18. Embry
18
Embry
I could pinpoint the exact moment when the real Embry decided to reappear. I’d forgotten for a while—forgotten how clumsy and embarrassing I was, and how much of an absolute disaster I could be. Somehow, being with Bryson had given me a sense of confidence. It made me think I was changing.
Then, in a single evening, I slipped down some stairs, broke a bunch of champagne flutes, made a huge mess of dinner, and nearly knocked a server off her feet. And it was like, oh, that’s right. This is who I am.
How could I forget?
Bryson was incredibly nice about it, but I knew deep down, he had to be embarrassed. After all, we were with his family at an elegant inn that looked like it was right out of a movie.
I didn’t belong in a place like this.
I made that clear the first night, and then I kept reminding everyone of it all weekend as I messed up one thing after another. The harder I tried not to knock things over, or trip over my own two feet, or break stuff, the clumsier I became.
Sunday evening, we picked up Dusty from the Pink Victorian and got home around eight. I went right to bed, because that way, there was nothing I could break or screw up.
Bryson joined me sometime later. It felt wonderful when he curled up against my back and put an arm around me. He was so kind and gentle. He nuzzled my hair and asked, “Are you okay, Em?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
That wasn’t true. I wasn’t fine at all. I was sad because I was back to being a walking disaster, and because I’d spent all weekend embarrassing him and myself in front of his family. But I couldn’t tell him that. He’d just try to make me feel better by telling me it wasn’t that bad, but I knew the truth.
Bryson left the house bright and early the next morning. He’d contacted a commercial real estate agent over the weekend, and she’d put together a long list of properties to show him. Some were former restaurants, but there were also some warehouses and random buildings, which could be gutted and converted. He invited me to go along, but I told him I’d rather stay home. I didn’t know the first thing about what a fine dining restaurant should look like, and I really didn’t want my opinion to influence him into potentially making the wrong decision.
When he got home around seven that evening, he seemed exhausted and discouraged. “We saw all kinds of properties,” he said, “but none of them felt right. We’re going to try again tomorrow.”
We had Chinese food delivered because he was too tired to cook, and after dinner he brought up a subject I’d known was coming. “I went to the bank today to move around the money my grandfather sent me. While I was there, I asked them to issue a cashier’s check for two hundred grand.” He took an envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it toward me across the kitchen island. “Since the amount I received was double what I’d been expecting, I think your portion should be double, too.”
“I don’t want it. I already told you that.”
“I know you said that. But it would mean a lot to me if you took the money, Em.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “You need to let this go.”
“But we had an agreement?—”
“You’re right, we did. We even put it in writing. It said I wouldn’t get paid if we failed to fool your grandfather. We failed, Bryson.”
“But that wasn’t your fault. You did everything I asked of you.”
“There’s no way I’d ever accept that huge amount.”
“How about if we go back to the original amount instead of doubling it? Then will you take it?”
I took a step back as tears welled in my eyes. “No! A hundred grand for a month is absurd!”
He seemed surprised. “Why are you getting upset?”
I turned my back to him and wiped away the tears as I admitted, “I don’t know.”
Bryson’s voice was as gentle as always. “I really want you to have that money, Embry.”
I turned to face him and asked, “Why is this so important to you?”
He seemed confused, because to him this didn’t need an explanation. “Because that money can help you. When we started this, you told me how much you wanted to launch a cake business. If it’s not what you want anymore, that’s fine, too. Use it for something else, or stick it in savings.”
“Please let it go, Bryson. I’m never going to agree to take that money, and nothing you say will convince me.”
His shoulders slumped, and he sighed and muttered, “Alright.”
I’d hurt his feelings, which was the last thing I wanted. I knew this was meant to be an act of kindness, and I wished I could explain why it bothered me so much. It was more than feeling like I hadn’t earned it and didn’t deserve it—though that was definitely a big part of it. But it also hit on something deeper, something I couldn’t put words to, because I hadn’t figured it out for myself.
I hurried around the kitchen island and grabbed him in a hug as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” he said. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”
The next morning, we woke up to gray skies and a lot of rain. Even so, Bryson was out of the house before nine again, with another long list of properties to see with the real estate agent.
I was still in a funk, so I hid in bed for a while before finally making myself get up and face the day. The first thing I had to do was make some decisions about my website. The designer had sent me three very different mockups, and I had no idea which one I should choose.
