CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Joshua
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Joshua
A s soon as I put the tools away and the night is creeping, I’m left with nothing but my thoughts. And Emily keeps sneaking into them. I wonder how she’s doing at Bon’s bridal shower. She’s probably pretending she’s not affected by all the sentimental stuff. I imagine her there, trying to act like the cool, detached friend while secretly getting pulled into all the excitement.
It makes me chuckle to myself as I make a steaming cup of tea to end my day. I look around and I can’t help but imagine how this very kitchen used to be the place I used to avoid. It’s always in the kitchen where my mom and dad fought. Where they threw things at each other. Screamed hurtful words. And it’s as if I’m pulled back into the past, where I’m no one but a gangly teenager. It’s within these walls that I committed to being uncommitted. Being in relationships. It’s where I learned to fix things within my control. Like broken pipes and faulty wiring—not emotions. Definitely not people.
Emily’s a puzzle, though. One I never thought I’d want to solve, but here we are. The kiss on the cheek earlier today wasn’t part of the plan. It wasn’t supposed to mess with my head. But it did. She’s playing this game too, teasing me back and catching me off guard in a way no one else really has before. But it’s just a game. It’s nothing I can’t brush off. I’ve known her (the new her) for two weeks. That’s not enough time for feelings to surface, right?
We’ll just keep up this little act until the wedding. But I wonder what will happen then? After all this pretending, what happens next? Will Emily and I just go back to being strangers?
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts aside. At the same moment, the light flickers in the kitchen. There’s another thing I can fix. That’s something I know how to do.
But then, as I am about to leave to get the toolbox, my phone rings. It’s Emily. When I pick up and hear her voice, it’s unmistakably slurred.
“Jooooossshhuuuaaaaaaaaa,” she says—no, sings. “Theez eez meeee, Emileeeee,” she giggles.
“Are you… okay?” I ask.
“I am perfection !” she says. “I just wanna say thank you, kind sir!”
“What?”
“I am having the time of my life! Thank you for telling me to let loooooose!” She screams the last word, I had to pull my phone away from my ear. It’s a struggle to understand her in between the laughing and the slurring words. “Oooh, a table. I should dance on a table, don’t cha think?”
“No. Emily,” I say. “Where are you?”
“Bridal shower!” she shouts. “Can you please come get us?”
I close my eyes and let out a deep breath. Of course. I told her she should have some fun, and that I would help her, and now she’s asking for it. In a way, I feel flattered that she trusts me enough already. “Where are you?” I’m already grabbing my keys. She rattles off the name of the bar, and I realize it’s halfway across town. Perfect.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I say, and I can hear her giggling on the other end of the line, like the whole situation is hilarious. “Stay put, okay?”
“Hurry up, babyyyy,” she whines. Apparently, drunk Emily is flirtier than me. “I might need to dance on a table while I wait.”
I groan. “Please don’t.” She just laughs, so I repeat, “Seriously, Emily, stay put, please.”
The call ends, and I storm out the door while calling Ryan.
“What’s up?” Ryan answers, sounding ready for anything.
“Hey, I think I need some help here. Emily just called from Bon’s bridal shower. Looks like it got a little out of hand.”
There’s a beat, then I hear a laugh in his voice. “Any situation with Bon gets out of hand.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Could you drive her car back?”
“On it. Meet you out in five,” he says.
We make our way to the place of chaos. It brings me back to my teenage years, where I’m tasked to babysit these girls. I used to always find it annoying, but now, I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it.
The drive is quiet, and the city’s lights reflect off the wet streets from the earlier rain. It’s a peaceful night, the kind of night that makes you want to curl up in bed and fall asleep. But no, instead, I’m speeding across town to retrieve a drunken Emily and the rest of the bridal shower crew. Funny how just moments ago, I told myself that I won’t get wrapped up in other people’s chaos again. But here I am, in the middle of the night, doing exactly that. Voluntarily. Happily.
By the time we pull up outside the bar, I’m half-worried that Emily really is dancing on a table, but thankfully, I spot her near the entrance, leaning against the wall. Her hair is a mess, her makeup smudged, and she’s got this drunken, goofy smile plastered on her face.
