Chapter Eighteen
Eighteen
“I KNOW IT’S PROBABLY TOO EARLY FOR GIFTS,” MATT SAID as they sat across from each other at a dimly lit cocktail bar that charged eight dollars for mineral-enhanced water. “But I passed by this store on my way here and I thought of you.”
He carefully extracted a beautifully wrapped clear gift bag that held a glass container filled with what looked like fancy, light purple salt. Emma panicked that he had assumed she knew how to cook well enough to use artisanal seasoning.
“They’re bath salts. One of my coworkers’ wives is also a therapist and she once told me a warm bath helps her decompress after a hard session.”
Emma felt a grin spread across her face. It was such a thoughtful gift, even if hot baths often gave her eczema. “Thank you. I love it.”
“Really? I wasn’t sure…”
“It’s perfect,” Emma assured him as she wondered if the salts would properly dissolve in lukewarm water so as not to anger her skin.
While other people thought honesty was always the best policy, Emma was a huge proponent of the white lie—why hurt someone’s feelings if you didn’t have to? Although this type of thinking had inadvertently led Ryan to believe Emma loved turquoise jewelry after he’d randomly gifted her a bright blue necklace early on in their relationship and she’d gushed over it. But if making Matt happy in this moment meant she would one day have a drawer full of unusable bath salts, so be it.
“I think gift giving might be one of my love languages,” Matt admitted. “I love the moment when someone is unwrapping your gift in front of you. It’s the good kind of suspense.”
“My dad is the same way. He’s always surprising my mom with random stuff. Sometimes we’ll be out shopping, she’ll casually mention she likes something and twenty minutes later my dad will reappear with it hidden in a shopping bag from another store just to throw her off. He’ll act like he bought himself something, but we all know it’s really a gift for her.”
“Sounds like my kind of guy.”
“He’s the best. Even if my mom often responds by yelling at him for wasting money.”
Matt laughed. “My mom yells at my dad all the time too. Growing up, I thought it meant they were going to get divorced, but now I realize that’s just her way of communicating. It doesn’t even faze him.”
“Boomers are built differently than the rest of us,” Emma said while holding back a laugh. Her mind had flashed to an earlier text exchange with Will where he had sent a video of him opening yet another box of his mom’s jam. The video had included him trying to stuff the jars into an already full shelf of previously gifted jam. Emma had watched it at least seven times.
“What’s your love language? Or languages?” Matt asked.
Emma didn’t have the heart to tell him the entire love language concept was created by an unlicensed homophobe who wanted women to feel guilty for not sleeping with their “physical touch” husbands more. That lesson could wait for another day.
“I fluctuate. I love quality time and acts of service. But I probably rely the most on words of affirmation. Anxious minds love reassurance.”
“Good to know,” Matt said with a wink. It made Emma’s stomach flip. How strange to be out with a man good-looking enough to pull off a nonironic wink.
“What about you? Other than gifts?”
“Probably physical touch. I’m a sucker for a head scratch or shoulder rub.”
“Good thing I have long nails,” Emma replied seductively, which made her realize she was on the cusp of slipping from tipsy to full-on drunk. Exorbitantly priced cocktails were apparently dangerous.
“I did notice that,” he confessed as a slight blush hit his cheeks. “I love the color.”
Matt reached out and let his fingers carefully run up and down one of Emma’s dark purple, almond-shaped nails. Even though it was impossible to really feel his touch through the gel polish, her body responded as though she could. Sure, she didn’t laugh with Matt the way she laughed with Will (or Ryan, or Tony). At least not yet. But they were still getting to know each other. Matt’s gentle, caring nature was more important in the long run than the fact she had yet to snort in his presence.
As his fingers started to make their way up her hand, she instinctively flipped her palm over so it was facing up. This allowed him to gently run his own well-buffed nails up and down the sensitive skin of her forearm. She almost shivered at his touch.
“What does this mean?” Matt asked as he traced the delicate, single-needle, black-ink tattoo that sat directly in between her wrist and elbow. It was so small she often forgot she had it.
“It’s a Hella Lacy flower,” Emma murmured, as he continued to explore a part of her skin that had clearly been underutilized until now. “They’re late-blooming flowers. It’s a reminder that the best is yet to come.”
