In a Rush

Chapter 18

chapter eighteen

Emme

Today’s Learning Objective:

Students will keep the wheels turning.

“That boy wasted no time.” Jamie reached across the table to grab my hand. “He’s quick but he has excellent taste.”

“Oh my god,” Audrey breathed, leaning in to get a look. “Love a cushion cut.”

Grace watched me as she unpacked her lunch. She’d been excited last night when I’d messaged her with all the news—the engagement, the flooded apartment, the move to Ryan’s place—but also asked more than once if I was sure about this, if this was what I wanted.

It was easy to say yes, for two reasons. First, I was sure—in a very wobbly, deer-in-the-headlights sort of way. Especially when Ryan let loose comments about me being legally entitled to condos and god only knew what else. As if there was any corner of my mind where that information belonged. I was closer to reconciling with the fact that there were feelings between us that weren’t purely platonic.

Second—and definitely not the most well-adjusted reason—I’d learned since breaking up with Teddy how to give Grace exactly enough information for her to believe I was doing all right and not ask too many questions. I had to be okay, because if I wasn’t, she’d start making noises about calling off her wedding again.

Carrying that responsibility on my shoulders was the hardest thing I’d ever done for her, and that was saying something because back in college I tweezed eight ticks from her thighs and butt cheeks.

If college taught me anything, it was to liberally apply bug spray all over when camping (and having sex while camping) in the Vermont woods during the summer.

Setting aside my work as Tick Tweezer Extraordinaire, it was a damn good thing that I wasn’t still rotting in bed and ranting at rom-coms because I would’ve run myself into the ground hiding it from her.

That first month or two without her in the apartment had been so tough. I’d missed her like a limb—and I knew it was the same for her because we’d spent hours on the phone every night. We’d video call to eat dinner together or watch our usual TV shows. Or we’d talk about nothing while folding laundry or scrolling apps.

We didn’t do that anymore.

Part of me wondered whether this was the natural evolution of things. Even under perfect circumstances, things were bound to change as we grew up, moved, settled into serious relationships.

But the other part of me wondered whether Grace heard herself all those times she threatened to cancel the wedding. If she knew what it meant to put that weight on me. If she understood that it wasn’t fair to ask that of me.

We’d always said we’d never let a man come between us.

Strange to think how Teddy was the asshat to prove us wrong.

We’d chatted as I settled into the second-floor suite, which I’d chosen mostly because my body was not in friendly form. I required some space and some privacy, and the flexibility to visit the bathroom as many times throughout the night as necessary and without explanation. And I’d needed time to sort through the endless stream of packages from boutiques and high-end department stores to find something suitable for second-grade life.

“I don’t want to get engaged but I wouldn’t complain about someone giving me a ring like this,” Jamie said. “How do I arrange that? How did you pull it off?”

“He adores her,” Grace said simply.

I smiled at her though I shook my head. “Don’t exaggerate. We’ve been friends since?—”

“He always has,” Grace repeated. “Come on, you know it’s true.”

“She’s right,” Jamie said. “I knew it was serious when he rolled up with her coffee and juice. Don’t even get me started on the forehead kiss.”

“Why do I always miss these things?” Audrey grumbled. “I love forehead kisses.”

I poked at my lunch while they mythologized Ryan’s visit to the school. For once, I had an actual lunch of fruits and crackers, cheeses and meats that appeared in his fridge sometime during my hour-long soak in the bath of wonder and amazement. If he’d introduced me to that tub two months ago, I would’ve agreed to marry him on the spot.

“Not to be that bitch but has this moved a little quick?” Jamie asked. “I’m not saying it’s wrong. You know I’m all in and I have been since the start but have y’all come up for air?”

“We’ve known each other for a little more than half our lives,” I said. “It’s not like we’re starting at the ground floor. I think that makes a big difference.”

“They know everything about each other,” Grace said. “They know each other’s families with encyclopedic detail. Their inside jokes have inside jokes.”

“I can’t decide if that’s really fucking rad or something to be studied by scientists,” Jamie said.

