Chapter Twenty-One
Twenty-One
“DO YOU THINK THIS WILL LOOK GOOD?” EMMA ASKED her mother and sister as they sat side by side by side in pedicure chairs. Both women leaned over to inspect the bright blue Essie polish Emma was considering for her toes.
“No,” Jackie replied.
“Really? I think it would be fun,” Debbie countered.
“Why would you want your feet to look like a Sesame Street character? Go with something more natural.” Jackie held up a bottle of Mademoiselle, the same shade of light pink she had been using for decades; nail salons were an important part of their affluent childhood.
“Pink nails aren’t exactly natural either,” Emma argued even though she knew exactly what Jackie meant. Sometimes annoying younger-sibling instincts were hard to shake.
“How about this?” Debbie showed them her selected color, a brighter pink that was more fun than Jackie’s shade but not quite as daring as what Emma had proposed.
“That’ll work,” Emma agreed, not at all embarrassed that she was going to match her mom. There was already quite a bit of crossover in their wardrobes.
“Your phone is buzzing,” Jackie said with a nod toward Emma’s purse. “Is it Matt?”
Emma checked her screen and saw a message from Will asking if she would be down to do another recording session soon and if she was willing to share bagels with other people. It was a playful tease about her strange eating habits, and she grinned as she texted back her reply: Yes and yes (but only if I get a full bagel to myself).
He quickly wrote back: That’s not exactly sharing.
No one shares bagels! That’s why they’re so wonderful! Emma replied.
“It’s totally Matt,” Jackie declared. “Look at that smile.”
Feeling caught, Emma put her phone back in her bag. “Actually, it was Will. We’re trying to figure out when to record again.”
“I like Will,” Debbie said. “I can tell he really gets you.”
“What do you mean? You barely met him.”
“I know, but you two seem to have the same kind of energy. Super playful but smart. Call it a mother’s instinct,” Debbie said with a shrug.
“Well, Will didn’t want to marry her,” Jackie replied. “So we leveled up and found someone better.”
“Did Ryan and I have the same energy?” Emma asked, not ready to move on.
It was rare for her mom to make bold observations like this, even though Debbie had an uncanny habit for being right. Like when Emma had briefly considered getting a PhD after her master’s to become a psychologist. Debbie had deftly asked if Emma actually wanted to go that route or if she just felt compelled to because of other people’s opinions. Psychologists tended to be more highly regarded in the field than marriage and family therapists. Emma hadn’t even realized she was caving to professional peer pressure until her mother brought it up. Now she loved her job and was delighted to not have spent an extra four years in school for no real reason.
“That’s a good question,” Debbie said as she considered her daughter’s ex-fiancé. Ryan had become a fixture in all their lives before his abrupt exit, so she knew him well. “I know you two had a lot of fun together. But I always got the sense that Ryan was too conventional for you.”
“Conventional? In what way?” Emma prodded.
“You’ve always been a bit…unorthodox. Even when you were a kid. I remember I had to take you to a speech therapist because you were using your tongue wrong. She asked you all these questions as part of the assessment and you told her that your favorite color was black, and your favorite food was artichokes. You were four.”
“I stand by both those choices,” Emma said as she gestured to her entirely black outfit.
“Exactly. You’ve never had any problem going outside the box or not following a crowd. I mean look at what you are doing right now. Operation: Save My Date couldn’t be more unconventional,” Debbie explained. “And Ryan… Ryan was vanilla.”
“Ew, Mom,” Jackie complained.
“I don’t mean sexually. And I don’t even mean it in a bad way. There’s nothing wrong with liking what most people like or following a more traditional path. But that has never been you, Emma. You forge your own way.”
Emma could feel the prickle of new tears. For her entire life, Emma had wanted nothing more than to fit in. But growing up, her anxiety had made social situations difficult, and her personality quirks had always gotten in the way of presenting as totally normal . She’d always viewed her inability to fit in as a bad thing. As something that needed to be corrected through a lot of therapy and self-restraint. It was shocking to hear her mother describe it as a strength.
