d been so nervous about messing up or dropping Bryson’s ring, but it was glorious in the photos. One of the rugby guys had taken a fantastic shot with us and the gazebo in silhouette, backed by a sky that looked like a pink and orange watercolor painting.
Then there were the photos of our first and only kiss. It was weird to have that documented.
I closed the book and sighed. It had been a beautiful wedding. Since it was all just an act though, the photos were definitely bittersweet.
I got up and changed out of my nice sweater, and then I took one of the photo books with me and went back downstairs. Dusty had followed Bryson when we got home, but now he joined me in the kitchen and curled up on his new dog bed. There was one in my room, but Bryson had gotten him a second one, since we spent so much time in the kitchen and the dog liked to hang out with us. I thought that was very sweet.
It was the day before Bryson’s birthday, so I turned my attention to finishing his cake. I’d baked it, stacked the five rainbow layers with lemon curd filling, and covered it in a smooth coat of frosting this morning, before we went to visit my friends. Now it was time to make it pretty.
I whipped up a batch of buttercream frosting using Bryson’s fancy mixer and tinted it pale blue with gel food coloring. After fitting a piping bag with a flat, corrugated tip, I decorated the sides of the cake in a basketweave pattern, mostly because I wanted to challenge myself. I messed up a couple of times, but it was a pretty forgiving medium. All I had to do was scrape it off and try again.
Next, I tinted the remaining frosting a nice shade of sky blue and piped a scalloped border around the cake’s top and bottom edges. Then I stuck a cover over it and returned it to the fridge. The finishing touch would be some gum paste figures I’d worked on over the last week, every night after Bryson went to bed. They were hidden away, and I was going to put them on right before I gave him the cake.
I hadn’t seen him in a couple of hours, so I grabbed the photo book and went to find him. It turned out he was in his office, lost in thought and staring out the window. I wondered what was on his mind.
While I was hovering in the doorway and trying to decide if I should interrupt him, he snapped back to the present and noticed me standing there. His face lit up with a smile, and he said, “Hi, Em. What’s up?”
“I have something for you.” I crossed the room and placed the book on his desk as I explained, “That’s to take along when we visit your family. I thought it would help us sell the whole married and in love thing.”
He ran his hand over the glossy cover and murmured, “Good idea,” but he didn’t open it.
“There’s one more thing. Remember when you refused to let me return that money to petty cash?”
“The money you earned by selling those wreaths? Yeah, I remember.”
“I said I was going to spend it on something for both of us, so would you like to go to a Christmas concert tonight? I know it’s short notice. I actually bought the tickets a few days ago, and I was going to surprise you. But then I thought, what if you hated the idea? So, I’m asking instead of springing it on you.”
“I’d love to go. Thank you.”
“Awesome! It’s at eight, and it’s just a few blocks from here. I thought maybe we could walk over.”
He nodded and pushed his chair back from his desk. “In that case, I’d better get dinner going.”
I followed him into the kitchen, took my seat on the barstool, and watched him work his magic. He was humoring me by making spaghetti empanadas again, because I’d loved them so much the first time.
Bryson was quiet during the meal, and afterwards as we cleaned up together. Later on, we got changed and met up in the foyer, and I murmured, “Wow, you look great.” He’d put on black dress pants and a royal blue sweater, along with a black wool overcoat that made him look elegant and sophisticated.
He was obviously just being polite when he told me I looked great, too. I was wearing my best pair of jeans, a button-down shirt, and a puffy ski jacket, and I probably looked like a dork.
On our walk to the concert venue, I asked, “Are you nervous about seeing your family in a couple of days?” I figured that might have been why he’d been so quiet.
“I’m dreading it on multiple levels,” he admitted. “This time, there’s the added pressure of convincing them we’re a real couple, but it’s always pretty disheartening. First, there’s my grandfather, who treats me like I’m still a kid. He offers way too much unsolicited advice on every aspect of my life, and while I know it comes from a place of love, it’s like he thinks I’m completely incompetent.”
“I can see how that’d be annoying.”
“It is, and there’s more. Most of my cousins are obnoxious, but worst of all is my brother, Fallon. He’s a bitter, angry person, and he takes that out on me while blatantly sucking up to our grandfather, in the hopes of getting a bigger piece of the inheritance pie. Also, Fallon and his wife are usually arguing, which casts a cloud over everything.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”
He glanced at me as we stopped at an intersection and waited for the light to change. “I’m used to it. What’s bothering me is that you have to deal with it. You love Christmas more than anyone I’ve ever met, and I wish I could give you the perfect holiday. Instead, I’m making you deal with my dysfunctional family.”
I touched his sleeve and said, “I’m glad I’m going with you, because it sounds like you need someone in your corner. Plus, you have an easy out this time. Whenever you want a break from your family, we can play the horny honeymooner card and tell them we want some time to ourselves. They can’t say no to that.”
That made him grin. “True.”
As the light changed and we stepped off the curb, I asked, “Do they know you’re bringing me?”
“He always calls me on my birthday, so I’m telling my grandfather tomorrow. I want him to hear it before the rest of the family. I also want to give him a day to absorb the news that I eloped, and that I married a man.”
“What are you going to say when he asks why you got married two weeks ago, but you’re only telling him now?”