“It’s rad,” Grace said. “The first time I met Ryan, I found myself getting annoyed at how often he interrupted her but then I realized she was doing it just as much. They constantly jump into each other’s thoughts.”

“Putting on my older sister cap for a second,” Audrey said. “Relationship timelines tend to shorten in your thirties. You know if there’s a connection on the first date, you know if there’s a future by the third. It’s not unusual to hear from my friends that they were talking about marriage, kids, all of it early on.”

“I had no idea instalove was a byproduct of aging,” Jamie said. “Fascinating species, the monogamous.”

“I mean, is it instalove or is it being real?” Grace asked. “Remember how Ben was in a situation with someone else when I met him and?—”

“Oh, that’s right,” Jamie said. “I always forget you were the other woman.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Grace said, laughing. She wasn’t the other woman. She was a villain but not like that. “I told him to fix his shit and come talk to me when he was done. But the point is, we knew there was something from the start and we didn’t play games.”

“Second date,” I said, holding up two fingers. “She came home and told me it was very serious.”

Nodding, Grace said, “Within a month, we were talking about the future. We dated for a while before getting engaged but we knew we were headed there.”

Audrey grinned at me. “I don’t think you’re moving too fast.” She nudged a chocolate butterscotch cookie toward me. “Have you guys set a date or were you too busy riding the high of your engagement to go there yet?”

I cringed so hard at the mention of riding anything that I shuddered. “We didn’t get that far,” I said, shoving aside Ryan’s comments about tying the knot before training camp. If we did end up eloping, I wanted that one to be just for us.

“I’m sure Shay would reserve a date for you at the farm,” Jamie said.

“We should all get married at the farm,” Grace said with a clap of her hands.

“Ohhhhh no,” Jamie said, laughing. “You know I’m not getting married.”

“You say that,” Grace started, wagging a carrot stick at Jamie, “but I don’t buy it.”

“It doesn’t matter if you buy it,” Jamie replied sweetly. “I’m giving it away for free. Take it. Shove it in your back pocket or anywhere else that suits your fancy.”

“I think it’s possible you’ll find yourself exploring more at some point,” Grace said. “You’ve broadened your interests before. Who’s to say you won’t do it again? Who’s to say you won’t find yourself in a triad or some other pairing, and you’ll want to test out a bit of permanence?”

“Me,” Jamie replied. “I’m to say. And, in fact, I’m saying it right now, there’s not a single reason in the world that I’d choose to legally tie myself to a relationship.”

Grace shrugged. “Okay. I can be wrong.”

“Since when?” I teased. Smiling, she rolled her eyes and made a show of going back to her sandwich.

Jamie shot a glance to Audrey. “Don’t trust that act. She’s coming for you next.”

“I’m not coming for anyone,” Grace drawled. “I just want my favorite people to have all the love they deserve. You both have such big, kind hearts”—she glanced between Jamie and Audrey —“and I want you to have someone to love you as much in return.”

“With the love from my big, kind heart,” Audrey said, her delicate brows arched high, “count me out. I’ve been through it once. Barely survived. Not going back for seconds.”

I shared a meaningful glance with Grace. For such a hard-ass, she was unbelievably sentimental. “But we could recycle the bridesmaid dresses.”

“Okay, now you have my interest,” Audrey said.

“You’d get married just so we could put these dresses to use one more time?” Jamie asked, laughing.

“Not an actual marriage,” she said. “Someone who needs health insurance or citizenship or something.” She thought about it for a second. “I’d make a great fake wife for someone who needed a hetero-looking relationship.”

I was suddenly very interested in peeling my tangerine. No fake wives to see here.

“Lavender marriages are a necessity for some,” Jamie said.

“The two of you,” Grace muttered.

I shoved some fruit in my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“Would Ryan want a wedding at the farm?” Jamie asked. “Is that something he’d be into?”

“We know we want a big party and good food,” I said. “And a tequila luge. Everything else is to be determined.”

“I can’t keep my drawers on when there’s tequila involved,” Jamie said.