“Ryan was a good guy—or at least seemed like a good guy. But he wanted a predictable life. I could tell he wasn’t super comfortable with you getting so big on YouTube or selling your book. Not that he wasn’t proud or impressed—I just got the sense that he was worried your career might knock his plan for himself off course.”
Emma nodded as a tear escaped from her eye. She had only ever allowed herself to hope that she could find someone as good as Ryan. She had never imagined that there might be someone even better.
“Why didn’t you tell me all this when we were still together?”
“Why would I? You seemed happy and certain about him. I had no reason to think I knew better than you as just an outsider looking in.”
“If either of my girls date someone I don’t like I’m going to tell them,” Jackie declared.
“I liked Ryan. I just wasn’t sure if I liked him for Emma.”
“Same difference. I’m not going to let them waste their time with losers.”
“Good luck with that,” Debbie said with a laugh. “Do you not remember your high school boyfriend?”
“Drew was very cool. And on the football team,” Jackie said defensively.
“Didn’t he get kicked out of UConn for trying to fill a pool with alcohol?” Emma asked.
“I don’t know. I’d already dumped him by then,” Jackie replied. “None of this really matters anyway because Emma has Matt now and he is the real deal.”
“Wait, did you meet him?” Debbie asked. “I want to meet him!”
“I haven’t met him in person, but I can tell. Like how I knew Chris was going to be my husband before I even talked to him.”
Emma bit her tongue like she did every time her sister brought up her relationship origin story. Jackie was clearly proud of her ability to locate, target and procure Chris, but it had always felt a little to Emma like Jackie had trapped a wild animal rather than found a willing and ready partner. Chris hadn’t been looking to settle down when they first met in college, and he certainly hadn’t been planning to get married so young. But Jackie had made her intentions clear: either get in or get lost. Clearly Chris had gotten on board. Meanwhile, each time Emma had tried a similar tactic, her boyfriends had had no issue getting lost—Will included.
“How are you feeling about Matt, honey? Do you like him as much as your married sister seems to?”
Emma laughed at her mother’s gentle dig. “I definitely like him. He’s not my normal type and I feel a little insecure around him sometimes because he is so tall and beautiful. But overall, I feel super lucky that he’s open to trying this with me.”
“In that case, I’m excited to meet him. Whenever you two feel ready,” Debbie said.
“I’m ready now,” Jackie added.
“I’ll introduce you all soon. I just want us to get to know each other a bit better first.”
“I understand,” Debbie said. “I waited three months to tell our friends that your father and I were dating. He’s still touchy about it.”
Debbie’s relationship origin story was eerily similar to Jackie’s, but in reverse. After being in the same college friend group for a few years, Alan had suddenly decided over a Christmas break that he wanted to date Debbie. Like Chris, Debbie had taken some convincing before ultimately falling for Emma’s charmingly awkward and persistent father. Emma was the only one in her family who had to date as a college graduate. It was immensely frustrating that it was taking her so long to find someone.
“When you do meet Matt, are you going to give me your real opinion of him?” Emma asked.
“Only if you really want me to,” Debbie replied, which they both knew probably meant no.
***
“You found it,” Will announced as he held the door open for a slightly wet Emma. It rarely rained in LA, but when it did everyone was completely unprepared.
“The sign helped.” Emma gestured to a sizable orange neon light in the shape of headphones with the podcast network’s name, Pretty Sound, underneath. Their studio took up half a floor in an office building designed more like a motel than a skyscraper.
Emma followed Will into the lobby, relieved that he had been too focused on letting her in to initiate a hug. His hugs always set her heart back a beat.
“Can I get you anything?” Will asked as he led her into the kitchen area. “We have twelve different flavors of LaCroix, four different seaweed snacks and a bunch of samples from products that used to advertise with us until they went out of business.”
Emma surveyed the crowded countertop filled with a variety of energy bars, fruit snacks and chips made out of pretty much anything other than potatoes. She immediately felt overwhelmed.
“I’m okay for now.”
“Will! Just heard the Gunpowder edit,” a man in a tie-dye sweatshirt and wide corduroy pants declared as he walked by. “Loving it. Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks, Neil. Excited to get it out soon.”
