23. Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Ryan
W hy was it that I sat down with Emily all day yesterday going over authors without nerves getting in the way, but tonight she was coming over to my house for our first official date and my stomach was flipping with them? I made Tuscan Chicken served over fettuccine noodles with fresh baked Italian bread and it looked fantastic, some of my best work yet. Still, my stomach flipped knowing Emily would be arriving soon.
Spinning around in my kitchen, I mentally checked off everything. Candles were lit and on the already set table, bread was warming in the oven, the wine was chilled and breathing on the counter. Everything was how it should be.
It was different since we put a label on this thing. We were dating, quietly, but still dating. Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm my nerves. She would be here any minute, and I didn’t want to be a nervous wreck. However, as soon as the doorbell rang, the churning in my gut returned.
Play it cool, I told myself repeatedly as I walked to my front door.
Upon opening the door, I did not, in fact, play it cool. No, my jaw dropped open, and I stared at her for what was probably an uncomfortably long time. Her hair was down and curled. Her eyes were slightly smoky highlighting the golds and greens in them. My eyes traveled down her body over the charcoal gray linen dress, with a green turtle neck under it. Black tights covered her legs, and she wore knee-high black boots with the outfit. It was sweet and incredibly sexy at the same time.
“Hey,” she whispered and my eyes climbed up her body to her face.
“Hey,” I whispered back and blinked when my momentary awe over her faded and she was still waiting outside, “Oh, come in, come in.” I gestured for her to come in, stepping out of the doorway.
She laughed softly as she entered, and the soft fruity scent of her drifted to my nose. Placing her small black purse on the entryway table, she scanned the open layout of my downstairs. My decor was minimalist with charcoal gray furniture and black tables. Her mere presence in the room brightened it.
“It smells delicious,” she said, turning back to me after I closed the front door.
“Thanks, I hope you like Tuscan chicken and fettuccine.” I had been enjoying the garlic, herb, and tomato smell filling my townhome, I was glad she enjoyed the fragrance as well.
“You can never go wrong with a good chicken pasta dish,” she responded with her sweet smile.
“Wine?” I offered as she followed me to the kitchen.
“Sure,” she nodded with a smile and I poured two glasses of Sauvignon Blanc before handing her one.
“Dinner will be a moment longer, please take a seat.” I gestured to the table and her eyes sparkled as she took it in.
“You lit candles and everything?” She stepped toward the table and took a seat at one of the place settings.
“To be honest, I’ve never cooked for anyone that wasn’t family before,” I admitted.
She stared at me with widened eyes and asked, “Why not?”
“Well, in the city it was easier to take someone to a restaurant, and there wasn’t anyone worth making an effort for. Now there is.”
“Also, there are no romantic restaurants in town.” She pointed out with a grin.
“Sadie will be devastated to hear that you don’t think The Blue Plate is romantic.”
“Believe me, Sadie already knows,” Emily huffed in a laugh before she took a sip of her wine.
As we ate dinner, we talked some about the book con. She presented a list of name ideas and we discussed them - getting in a few laughs when she presented some not so serious options her and Meghan brainstormed for fun. We put our work aside shortly after. We could finalize all of it on Monday when we started sending emails.
We talked a bit about our childhoods, she told me stories about what she and her friends would get into. She told me about her parents who traveled around in an RV and explained how they rented out their house as a vacation rental to help pay for their retirement travels. Her eyes lit up when she talked about how supportive they were with her writing career. They wanted to brag about their successful author daughter, but agreed not to when Emily detailed the type of content in her books to them.
I had told her about how my mom was super supportive, but my dad was absent. Even when he and my mom were still married, he wasn’t present. He was an alcoholic, and he struggled with it. My mom got pregnant nine years after I was born, which was when everything changed.
My mom kicked my dad out, claiming she wasn’t going to raise two children and him too. To this day, she didn’t know I had overheard their fight. My dad moved out, and afterward he wasn’t physically in our lives anymore - even if mentally he hadn’t been for most of the decade before that.
There were several times in our lives he would contact my mom, sober, and she would always agree to let him come over to see us. He would do good for months, and then he’d stop showing up again. When my sister was thirteen it happened for the last time. She never forgave him and refused to speak to him even now thirteen years later.
“I’m sorry you went through all of that,” Emily said.
I shrugged, “What are you going to do? He has a disease he tries to fight and fails more times than not. I don’t hold it against him, but I won’t give him free rein into my life either.”
“You do what’s right and good for you, just like your sister. His disease does not make it so that you have to deal with him. No one is under obligation to risk their mental health and well being because of someone else. It sucks on both sides, but if you and your sister feel you’re better being no-contact, that is all that matters.”
“It doesn’t stop the guilt that maybe I could do more to help,” I said quietly.
“But it’s not your responsibility, it’s on him to prove he wants to help himself and stay sober. He needs to earn that with you.” She reached over and touched my hand. Electricity zapped through my arm and I gazed at her with a soft smile.
She had such compassion but was understanding at the same time. There was no judgment from her for my father’s struggles or for the way my sister and I cut him out of our lives. She simply understood.
Most people only considered the feelings of the parents when their adult children cut them out of their lives. They didn’t stop to think about what the parents did to make their children go to such drastic measures. Most of the time, the parents soaked up the apologies and attention they got by telling people their children didn’t talk to them anymore. In our case, we tried to be understanding and supportive, but we couldn’t turn our lives upside down every single time he fucked up. It was toxic to our own mental health.
I grieved what could have been a relationship with him. My sister did too. Maybe one day we could trust he’d do what was right for himself and for us, but as far as I could tell it was a long way off. We needed a good year of him being sober before we’d even pick up the call. Thankfully he respected our wishes.
“Well, switching to a lighter subject. You look stunning tonight,” I grinned.
Emily barked out a laugh and my smile grew as I sipped my wine and stared at her over our glasses. She made life lighter and happier, simply with her presence. I’d happily soak in her comfort for as long as she’d let me.
The more we talked, the more I became sure Emily was it for me. She was who I wanted. We shared a lot in common, but had enough differences that our conversations remained interesting. Every minute we spent together, I fell for her a little bit more.