“Honey, you don’t keep your drawers on when there’s water involved,” Audrey said.

“That’s true,” Jamie mused.

Grace asked, “Will Ryan want to invite a lot of the guys from his team?”

Some water went up my nose as I thought about taking McKerry up on his offer to be our ring bearer. And Hersberler hitting on everything with two legs. “Yeah, probably.”

Jamie reached for her Diet Coke, nodding slowly. “It’s a good thing Grace will be your maid of honor because I’m warning you right now—I don’t think I’ll be on my best behavior at your wedding with all those boys and all that tequila.”

I met Grace’s eyes across the table. She beamed at me, saying, “I’m ready for it. Or, I will be once I get through with my wedding.”

I nodded and told myself to smile back. There was no doubt in my mind that things would be different on the other side of her wedding. We’d be okay again.

Or something like it.

On the way down to the cafeteria to pick up our students, Jamie hooked her arm in mine, saying quietly, “Your face says you’ve been naughty.”

I couldn’t stop the big, full-cheeked smile that swallowed me whole. “A little,” I admitted.

We stopped at the top of the staircase, letting the others go ahead without us. “It was a good weekend, I take it?”

Jamie and I didn’t usually talk about sex. Well, Jamie talked about sex and I asked intro-level questions about polyamory and the etiquette of orgies and cuddle puddles. But I needed to talk to someone about the events that took place on the plane.

After I’d stopped thinking about throwing myself down a well, it hit me that while I liked sex and I’d had plenty of it with a handful of satisfying partners over the years, I’d never done that before.

The specifics of it aside, I wasn’t one to initiate. I could drop a hint—or a hand high on his thigh—but I didn’t take the lead or provide a ton of direction between the sheets. It wasn’t the most mature thing to admit but I was more comfortable letting my partner tell me what he wanted than making my desire the focus.

I didn’t have any big reason for it other than the fact I didn’t trust most people enough to be completely vulnerable in that way.

Apparently I trusted Ryan enough to mount his leg.

“Well. On the flight home yesterday,” I started, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks again. “I wasn’t feeling good—cramps, hangover—and we were just chilling under a blanket. And then that turned into rubbing up against each other.” Every cell in my body pulsed at the memory of how hard I’d fought for that orgasm, of my heaving breath, my sweat-damp skin. How I’d thought of nothing but getting myself there. How I’d used him to do it and he’d liked it. He’d wanted it. “I basically rode him like a birthday party pony.”

“It sounds like this marriage is getting off on a phenomenal foot,” she said with a wink. “Many happy returns.”

Quietly, I said, “But I made it all about me.”

“Well done,” she replied. “I admire that kind of energy.”

“But it wasn’t—you know—reciprocal.”

She arched a brow. “He didn’t finish?”

“Oh, he did,” I said, bobbing my head at the memory of the very soggy shirt to go with the equally soggy joggers. Thank god for carry-on luggage. “But I didn’t do anything for him to?—”

“Let Auntie Jamie stop you right there.” She dropped her hands to my shoulders. “Emme, my love, my glorious, silly tempest, I promise you did everything right. If he was able to reach completion”—she spread her hands out in front of her—“without you lifting a finger, you did so many things right that you’ve won sex.”

“I’ve won sex?”

“Yes, you’ve won. You’re the best. And you might’ve won sex but that boy of yours is realizing he won at life. He gets engaged and comes in his pants all in one weekend? He’s searching up mating bonds and wondering if you have any other hidden powers.”

Another wave of heat climbed up my neck. I’d spent the whole night tossing and turning with the sound of Ryan’s low growls in my head. Couldn’t forget the way he’d gripped my waist and moved me like he knew how my body worked better than I did. The way he’d said, Don’t you fucking stop like he was desperate for me.

I’d wanted to creep down the stairs, slide into his bed, and hear it all over again.

I felt Jamie peering at me, her dark brows low. “You liked it, right? It was good for you?”

I stared down at my ring. “I had no idea it could be that good.”