Neil gave a thumbs-up over his right shoulder as he headed down a carpeted hallway.
“That’s my boss,” Will explained as he unpeeled and bit into a banana. “I’m producing a series on the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, where a group of Catholics tried and failed to blow up the House of Lords. It’s a wild story. Requires a lot of research and time set aside for explaining Zoom recordings to historians.”
“Seems pretty different from what we’re doing.”
“That’s why I love working in podcasts—no one gets pigeon-holed. If it’s a good story, you get to tell it. Or help tell it.” He threw his banana peel in the trash. “Come with me.”
Emma followed Will down the carpeted hallway as he led her to a room marked Studio C. Inside was a square wooden table and four chairs, each set up with its own microphone and headset. One of the walls was made of glass and showed a small room next door filled with what Emma assumed to be audio equipment. A short woman with curly hair and bright red lipstick waved at Emma through the glass.
“That’s Anika. She’s our audio engineer.”
“This is all becoming so official.”
“I’m an official sort of guy,” Will replied as he plopped himself down in one of the rolling chairs and smoothly put on his headphones.
Emma scoffed because that’s the appropriate social reaction to arrogance. But internally, she could feel her annoying attraction to Will growing now that she was seeing him in his professional setting. She had always been attracted to people excelling at things, whether it was the impressive magician in her sixth-grade talent show or her months-long obsession with a random business major from college who was really skilled on a Razor scooter. Something about people being in their element superseded all normal barriers for her arousal like people’s physical appearance or overall personality. That’s why Emma didn’t let herself watch the Olympics; it was too alluring.
“Do I need to put mine on too?” Emma asked as she picked up a pair of headphones and sat down across the table.
“Not today. I just need them to hear Anika.”
Emma nodded, happy to not have to worry about her ears getting crushed. Sensory sensitivity didn’t only apply to clothes.
“Are you good to go?” Will asked into his mic. Anika replied with a thumbs-up. Emma was officially on the record, which meant her palms were starting to sweat.
“Let’s dive in. How did your parents fuck you up?” Will asked far too casually given the intensity of his opening question. “I’ve been doing some research on romantic relationships, and it seems like a lot of our dating habits can be traced back to our—” Will looked at a sheet of notes in front of him “—primary care givers.”
“What makes you assume I’m fucked up?” Emma replied with mock indignation. In her experience, everyone was fucked up in some way or another.
“You’re right, publicly trying to find a new husband in time for your original wedding to someone else screams well-adjusted.”
“It screams innovative ,” Emma joked before taking his question seriously. “In all honesty, I think they fucked me up by making it all seem too easy. I grew up assuming that if I was a good person I would meet another good person, most likely in college, and then we would get married before I turned thirty. So when that didn’t happen, I started to assume I was the problem instead of realizing that my parents, and my sister, had just been pretty lucky.”
“Makes sense.”
“Not to say that I wasn’t also the problem,” Emma admitted with a grin. “I can’t exactly blame my stage-five-clinger behavior solely on my parents’ happy marriage. I also had a lot of personal healing to do tied to my anxiety and total lack of self-esteem.”
“Are you healed now?”
“I thought I was,” Emma admitted. “But then my fiancé left me, and all of my greatest fears came true. That caused a bit of a backslide.”
“I think that’s understandable.”
“Or maybe it was silly to think we can ever be fully healed. Life is probably too complicated for that.”
Will looked at her and shook his head, like she was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.
“What?”
“I just don’t know how you can be so reasonable and thoughtful about the world and still want to marry a guy you barely know.”
“Maybe Operation: Save My Date is also reasonable and thoughtful when you really break it down and remove societal bias.”
Will seemed to consider this option for a moment before replying. “No. I still think it’s pretty nuts.”
“Don’t say nuts ,” Emma corrected.
“Sorry. I meant completely bananas.”
“Better. But I thought you were going to try to be objective.”
“We both knew that was never going to work,” Will said. “Especially when it comes to you.”