“Ah, there you are!” she says, stumbling toward me. “My knight in shining armor!” I catch her arm before she tumbles face down onto the sidewalk. “Hello, Ryan!” she says too happily. “Come here, I’ll show you something.” She leads us to the private KTV room they rented, and says, “Shhhhh, they’re sleeping.”
And true enough, Bon, Kate, and Haley are all sleeping on the couch. I let out a low whistle and look at Ryan, silently asking him if he’s up for the task.
“Where’s everyone else?” I ask, looking at Emily, hoping she’s sensible enough to answer me.
“Everyone left safely, with sober people to take care of them,” she says, like a guard reporting for duty. Even drunk, she made sure everyone went home safely. This woman is incredible.
We walk over to Bon, Kate, and Haley, and Ryan chuckles. “My beautiful bride-to-be,” he says sarcastically, motioning to my sister, who’s sleeping but somehow keeps one eye open. “I’ll transport the sleeping girls, you take care of that unexpected toddler.” Ryan points to Emily, who’s now hugging Kate.
Fortunately, the zombies are able to walk, even when they’re half asleep. I help bring the girls to Bon’s car, while keeping one hand on Emily to make sure she doesn’t wander off.
“You got this?” I ask as Ryan secures a seatbelt on Bon and plants a soft kiss on her cheek.
“They’re all asleep. It’s you I gotta ask,” he says. Emily is clinging to my arm like a koala. Drunk Emily is dangerously touchy. I look down at her and chuckle.
“Yeah, no big deal,” I say.
We part ways, Ryan driving off with the girls as I’m left with Emily, still hanging onto me like I’m the only thing keeping her upright. Who am I kidding? I am the only thing keeping her upright. She looks up at me with those glassy, unfocused eyes, grinning like she’s having the best time of her life.
It starts drizzling, and I pry Emily off me so I can unzip my hoodie and put it on her. She’s compliant, putting her arms through the holes of the jacket and not saying a word as I put the hood over her head. As soon as she’s swallowed by the hoodie, she smiles.
“You’re the best, Josh,” she slurs, her voice soft.
“Of course I am,” I say with a wink.
We walk toward my car, and I help Emily settle into the passenger seat. I strap her in, my hands lingering for a moment as I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I slide into the driver’s seat and drive off. She’s unusually quiet, just staring out the window and fumbling with the edges of the hoodie.
Emily looks at me. Her eyes are red, obviously from too much alcohol, but I can still see her in there. “Yeah, just… thinking,”
“What could you possibly be thinking about when you’re intoxicated like this?” I ask, trying to keep the tone light.
For a moment, she doesn’t respond, just stares ahead as if weighing whether to answer. Finally, she shrugs, the motion sluggish, like the weight of her thoughts is pulling her down.
“The irony,” she mutters, her words slightly slurred but still carrying an edge of bitterness. “I’m the one who plans her whole life. Down to the last detail. Every goal, every decision, mapped out like a perfect little timeline.” She spreads her arms out, as if to show me how perfect her timeline is. She lets out a humorless laugh, shaking her head as if mocking herself. “And yet, here I am. Jobless, almost homeless, relationship-less... lying through my teeth in front of my best friends just to keep it together.”
Her confession feels raw, unfiltered, and maybe even involuntary. I know she wouldn’t let me see this side of her if she weren’t drunk. And it stings—not because I pity her, but because I don’t feel like I’ve earned the right to witness this vulnerability. It’s like I’ve stumbled into a room I was never meant to enter.
“That’s not true,” I say softly, breaking the silence as carefully as I can. “You’re not—”
“Oh, come on, Joshua.” She cuts me off, her voice sharper now, though it wavers slightly. “I’m the girl who couldn’t keep her dream job, couldn’t keep her apartment, couldn’t even keep her boyfriend. What does that say about me?” She rubs at her eyes, frustrated, and I notice her hands trembling slightly.
I take a deep breath, considering my next words carefully. I take her trembling hand in mine. “It says that life threw you some punches. That’s all. It doesn’t say anything about who you are. You’re still you—smart, resourceful, stubborn as hell. And you’re still standing.”
“Resilience is overrated. It shouldn’t be rewarded. It should be condemned,” she grumbles. “No one has to be praised for making the most out of a shitty life.”
Her words feel like a truth that no one is allowed to say out loud. And maybe she’s right. Maybe resilience is just a word we slap onto people who’ve had to fight harder than they should’ve. Maybe it’s a consolation prize for surviving a storm no one should have to face in the first place.