“It’s amazing what you can accomplish without even getting your pants off.” She gave my forearm a squeeze. “What did he think about your hair?”

I absently ran a hand through the strands. “He liked it.” I hesitated to add, “He said it was gorgeous.”

She drew a checkmark in the air. “Oh, yeah. We’re keeping Daddy Football.”

Bowen was waiting for me when I left school for the day. He passed me a cup of hot chocolate and a box of brownies from a bakery on the opposite side of the city. The drink was piping hot and tasted like rich, milky heaven.

I offered Bowen half a brownie, and thankfully he accepted. It seemed like the least I could do for him after he helped Ryan evacuate me and Ines from the flood yesterday.

We drove to Ryan’s building near the Common without much chatter, which I appreciated after an interminably long day of cramps and begging seven- and eight-year-olds to follow directions.

When we pulled into the underground garage, he mentioned something about picking up some packages from the mail room and bringing them upstairs for me. I didn’t know what I was expecting but as I stood in the kitchen surrounded by gifts from just about everyone in pro sports, I knew it wasn’t this. Flowers, chocolates, blankets and bath towels, even matching Cartier watches.

And five sets of iPads with our names engraved on them. That was ten iPads altogether.

Those were coming to school with me tomorrow. I didn’t care whose names were carved into the case.

On his last trip to the penthouse, Bowen handed me a small leather case. “From Mr. Ralston,” he said.

I unzipped the case to find another black credit card, a spare set of access cards for the building and garage, and a shiny new phone. Before I could figure out how to respond to any of this, my phone—the real one, not the platinum-dipped status symbol—flashed with my stepmother’s face.

I didn’t usually ignore Danielle’s calls. She was the neutral bridge between me and my dad, somehow, and she always respected my limits. Illogical as they seemed to be.

I didn’t have a lot of emotional energy to speak with her right now but I knew I had to. Danielle was too polite to call repeatedly or blow up my phone with texts but she would worry, which turned my dad into the bloodthirsty defensive tackle of his earlier days. Old habits and all.

The last thing I needed was a voicemail from my father reminding me that I was an ungrateful bitch.

“I have to take this,” I said to Bowen, pointing to my phone. “Any chance you want this hot honey collection? I will never need this quantity of honey.”

He studied the elaborately packed gift. “I’ll give it a shot and report back. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Bowen.” When he closed the front door behind him, I tapped Danielle’s call and plopped down on the cozy blue sectional sofa. “Hey, Dani.”

“Congratulations!” she cried, dragging the word out so long it was more like a subway train with bad brakes. “We’re so happy for you!”

“Oh, thank you.” I sounded like someone had poured mud into my palm and told me it was a great honor.

“When did this all happen? Tell me everything. I want the whole story!”

The problem with Danielle—and it really was a problem for me because it complicated the shit out of my life—was that I liked her. She was outrageously nice. More than anyone who’d been on the receiving end of my viciously cold shoulders had any right to be.

She liked to send me clothes that “just didn’t work” for her but we weren’t the same sizes and didn’t have the same style. She always included me in holiday plans even though I hadn’t visited in years. She’d send calendar invites for birthday parties and barbeques, and respond with Maybe next time! when I declined. She’d call to check in and casually mention that my dad was going in for another knee surgery or that my half brothers would be in Boston for a business trip soon if I was available for dinner or drinks. She constantly shipped little packages from specialty shops with cups and pillows and cashmere blankets bearing puns and sayings on them because she thought they fit my humor. They didn’t, but I appreciated the thoughtfulness. I always kept them.

I also knew, in a very fundamental way, that I could call Danielle in the middle of the night and the first thing out of her mouth would be, “I’ll be right there.”

I didn’t like to admit how much it hurt that she was the closest thing I had to a truly parental figure in my life.

“I mean, it happened kind of fast,” I said, reaching back for the talking points I’d honed this weekend. “Ryan and I, you know?—”

“I think you two were meant for each other right from the start,” she cut in.

“We do go way back.” I tried to punch some life into my words but ended up sounding like I was annoyed. All-around failing at this functional human thing again.