As those words hit her ears, Emma’s heart wanted to leap out of her chest, burrow into Will’s body and fuse with his heart so they could be together forever. Had he really just admitted that Emma was his weakness? That was the exact kind of you are incredibly special to me sentiment Emma had searched for her whole life. But she knew better than to admit all that out loud. Will probably didn’t even realize how it sounded.
“How did your parents fuck you up?” Emma countered instead of leaping over the table to kiss him. Maybe if she could expose more of his issues, she wouldn’t be so goddamn attracted to him all the time.
“I don’t know if I’ve had enough therapy to properly answer that question,” Will admitted. “Although one of my exes did once refer to me as ‘a classic Cancer’ if that gives you any insight.”
“It doesn’t.” Emma had never gotten into astrology mainly because she thought it was completely made up. “Let’s try another route. Are your parents happy together?”
Will let out a long whistle that would make for good audio. “Now that is a great question.”
Emma smiled. Asking good questions was kind of her whole thing.
“I think if you asked my parents if they were happily married, they would say yes. Well, my mom would say yes, and my dad would grunt. But I don’t really understand how that’s possible. I would never want their version of marriage.”
This wasn’t surprising. Most people seemed to either want to re-create what their parents had, like Emma, or run in the opposite direction, like Will.
“What’s their version like?”
Will suddenly seemed aware that their conversation was being recorded. He sneaked a glance at Anika, who raised her eyebrows. It was either a challenge or a warning; Emma didn’t know her enough to tell.
“Fuck it, they never listen to my shows anyway,” Will declared as he readjusted himself in his chair. “My parents’ marriage isn’t really a marriage. It’s more like a cult of one where my dad is the leader, and my mother is his loyal follower. She does whatever he wants, and he rewards her by…continuing to dictate her entire life.”
Emma nodded. It was an unfortunately common dynamic and not one that created a peaceful home for children.
“For a long time, I only blamed my dad. But part of me thinks my mom likes it this way. If my dad is in total control, she doesn’t have to think for herself or take responsibility when he blows up at a waitress or yells at her son for not being a varsity athlete. She can just coast and make mediocre jam.”
“I’m not sure if it’s ever that black-and-white, but I can definitely see why you would think that,” Emma replied, shifting comfortably back into her role as a neutral third party.
Will put his hand up to cover his mic. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t become Therapist Emma. This is supposed to be a conversation. Give me your real reactions as a person not a professional.” He took his hand off the mic, signaling they were back on the record. She both hated and loved that he had called her on her shit so efficiently. Most people took far longer to figure out when she was hiding behind her credentials.
“Okay. Fine. My real reaction hearing all that is sadness. It sucks that their dysfunctional relationship is your main reference for marriage. And, if I’m being totally honest, I also feel slightly better because I just realized your mom is the reason you didn’t agree to my operation. Not me.”
Will looked at her baffled. “Um… I don’t want to marry my mom, Emma. She’s pretty good-looking for her age, but she’s also my mom.”
Emma laughed. “I don’t mean you love your mom more than you could ever love a wife. Although those people do exist.” She shuddered as the memory of one high school boyfriend came to mind. He’d tried to get Emma to wear his mommy’s hand-me-downs because they were “nicer than anything she owned.” Last Emma checked, he still lived at home.
“What I meant is that you weren’t at all open to my idea because you don’t want to end up like your mom,” Emma explained. “Trapped in a relationship with no autonomy or control.”
“Oh. Yeah. I don’t want that at all.”
Emma laughed again—this time at his visceral disgust. “What I’m wondering is why you think marrying someone after only a few months implies that you’ll end up trapped in a relationship with no autonomy or control?”
“Because…” Will thought for a moment. “Because I’m not the kind of person who would want to get married that quickly so if I did it would mean I am fundamentally changing who I am to make someone else happy. And that feels like a slippery slope, Moskowitz.”
“I’m going to take a wild swing here and say you aren’t very good at compromise in relationships.”
Will glared at her. It was clear she wasn’t the first person in his life to suggest such a thing. She probably wasn’t even the second.
“Let’s move on to our next topic,” Will replied as he referred to his notes. “What are your thoughts on the wedding industrial complex and what role, if any, has that played in your decision-making?”
She’d gotten under his skin. And she liked it.