“Emily,” I say, my voice steady but firm, “resilience is not just about making the most out of a shitty life. It’s about refusing to let the worst parts define you. It’s about surviving long enough to get to the good parts—parts you deserve. And you deserve them.”
She doesn’t respond right away, she just stares out the window, her expression unreadable. For a moment, I think she’s going to brush me off, maybe even lash out again. But then she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Do I?”
The question is so quiet, so broken, that I want to stop this car and just hug her.
“Yes,” I say, without hesitation. “You do. And I don’t care if you can’t see it right now. You deserve every damn good thing coming your way. Not because you survived, but because of who you are.”
“What if the good things don’t come?”
“They will,” I say. “But if they don’t, I’ll make sure something better does.”
Her lips press together, and she blinks rapidly, as if trying to stop tears from falling. She doesn’t thank me, doesn’t argue, doesn’t say anything at all. But the silence feels different now—less like defeat and more like contemplation.
We arrive in front of her house, and I put the car to a stop. I look at her, and her eyes are droopy, but they’re still beautiful. She’s swallowed by my hoodie, and she smiles at me in the most adorable way.
We get out of the car, and I hold her hand to lead her to her place. But before I can move, she pulls me close to her. She looks at me intently, her brows furrowed and her eyes dark.
“Kiss me,” Emily says.
“W-what?” I stammer, thinking I heard wrong.
“Kiss me,” Emily repeats, her words clearer than before as she takes one step toward me. She’s gripping me tighter so I try my best to anchor us both to the ground, even when her words make me feel woozy.
“I’m not gonna kiss you when you’re drunk, Em. I’m not that terrible,” I reply, my voice soft but firm, trying to keep the situation light. It’s not easy, especially with her standing this close, her breath warm against my skin.
Her pout deepens, and she sways slightly, her free hand reaching out to poke me in the chest. “Boooo,” she drawls, dragging out the word like a child denied dessert. “Why not?”
Before I can answer, her hands slide up my arms, trailing a path of heat that I feel even through my shirt. They settle at the back of my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair, tracing soft, lazy circles that make it so damn hard to keep it together. She takes another step closer, so close now that it takes everything in me not to pull her against me.
I exhale slowly, grounding myself, forcing calm into my voice. “Because,” I begin, injecting as much lightness as I can manage, “If I were to kiss you…” I pause, gently prying her hands away from my hair. Her fingers resist for just a second before yielding, and I hold them in mine, her skin soft and warm against my palms.
I meet her gaze, holding it steady, even though the way she’s looking at me makes my chest ache. “If I were to kiss you,” I repeat, my voice lower now, more serious, “I’d want every part of you—from your head to your toes—to remember exactly how good it feels.”
And because I can’t seem to help myself, I lift her hand and press my lips softly against her knuckles. “And you have to be sober for that,” I add.
Her breath catches, a tiny, audible hitch that sends a shiver down my spine. For a second, I think she understands, that maybe she isn’t as far gone as I thought. But then she tilts her head, brushing it off with a sly smile that makes my stomach twist.
“So, you’ll kiss me when I’m sober?” she asks, her voice teasing but her eyes heavy.
“How about you ask me when you’re sober?” I counter, keeping my voice steady, even as the weight of her gaze threatens to undo me.
“When I do, Josh-u-a” she says, emphasizing my name. There’s something in the way she says ‘when’, not ‘if’, that makes my heart skip. “Will you?”
For a moment, I’m silent. I want to make sure that I’m not breaking a rule or crossing a line here. But then, I realize that she’s too drunk to remember any of this in the morning, so I make my decision. I want to be honest, even if she forgets.
“In a heartbeat, Emily Rose,” I say softly, the words slipping out before I can stop them. I gently remove her hands from the back of my neck, holding them for a second longer than I probably should, before guiding her to the front door.
“Wait,” she shouts, her voice strained, almost panicked.
I glance down at her, raising an eyebrow, already bracing myself for whatever ridiculous request might follow. Is she going to demand I carry her? Another deep confession? But no request comes.
Instead, her face twists, a look of alarm spreading across her features.
“I need to—” she starts, but doesn’t finish.
And then it happens. Right there, on my shoes.
She hurls.