“I really think it’s important to be friends first,” she said.

I kicked off my shoes and settled deeper into the sofa. I should’ve brought the brownies with me but I was down now and not getting back up. “Yeah,” I said. “Really important.”

“Okay, girlie.” I heard her clap her hands and click a pen. “Fill me in on the plans. What are we thinking? Are we staying local? Are we going places? Is this a destination wedding? Do you have a coordinator—because I can take care of that for you tonight. If you want, no pressure. You know I’m not here to stress you out about anything. Okay?” Before I could respond, she went on. “Do you have a season in mind? Or anything you just love and know you have to incorporate? Or maybe you want to say fuck it all and just elope, which is not wrong.” She snorted out a laugh. “I should probably ask what Ralston wants but let’s be honest here, all the boys need to be happy are pigs-in-a-blanket during cocktail hour. Ask me how I know.”

She hooted out a laugh. I tried to join in—good sport and such—but all I managed was a burpy throat noise.

My dad and Danielle got married when I was six, just one week after finalizing his divorce from my mother. Danielle was twenty-one, a former cheerleader for the very team my father owned, and, as my mother had drilled into every conversation about her successor, Danielle was five months pregnant on their wedding day. These pieces came together to form a less-than-flattering picture of Danielle—and Mom certainly preferred the harshest angles—but that wasn’t the only story here.

“Honestly, I don’t know what we want yet,” I said, and I hoped she believed that. “We haven’t talked about it much. It just happened this weekend.”

“I will be thrilled for you either way but please tell me he didn’t propose at the Derby.”

“No,” I said, choking on an actual laugh. “Before. On the flight down there.”

“Much better. Love that. I’m so excited for you two.” She squealed and breathed a happy sigh, and I knew she was smiling. I realized I was smiling too. “Your dad’s so excited, even if you’re marrying the enemy.”

It was a joke. I wanted to take it that way. Just like I wanted to take some of my father’s phone calls too. I wasn’t there yet. Wasn’t ready.

All I could manage was a sarcastic quip about Chicago’s D-line crumbling like a sleeve of crackers against Ryan’s team last season. I pulled an artfully arranged blanket off the back of the sofa and did my best to wrap myself like a burrito as I said, “I think they are their own enemies first and foremost. We don’t even need to bring my fiancé into the equation.”

She gave a hearty laugh. “If that man of yours is interested in a few seasons in Chicago, I think we can?—”

“No,” I said, much harder than necessary. “That’s not—we’re not getting into that.”

“Of course not, sweetie,” she said, fully unbothered. “And everyone knows he’s a Boston boy. They’re not giving him up for anything.”

She was always the gentle parent—for me, for her own kids, for my dad. On certain occasions, my mother. We could be atrocious versions of ourselves and she’d take our hands and say it was okay to have huge, uncomfortable feelings.

“No, and you need to save the money to buy yourselves a decent rushing game,” I said. “And a QB who doesn’t spend all his time flattened under a pile of defensive ends.”

“You know you’re telling this to the wrong person,” she sang. “He’d love to give you a peek at what they have in store for next season.”

“I have a lot of work to do. I should probably get to that,” I said. “After the Derby, I wasn’t prepared to teach today and it showed.”

She laughed easily and said, “Before you go, I just want you to know I would love to host a shower for you. Or a luncheon or cocktail party or whatever you’d like if you don’t want an old-fashioned shower.” When I didn’t respond immediately, she filled the silence. “We could do it in Boston or you could come to Chicago or we could pick a cute location. I’ll fly all of your bridesmaids in with you, of course. I’d never expect you to come all on your lonesome.”

Every conversation with Danielle was studded with small acts of penance. Today we were repenting for all the holidays and summers when my parents’ custody agreement required me to visit my father’s new family halfway across the country and I’d spent all that time being an outsider. As I grew up, I’d asked to bring a friend along only for my father to tell me that I was on his goddamn time and if I had such a problem with it, I could be the one to tell my mother she wouldn’t receive another penny in child support from him.