Emma had gotten the tattoo in her early twenties after a particularly brutal breakup with the guy she dated before meeting Tony. Seth had gone to college with one of Emma’s high school friends and after being introduced, they had spent six months nearly inseparable. It was the first time Emma met a boyfriend’s family or had someone reciprocate her premature “I love you.” For half of a year, Emma thought she’d done it—she’d found her future. But instead of appreciating what she had, she pushed and pushed and pushed for more. She wanted to move in together and start talking about wedding venues. At the time, it had felt like the natural and expected progression of things. In reality, they were twenty-three-year-old babies. They were supposed to be finding themselves, not settling down. Seth understood this. Emma…not so much.
After a month of public crying—Emma had always been somewhat of a sadness exhibitionist—she’d made an appointment at an acclaimed tattoo parlor on the Sunset Strip. A big burly guy covered in ink had taken her printed-out reference photo and sat down to delicately draw his beautiful interpretation of the flower. As the needle tortuously dipped in and out of her skin, Emma reminded herself that sometimes you have to go through pain to get to pleasure. She’d left that day genuinely excited about what was to come.
Now, nearly a decade later, maybe she’d finally found what she’d been looking for.
“I love it,” Matt replied, looking up from her symbol of hope to stare directly into her eyes. It was the perfect opening for their first kiss and Emma thought she could actually feel her heart vibrating until she realized that it was actually just Matt’s phone buzzing on the table.
“Sorry,” he apologized, picking up his device and quickly scrolling through a barrage of messages. “One of my buddies is in town for the night and wants me to meet him at some club.”
“Oh,” Emma replied, trying to hide her disappointment at both the moment being broken and the night potentially ending. “I don’t mind if you need to go. Long-distance friendships deserve priority.”
“That’s so cool of you to say,” Matt said. “Any chance you’d want to come?”
“To a club?”
He nodded.
A deluge of anxiety crashed through Emma’s body.
The last time she’d been at a proper club, she’d wanted to rip her ringing ears off and move to the woods so she would never have to dance in public again. Every single one of her limited club experiences had ended in humiliation, overstimulation and a dangerously intense hangover.
But she was Emma 2.0 now. And Emma 2.0 could do anything.
***
The club was horrible. From the moment Emma followed Matt into the darkness, she felt like a fish who had been flung from the safety of its bowl into an MRI machine. The electronic music reverberated through her skull and the flashing lights illuminated a crowd of people who seemed to have no regard for personal space. Emma briefly contemplated fleeing until she felt Matt’s hand give her three gentle squeezes. She owed it to him to try to stick around. Maybe she’d lose her hearing soon and it would become more manageable.
After navigating past the debaucherous dance floor, Matt flashed something at a security guard, and they were granted access to the VIP section. It was just as loud, but Emma was now able to walk without touching a stranger, further proving money could at least increase your happiness.
“MATTY MONROY,” a booming voice shouted from a red velvet booth. A man with a popped collar and sunglasses waved them over with a level of excitement that was probably drug fueled. His table was packed with a combination of what appeared to be finance bros and Instagram models.
Emma looked down at what she had once considered to be her fashionable “going out” blazer and felt like a grandma crashing a frat party.
“That’s him,” Matt shouted in her ear, before leading Emma over. His preppy friend hopped down from his perch on the back of the booth and enveloped Matt in a bear hug.
When they finally broke apart, the Corey Hart wannabe screamed, “Who’s this?”
“Kyle, this is Emma. Emma, this is Kyle.”
“You look nothing like his wife,” Kyle stated as though someone had asked him to weigh in on the subject. “Want a shot?” He leaned over and grabbed a bottle of tequila from the table.
“Oh…uh… I don’t know—” Emma stammered as she sneaked a look at Matt. He swooped in to save her.
“We just came from drinks.”
“Then let’s keep the train rolling,” Kyle declared as he took a swig from the bottle. “Don’t worry, I use a lot of mouthwash, so my saliva is clean.” He thrust the bottle back in Emma’s face, daring her not to be a party pooper or challenge his flawed bacteria logic.
It struck Emma as remarkably unfair that at thirty-two years old, she was being peer pressured by a total stranger to take tequila shots straight from the bottle when what she really wanted was to be watching TV with a loving partner and a bowl of snacks. Emma wanted to be at home planning her wedding, not out on the town trying to seem like someone who wasn’t about to cry from overstimulation. But sometimes what you want and what you have don’t mix.
