Chapter 12 #2
Oh, my gosh. Suddenly, I know exactly why Carter is having such a hard time. And the thought makes me perfectly giddy.
“Carter Williamson,” I say, my tone turning playful. “Are you jealous?”
“What? No,” he quickly says. “I’m just…curious. And I’ve never heard of this guy, so I want to make sure you trust him.”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“I’m not—” he says, but then he breathes out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. If you trust whoever this is, then of course you can tell him.”
“It’s my friend, Emerson,” I say pointedly. “We went to SCAD together, but he’s currently in New York visiting his boyfriend’s family.”
“Right,” Carter says slowly. “Emerson has a boyfriend.”
“He does,” I say. “And they’re very much in love.”
“I just made a fool of myself, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” I say. “But it’s okay because I actually think it was kind of cute.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “There are parts of this…I know they aren’t real, you know? But sometimes they feel real. I want you to tell me if I ever overstep.”
A sense of relief washes over me that we’re dealing with similar struggles. “I get it,” I say. “And I’ve had similar moments. Last night I felt a weird and totally irrational urge to leave Shelby a one-star review on Google. Just because of how pretty her eyes are.”
“Shelby, who once dated my brother and is still hung up on him?”
“I didn’t say it was valid,” I argue. “Just that she was there, in the same room with you, with those gorgeous eyes.”
“I guess we’re even, then,” he says. “So moving forward, no review-bombing innocent realtors?”
“And no stressing over very gay best friends.”
“Done,” he says. “But Sarah, I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I trust you. You don’t ever have to justify your choices to me.”
“I appreciate that. And same. Side question: are you hiding in an airplane bathroom?”
“Yep,” he says.
“Can you even stand up all the way?”
“I cannot.”
I let out a giggle. “I’ll let you get back to your seat. See you tomorrow?”
“I can’t wait,” he says, then the call disconnects.
I stand and stare at the mirror, fighting my smile. I made Carter jealous. I probably shouldn’t be so happy about that, but I absolutely am.
“What was that all about?” Emerson asks when I return to the living room.
“Oh, nothing. Just me convincing Carter you and I aren’t dating.”
Emerson sits up a little taller like he’s proud of himself. “Wait. A professional hockey player felt threatened by me? I need to write this moment down. I need to tell Jeremy. Was it my Instagram profile picture? I’ve been told it reads very straight.”
“Stop it,” I say through a laugh. “He’s never seen your photo. But I told him I want to tell you the truth—the whole truth. And it made him wonder.”
“Oh, this sounds dramatic,” Emerson says.
I nod and toss him an extra blanket. “You’d better buckle up. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
It takes a solid thirty minutes to explain everything.
And I mean everything. From the first time I met Carter to every single interaction we’ve had since.
When I get to the part about not going to hockey games, I end up unpacking even more, telling Emerson about my panic attacks and, at least in vague terms, the trauma that triggered them.
He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I really wish I’d known. I had no idea how much you were dreading going back to Canada.”
“I know. I didn’t really talk about it. I think I was in denial. Which is why I really appreciate what Miles did for me. And Carter—I mean, he’s my literal hero.”
“Sure,” Emerson says. “But you can appreciate both of them and also feel like this is really hard. You’re having to navigate some very complicated emotions.” He tosses me the last half of his croissant. “Here. You need more carbs.”
“I do need more carbs,” I say, then I shove the rest of the croissant into my mouth in one giant bite. “This is really good therapy,” I say through a mouthful of crumbs.
“Best kind there is,” Emerson says.
I lick the last of the butter off my fingers. “Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“Do you think…it’s fair for me to expect Carter not to date? Or even see other women while we’re together?”
“I mean, you’ll be married,” he says. “Which means if he does, he’ll technically be cheating. Which isn’t a good look when you have a public career like he does. Or like you do, for that matter. Appearances matter for you both.”
“But…no kissing, no dating, no anything for a year. That’s what we’re committing to.”
Emerson gives me a look. “I mean, when was the last time you kissed someone?”
I give the question serious consideration because I can’t actually remember. “Probably Diego,” I finally say.
His eyes widen. “Diego, the one you met during our junior year? Sarah, you haven’t been together for at least two years.”
“What? I’ve been busy. I haven’t had time for dating.”
“Then you just made my point. One more year isn’t going to kill you.”
“I’m not worried about me; I’m worried about him. We haven’t talked about this part, so I have no idea what his expectations are. For me or any other women.”
“Did something happen to make you think he might want to be with other women?” Emerson asks.
“Not explicitly. But…I don’t know. I saw his realtor on a video call, and she’s really beautiful. Like, stop traffic beautiful.”
“You just saw a beautiful woman? That’s it?”
“Don’t make me feel stupid,” I say. “She was there with him, and she was looking at him with these big, beautiful eyes, telling me how lucky I was. And then he got jealous of you—”
“That one makes much more sense,” Emerson interjects.