After spending a couple of hours on the internet looking at the websites of similar businesses, I still didn’t have an answer. I emailed the designer and told her I’d get back to her next week. Not that I thought I’d figure it out by then, but at least I didn’t have to worry about it right this minute.
The other item on my to-do list was to bake a birthday cake for my neighbors across the street, which they were expecting the next day. I took a shower and got dressed, and then I found an umbrella and walked to the nearest market for some ingredients.
Dusty greeted me excitedly when I got home, and I took some time to pet him and let him out before turning my attention to the birthday cake. It was for a little girl who was turning seven. Her moms had requested pastel colors and a donut theme, because that was her favorite treat. I thought they should have just bought some donuts and stuck candles in them, but this was what they wanted, and they were paying me to make it.
I’d drawn some different ideas for the cake ahead of time, and I put my open sketchbook on the kitchen counter and got to work. The cake itself was the easy part. I got it in the oven and turned my attention to the donuts.
Even though I’d never made them before, I’d seen it done plenty of times on cooking shows, so I thought I knew what I was doing. The plan was to make them as small as possible, frost and decorate them, and then use them as a border around both tiers of the cake.
I rolled out the dough, but it was too soft and sticky, and the circles I cut weren’t holding their shape. I ended up remixing it and trying again, forgetting about everything else, including the cake in the oven and the big pot of oil I’d put on the stove to heat up.
A few minutes later, everything went horribly wrong.
The cakes began to burn, which set off the smoke alarm. Dusty leapt up and started barking at the loud noise, and I grabbed a dish towel and used it to pull the scorched cakes from the oven. I ended up burning one of my hands on a hot cake pan, so I hurried to the sink and held my hand under cold water, coughing as the kitchen filled with smoke.
Most of that smoke wasn’t from the cakes. I didn’t realize that until the oil on the stove burst into flames. I quickly turned off the heat and tried to move the pot off the burner, but I yelped in pain as burning oil sloshed onto my hand. Some also spilled onto the counter, igniting my sketchbook and sending flames shooting upwards, toward the cabinets.
I cried out in terror, flashing back to when I was three and got burned by that campfire. My eyes stung, and I couldn’t stop coughing. I knew I should get out of there, but if I didn’t do something the whole house would burn down.
I had to think. I had to fix this. What did you do to put out a grease fire? It wasn’t water, that much I knew.
It was so smoky, and the alarm was painfully loud. I dropped to my knees, coughs racking my body, and I started to cry. Oh god, this was bad. Really, really bad.
In the next instant, someone picked me up. I looked up and realized Bryson was carrying me. “I’m sorry,” I rasped, between my coughs and sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
He paused long enough to scoop up Dusty, and then he ran out the front door with us and put us on the sidewalk. I clutched my dog to my chest as tears streamed down my cheeks. Bryson crouched down and took my face between his hands as he asked me, “Are you okay, Embry?”
I nodded, but then I doubled over in a coughing fit. Toshiko from across the street appeared and told Bryson, “I called 911 when I heard the smoke alarm. They’ll be here soon. I’m a doctor, and he may be suffering from smoke inhalation.” She knelt down beside me and said, “Try to stay calm, Embry. Help is on the way.” I tried to reply but started coughing again.
Soon after, a huge, red fire truck pulled up with its sirens blaring, followed by an ambulance. A crowd was gathering on the sidewalk. I looked around and grabbed Toshiko’s sleeve as I asked, “Where’s Bryson?”
“I don’t know, but the paramedics are here. Hang on, my four-year-old just came outside. I need to go get her, but I’ll be right back.”
I felt shaky as I stood up, still clinging to Dusty. The onlookers shifted to make room for the firefighters, and I ended up getting pushed to the edge of the crowd. I looked around, and after a moment, I saw Bryson.
He’d gone back inside, and he appeared on the front porch holding a fire extinguisher, with a dishtowel tied over his mouth and nose. He pulled the towel off his face and said something to the nearest firefighter, who turned and yelled to his crew, “The fire’s out.”
Oh, thank god. They went inside anyway, probably to check for any remaining embers, and I took a step back.
I’d almost ruined everything.
I took another step backwards, as more people gathered on the sidewalk.
I’d almost burned down the house Bryson loved. The house he’d grown up in. The house his dad left him.
I didn’t deserve Bryson, or this life, or any of it.
He’d be much better off without me.
The rain started falling again, mixing with the tears streaming down my face. I thought I could actually feel my heart breaking as I turned and ran away.