“I’ll tell him I wanted you all to myself during our first couple of weeks as a married couple. What else can I say? The truth is that you and I needed time to get to know each other, and to get comfortable with this whole thing. He would have shown up on our doorstep and wanted to meet you immediately, and we weren’t ready.”
“Does that mean he might show up at the house tomorrow?”
“No, because he’s already at his brother’s place in Healdsburg. Most of the family is arriving today, but we’re not expected until Monday, because I said I had plans on my birthday. I figured the less time there, the better.”
It was nice to see him relax a little when we got to the concert venue. It was being held in a beautiful vintage theater, and the lobby had been decorated with white lights and clusters of Christmas trees. I bought us hot apple cider and gingerbread cookies at the concession stand, and then we found our seats and settled in.
The event was a fundraiser for a local children’s charity, and it featured a wide range of performers. My favorites were the orchestra that played selections from The Nutcracker, and a theater company that performed songs from holiday movies. Finally, a local jazz band sang Christmas carols and invited the audience to join in.
I kept watching Bryson out of the corner of my eye, and he seemed to be having fun. When the carols started, he held back at first, but then he started mouthing the words. I held my program open for both of us, which included the lyrics, and by the end of it he was singing along as loudly as I was.
Afterwards, as we left the theater, he was happier than I’d ever seen him. “That was absolutely wonderful,” he said. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”
We started walking, and I took his hand without thinking about it. He didn’t say anything, but when I realized what I was doing, I came up with a flimsy excuse. “I thought we should practice,” I said. “We’ll have to do this when we’re with your family.”
He murmured, “Good idea,” and gently ran his thumb over the back of my hand.
I knew I shouldn’t be doing this, because it made me want something I couldn’t have. But I didn’t let go.
That ended up being a good thing a few minutes later, when I managed to trip over a slightly uneven part of the sidewalk. I started to lunge forward, already anticipating how much it was going to hurt when I landed on my knees. But Bryson yanked me upright and pulled me toward him.
I steadied myself with a hand on his chest and looked up at him. I loved how sturdy he was, in the best sense of the word—strong and solid. It made me feel safe, somehow.
When I murmured, “Sorry,” he shook his head.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I’m too clumsy,” I muttered, lowering my gaze, “and I don’t pay attention.”
“Who told you that? Your mom?” I nodded, and he said, “Given everything you’ve told me about her, I don’t think she has the right to define you, or to put words in your head.”
I met his gaze again. “I’ve let her criticism be the voice in my head, all my life,” I admitted quietly. “It started when I was really young.” Suddenly, this felt important. I wanted Bryson to understand this about me, so I asked, “Can I show you something?”
When he nodded, I unfastened a few buttons on my shirt and held it open, revealing the large scar that covered most of my chest. “I always keep this hidden,” I said. “It’s why I didn’t want to take off my sweater, the first time I came to your house.”
“What happened?” His voice was the softest whisper.
“I fell onto a campfire when I was three, and my shirt caught on fire. It was the first time I can remember my mom calling me stupid and clumsy. She kept calling me that as I was growing up, and I guess I believed her, because it’s how I’ve always defined myself. Every time I trip and fall, or break something, or mess something up, it reinforces that message.”
I buttoned my shirt and looked up at him as I asked, “Do you think it’s possible to unlearn that? Because I know she was wrong to blame me. I was a toddler, and she should have been watching out for me. But even though I know that, I still hear it in my head, all the time. I really am an incredibly clumsy person, but I don’t think I’m stupid… am I?”
He muttered, “Fuck, Embry,” and drew me into a tight embrace. It felt like he’d gathered up all the broken bits of me and was holding them together. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, even for a minute. You’re not just smart, you’re brilliant. You’re also the most clever, resourceful, creative, and imaginative person I’ve ever met. It kills me that you don’t see that.”
“You really think I’m all those things?”
“I know it for a fact.” He leaned back just far enough to meet my gaze as he told me, “Let me be your cheerleader, until you can do it for yourself. Any time that voice in your head gets loud, come to me and I’ll remind you how wonderful you are.”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. He was saying things I’d wanted to hear, all my life. He hugged me again and whispered, “It’s okay, Em. Let it out.”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t even know why I’m doing this now. We were having such a good night, and I’m ruining it.”
“You’re not ruining anything.” Once I finally let go of him, he took my hand and said, “Let’s get you home. It’s cold out here.”
When we reached the house, he waved to the purple dragon and called, “Hi, Smaug.” He was obviously trying to lighten the mood, and it worked.
“Smaug? Really?”
“It’s the only dragon I could think of.”
“Have you been a huge Lord of the Rings nerd this whole time, and I’m only now finding out about it?”
“Maybe.”
He smiled at me when I teased, “You think you know a person.”
We went inside and changed into sweats, and I let the dog run around the backyard for a few minutes while Bryson made us some hot chocolate. Then Dusty joined us as we took a seat on the couch.
We found an old Christmas movie on TV, and I pulled a throw blanket over all three of us. After a while, I said, “Oh, hey—it’s after midnight, so happy birthday, Bry. I hope it ends up being a good day.”
He sounded sincere as he leaned against me and murmured, “It’s already off to a great start.”