“Oh, my gosh, stop,” I say. “I’m just saying. We probably need to talk about this, right? We need to be straight with each other about what the expectations are.”
“Definitely,” Emerson agrees. “You need dating rules about other people but you also need house rules just for the two of you. You’re going to be living together, right?
Is he allowed to walk into his kitchen to get his morning coffee with nothing on?
Swim in the pool naked? Watch TV in his boxer briefs? ”
“Why did you just make him naked in every example? Normal people don’t do any of those things.”
“Not at your house,” Emerson says. “But how do you know they aren’t normal at his house? You’ve never lived with the man.”
“Fine. Fair,” I concede. “House rules. And dating rules. About seeing other people—”
“Hopefully about not seeing other people,” he says, and I nod, really hoping for the same thing.
“Right. Yes. Hopefully that.”
“You also need rules about how you treat each other. Are you good with PDA? Is it expected? And how much? Hugs? Holding hands? Kissing? Will there be different rules when you’re in public than when you’re in private?
I mean, bare minimum, you’ll at least have to kiss him at your wedding, right?
I recommend practicing at least a few times first to avoid the risk of it being totally awkward.
Wait—are you having a wedding? Or will you just do a courthouse thing? ”
My heart swells the tiniest bit at Emerson’s stream of consciousness rambling. I’ve really missed seeing him on a regular basis. “We’re definitely having a wedding. Next month,” I say. “And you’d better be there. You should bring Jeremy.”
“Count on us both,” Emerson says. “Jeremy is actually a huge Jaguars fan, so he’d probably like that.”
I raise my eyebrows. I’ve only met Jeremy once, but he was all black cardigans and careful diction.
The kind of man who reads the New Yorker religiously and looks like he’s never raised his voice in his life—least of all at a hockey game.
“Your symphony-writing, violin-playing boyfriend is a hockey fan?”
“I know, right? I was shocked too. Shame on us for believing in stereotypes.”
I breathe out a sigh and look over at my friend. “This is good advice, Em. I’m really glad you happened to be in New York.”
He beams. “Me too. What a happy coincidence.” He glances at his watch. “Sadly, now I’ve got to run. I’m meeting Jeremy and his sisters for lunch. I’m so glad we got to do this. And now that I know everything, you have to keep me updated.”
“I will. Thanks for listening.”
“Do we need to brainstorm some rules before I go? Write out a list?”
“No, go meet Jeremy. I can call Anna if I need help.”
“Oh, she’d be perfect at this. How is she? Still pregnant?”
“For two more months,” I say. “And she’s good. She’s been a huge help through all this.”
“I’m sure. Tell her I said hi. Also remind her that Emerson would be a very cute name for a baby—boy or girl.”
I chuckle. “How many times have you already texted her that?”
“Apparently not enough, seeing as how I still don’t have a namesake.”
“I love how you’ve decided it’s my sister-in-law’s job to do this for you.”
“Actually, don’t feel special,” Emerson says. “I have this conversation with anyone I meet who’s having a baby.”
“I’m going to tell Anna you said that.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Sorry, Em. Baby Fiona already has a name.”
“Ohhh, Fiona! I love that.”
He stands and holds out his hands, tugging me to my feet. “When will you see your man again?”
“He’ll be in the city tomorrow,” I say. “He has a game, then we’re going out after to officially get engaged. Wanna come? It might make it easier to follow the rules I haven’t put in place yet.”
“I wish I could just for the fun of watching you try,” he says. “But I’ll be at Jeremy’s niece’s school play tomorrow night.”
“Look at you doing all these family-centered things,” I say. “How is his family? Do they like you?”
“I think his mom would like me more if I could give her grandbabies. But his dad is a gem. And I love his sisters.” He pulls me into a hug. “I know we didn’t talk about your art today—clearly this was much more important—but I need you to know how proud of you I am. You’re doing amazing work.”
I squeeze him a little tighter. “Thanks. I’ve got a show in Atlanta at the end of March, if you want to come. I can text you the invite.”
“A wedding and a gallery show in the same month? You are making my social calendar so much more fun.”
“Oh! I almost forgot,” I say, pulling back from the hug. “I’m also supposed to decorate Carter’s house. That’s part of the agreement. Want to help? We basically get a blank check.”
“Um, do peaches grow on trees?”
“And on every road in Atlanta,” I say.
Emerson nods. “Text me the details. And send pictures. I’d love to help.”
I walk him to the door of the apartment, blanket still wrapped around my shoulders. I had no idea this was how I’d spend the first half of my day, but it’s exactly what my heart needed. I look at Emerson one more time. “It’s going to be okay, right?”
“What’s going to be okay?”
I shrug. “Everything?”
As jokey as he’s been all morning, I’m surprised to see his expression turn thoughtful.
“It always is, isn’t it?” he says. “Even when things turn out differently than we expect. Just take things one day at a time. And don’t be afraid of what the next day might bring.
” He gives me a saucy wink that’s much more in line with his personality.
“Especially if it lands you a hot hockey player for real.”