Every conversation with Danielle also featured casual updates on my father’s newest mood-stabilizing meds or his newfound commitment to mental health counseling. Any minute now, she’d mention that he’d be late to dinner tonight because he was meeting with his therapist or that he’d said something a few weeks ago that’d really stuck with her as proof of his progress.

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her. I did—and that actually made it so much worse.

He’d left me enough choked-up voicemails in the past few years for me to know that someone was asking him hard questions. But that didn’t mean I wanted to have a hard conversation with him.

I’d had enough of those already.

“I don’t want to interfere with any plans your friends or Ralston’s family or your mom already have for a shower,” Danielle added. “If you want to give me your maid of honor’s number, I’ll take it from there. I’ll follow her lead and foot the bill.”

“That’s really sweet of you and really generous, Dani.” I drew in a breath to steady myself. I’d faffed my way through this conversation long enough. “I need to talk to Ryan first. I’m not sure about his schedule and?—”

“Will you be traveling with him next season?” She practically screamed this down the line.

“Oh, I—I’m not sure. I don’t know how that would work with my school schedule.”

“You’re going to continue teaching, then?”

“That-that’s the plan,” I stammered, though I had no idea what state my life would be in at the end of the summer. I’d be married and…then what? How long was that supposed to last? Was he expecting me to attend his games?

Ryan and I were long overdue for a little chat about the details of this arrangement.

“Good for you.” I heard her slap something. Probably a marble countertop. “Okay, beautiful girl. I’m sure you’re inundated with well-wishes and congratulations right now so I won’t keep you any longer. If I can help you with anything…”

I thought about the kitchen and the piles of gifts waiting for me. Dani would know how to handle it all.

Then again, so would my mom.

But she didn’t make a point of calling me the way Dani did. She hardly called me at all. Not when her show was taping. And when she was finished taping, there were promo requirements.

I didn’t mind it, really. It was good that she had something to keep her busy. Something that finally mattered to her more than making my dad miserable for the way their marriage ended.

And I already knew what she’d say about all of this. She’d tell me they cheat and they lie, and even if he promised me the world, I’d be safer if I kept my expectations small and my attorney on retainer.

“People are sending things,” I blurted out. “Flowers and iPads and stuff. Diamond watches? Ryan’s not here this week. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. I can barely walk through the foyer.”

“We’ll go through it together,” she said. “I can be there first thing in the morning.”

“You don’t need to do that,” I said, and in the back of my head I could hear my mother raging at me about choosing that common whore over her. The panicked shakiness I’d always thought of as carbonated bubbles in my blood came fizzing back like I’d never chased it away. “I have to work and—and it’s not a big deal. I’ll figure it out.”

She was quiet for a moment and I worried I’d offended her until she said, “I never doubted you for a second, hon. Don’t forget that Ralston has an entire staff just waiting to make your life easier. I promise you his assistant can get handwritten thank-you notes in the mail by the end of the week if you ask. She’ll have all the addresses you need too.”

Oh—right. Marcie. Why hadn’t I thought of that route?

“Here’s a little tip,” Danielle said. “Have the gifts forwarded to Ralston’s office. His people will know what to do. Don’t give up your foyer.”

I rubbed my forehead. I hated the headaches that followed that surge of panic. It was like being a shaken-up bottle of soda, all those bubbles pressing together at the top. I just wanted to close my eyes and let it all fade away. “Thanks, Dani.”

“Are you kidding me? Thank you for letting me talk your ear off.” I heard her moving around, the soft clack of heels against hardwood. “Before I forget,” she added, “your dad wants you to know he won’t put in a competing offer.”

“Okay,” I said at length.

I didn’t know what we were talking about and Ines chose that moment to arrive home and yell at the very top of her lungs, “Emme! Where the hell did the floor go?”

“We’ll talk later,” Danielle said. “I just want you to know I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m happy too.”

The strange thing was, I meant that. I sank deeper into the sofa, wrapped in the blanket and my stress tremors, and I let myself fall asleep while Ines rooted through the gifts.