Emma contemplated the bottle that was now mere inches from her face and felt the familiar push and pull between staying true to herself and doing what would be easiest in a social situation. As an anxious child turned anxious teenager turned anxious therapist, she knew that for all the clamoring about the importance of “being yourself,” there would be real repercussions if she didn’t rise to the occasion and take a swig—both in the moment and later. She knew Kyle would loudly berate her and Matt might start to question if he could be happy with someone so uptight. Their unraveling wouldn’t be immediate, but this moment could plant a destructive seed. It would be his first image of her as someone who said no instead of yes. After so many failed relationships, Emma had to wonder if avoiding the disgusting taste of Don Julio was worth losing another promising match.
But before she could reach for a brighter future, Matt grabbed the bottle, took a large gulp and managed to distract Kyle away from his mission to get Emma wasted.
“Have you heard from Collins lately?” Matt asked as he veered his friend back toward the group.
“Yep. He’s having triplets. I told him he better get out of crypto if he wants to be able to send any of them to college.”
As the old friends dissolved into gossip, which appeared to be a mashup of financial analysis and old drinking stories, Emma sat at the very end of the booth and tried not to fall over. Without missing a beat or breaking from the conversation, Matt instinctively put his arm around her to keep her from tilting. She let herself lean into his strong chest as if they were a proper couple and not two people who hadn’t even kissed yet.
“I love your blazer,” a pretty redhead shouted from across the table. “Where’d you get it?”
“Eileen Fisher,” Emma replied, unsure if she was being made fun of or not.
“I think I follow her on TikTok!”
This was highly unlikely considering Eileen Fisher was a traditional and elegant clothing brand mostly utilized by older women and not fashion influencers. But Emma let it slide.
“How do you know, Kyle?”
“Who’s Kyle?” the redhead replied. “Do you mean Kevin?” Before Emma could ask “Who’s Kevin?” and get stuck in a Hollywood club edition of “Who’s on First?” she recognized someone out of the corner of her eye.
“Oh my god,” Emma exclaimed loud enough for Matt to hear her.
“You okay?”
“I’m… I… I have to pee.” Emma shot up and took off in the direction of the neon restroom sign. After escaping the VIP section, she looked back to find Matt taking another round of shots as Kyle cheered everyone on. Feeling safe that he was no longer watching, Emma changed course and headed toward the club exit. She needed to make a phone call.
“Hello?” Jackie answered drowsily. At 11:43 p.m., it was far past her bedtime and Emma was a bit surprised she’d answered at all. Maybe she could sense that something was amiss. Some women had a sixth sense about these things and could do that. Unlike Emma, who had held on to the belief that she was being pranked until the moment Ryan left their apartment with her engagement ring in his pocket.
“Hey. Sorry to call you so late.” Emma paced the littered sidewalk. She’d tried to find a spot that was far enough away from the club to hear her sister on the phone but not far enough away that she could be kidnapped without anyone noticing. “I’m out with Matt and…” Emma wondered if this was going to be one of those moments that changed both their lives forever. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to carry that responsibility, but she also knew her sister deserved to know what she had just seen.
“We’re at the club in Hollywood and I think I just saw Chris.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“He was…uh…dancing. With another woman.” Emma braced herself for the intensity of Jackie’s reaction. Instead, she was met with silence. “Hello?”
“Sorry, was just checking my email now that I’m up. This one mom in Izzy’s class keeps letting her kid bring a hamster to school and—”
“Did you not hear me? Chris is out in a club dancing with another woman,” Emma cried out.
“Oh my god, Emma. Do you think Chris is cheating on me?” Jackie asked before bursting out laughing. “I know Chris is out. He goes out all the time.”
Now it was Emma’s turn not to respond. She’d known Chris had been a big partier when he was younger, but she’d always assumed that had stopped once he became a dad.
“You know he grinds with other women?” Emma finally asked, growing increasingly suspicious that her sister might be in some sort of open marriage. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but Jackie wasn’t exactly the type to break social norms. She loved social norms.
“I don’t know what he does. But I know he’s not cheating.” She let out a large yawn. “Deep down, Chris is a family guy . His mother would kill him if he had an affair.”
Emma had never heard of this type of logic before, but she had met Chris’s mom, who was quite formidable. “You really don’t mind that he’s out here, dancing with other people, without you?”
“Mind? It’s great. He gets it out of his system, and I’m not expected to leave the house after nine.”
As a couples therapist, Emma shouldn’t have been so shocked to learn that her sister and brother-in-law had figured out a constructive compromise that allowed them both to have their needs met. This was exactly the type of negotiation she often encouraged in her clients even though it required a level of trust not everyone was capable of.
Yet, despite all her training, Emma was still finding it a bit difficult to believe that her sister was totally cool with this situation. Jackie had once stopped speaking to Chris for an entire week after he liked another mom’s bikini photo on Instagram. But maybe that was because other people she knew could see it? And it was highly unlikely the PTA from McKinley Elementary School was out partying on a weeknight.
“They were very close together,” Emma murmured into the phone, just to make sure she had covered all her bases.
“That’s how people dance, Emma,” Jackie replied with another yawn. “How’s it going with Matt? Is he still as hot as last time?”
“Yes, he is still very hot,” Emma said with a laugh. Jackie’s obvious crush on Emma’s maybe husband was perhaps the most unexpected twist in what had been a whirlwind of a few months. She wasn’t used to her sister thinking much of her partners and it gave her a bit of a thrill to finally have something Jackie would want for herself.
“Take a photo for me.”
“I’m not going to do that. I’m glad I called though because I was starting to worry that I couldn’t marry someone who enjoys going to clubs if I hate them so much. But maybe we could work something out like you and—” Emma suddenly stopped her mindless pacing. “Let me call you back tomorrow.” Emma hung up as a concerned Matt made his way toward her.
“Hey, I’m sorry if you were having a bad time. You could have told me and I would have—”
“No, no. It wasn’t that. I mean I guess I was having a bad time because I don’t do well with loud music or bright lights or tequila shots.” Emma realized she was getting off track. “I only left because I saw Chris on the dance floor, and I panicked.”
“Chris is here?”
“Yes. Apparently, he goes out all the time without Jackie and it’s totally fine because his mom would kill him if he cheated? I don’t know. They have a weird marriage.”
Matt looked at her strangely, which felt justified. “I thought you’d left because I’d screwed up or something.” He avoided her eyes as he looked sheepishly at the ground.
“Not at all,” Emma assured him. “I screwed up by leaping to conclusions and waking my sister up in the middle of the night.”
“It’s not even twelve.”
“Moskowitz girls have an unbalanced circadian rhythm.”
Matt laughed and Emma reached out to take his hand. “I probably should have been more upfront about my inability to properly party. I just wasn’t built for it.”
“Never apologize for being yourself,” he replied, continuing his streak of being wonderful. “I’m probably too old for places like this anyway.”
“Hey, to quote a wise man I know, ‘Never apologize for being yourself.’ It’s okay for us to like different stuff as long as…” Emma suddenly found herself too embarrassed to complete her thought.
“As long as what?”
“As long as we like each other,” Emma whispered, forcing herself to look into his dark brown eyes. She felt a wave of relief as a smile emerged on his beautifully defined face.
“Then I guess we have nothing to worry about.” Matt moved his head closer to hers, his eyes asking a question instead of his mouth. Emma gently nodded as an answer. He immediately closed the gap between them and suddenly they were kissing on a sidewalk like no one could see them.
Matt’s lips were big and soft, and as soon as they were on Emma’s, his whole body responded in kind. He used his right hand to pull her closer by the small of her back while his left one caressed her face. He kissed her like he hadn’t kissed anyone in so long he needed to make up for lost time. She felt him start to make his way down her jeggings and was surprised when he grabbed her ass. He must have noticed her jolt because he pulled away, his face flushed.
“I’m sorry. I guess I got a little carried away,” he murmured, clearly embarrassed.
“Me too,” she admitted. “I don’t normally make out in front of children.” Emma gestured to the closed store behind him that featured child-size mannequins in the window.
Matt chuckled before leaning down and giving her another kiss that didn’t last nearly long enough for her liking. “I should probably get you home.”
Emma shook her head, placing a hand on his chest. She tried not to get too distracted by the firmness of his pecs. Were they genetic? Was he a superhero? “You should stay. Kyle’s only here for the night and I can get an Uber.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. As long as we can continue this again soon.”
“How’s tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s perfect.”
Minutes later, as Emma was driven home by a blissfully quiet stranger, she slowly traced her Hella Lacy tattoo and thought about the future without an ounce of despair.