7. EMERSON
7
EMERSON
Six Summers Ago
Standing in the Leonardo di Vinci International Airport baggage claim, Natalie turned to me. “Promise me that this is our summer.”
“Of course,” I told her.
“No. Our summer . No parents. No rules. No boundaries.” She dug through her purse and pulled out a crumpled-up piece of notebook paper. “I created one of these for each of us last week. A bucket list—”
“You mean our itinerary?” I cut in.
She scrunched her nose and shook her head. “No. This is a girl’s bucket list! Like the ultimate best friend list? Things we should do while we are here.”
Natalie passed me the list. My eyes went expressive reading it.
“Boys?” She shrugged. “You’re joking.”
She stared into my eyes, grabbing onto the top of my shoulders. “I am completely serious. See this face.”
I laugh at her. She’s trying her hardest to be serious, but Natalie’s never been one for serious faces or seriousness. It’s as if her face won’t let her express anything but a smile.
She’s always been little Miss Sunshine. From head to toe, she glows. Light blonde hair that’s mere inches from her butt and curls for days. Legs up to her brown eyes. Golden skin, and now that it’s summer and we’ve spent our days outside? Game over for the rest of us. She’s a walking European goddess.
She is a magnet for eyes. Naturally, everyone’s eyes and bodies gravitate toward her. It happened in high school, and college was no different. She pretends that she doesn’t recognize how beautiful she is, but seeing as I’m her best friend and know her better, she knows. She enjoys it. She weaponizes it into a currency for her benefit.
It’s easy to fall for her. No one is immune to her.
Me, on the other hand? You’d be lucky to win a smile from me.
It’s one of the reasons I enjoy our friendship. We are complete opposites, and it can be quite a puzzle when trying to understand us, but we work.
Natalie’s made good on her bucket list for us; honestly, it’s impressive.
I have— not .
Natalie tells me I need to loosen up and that my standards are too high. I don’t disagree. But what’s wrong with having high standards? After my dad walked out on my mom (and me), I got scared that I wouldn’t be enough. I wasn’t enough to keep them together; how would I be enough to keep any relationship together? Natalie is an outlier.
Years. It took years for my parents to become amicable with each other. They had split custody of me, which my mother’s lawyer had to fight for. Claiming a parent should never abandon their kid when my dad was willing to give me up with the marriage. Those years of being required to visit on weekends and holidays were a battle. I wasn’t truly welcomed in either home. Like a broken record, I thought I was the scratch. Maybe if I had been a better daughter, they would have loved me enough, and that wouldn’t be how I spent the rest of my life growing up.
It broke something in me—the idea of love. My parents instilled in me that it was fake and non-existent. This preconceived notion flowed into my other relationships. I’d let myself get close to people, try to be everything they’d want, and when things got close enough that someone might love me or me them, I’d mess it up.
Actually, I don’t think it’s high standards at all. I think it’s childhood trauma .
I’m drawn out of the memories when Natalie asks me what type of wine I’d prefer. I point to the glass on the menu.
“Tomaremos uma taca verde e uma taca de rosa,” Natalie orders in her best extremely broken and over-enunciated Portuguese.
Natalie also thought we should try to learn the language in every country we travel to this summer. It’s not a bad idea; it’s a great idea. We downloaded Babble. On the flight to Rome, we spent hours of air time trying to pick up the basics. Doing the same on each train or plane ride between places. We lost ourselves to giggle fits over how badly we pronounced words. As much as I’d love to share our accomplishment in becoming bilingual, we are rather unfortunately unsuccessful unless you consider saying ‘more wine’ and ‘where is the bathroom’ a success.
We arrived back in Lisbon from our tour to Sintra and Cascais. Before going to the hotel to change for the night, we stopped for drinks at the wine bar down the street. It’s quaint. The walls covered floor to ceiling in bottles. Dim lights and wooden family-style tables line the middle of the place, and there are a few employees who I think might own the place.
“Obrigado,” Natalie says.
“We’d also like a charcuterie plate. Any combination works,” I quickly add before the waiter walks away. “What? I’m starving. We didn’t eat anything while we were out, and our liquid diet isn’t cutting it for me today.”
“Yeah, same. My head would be as light as this rose if I didn’t eat.”
She picks up her wine glass that was quickly delivered.
“To being best friends forever. Salude.”
I playfully roll my eyes at her, smiling. She’s too cheesy, but I love that about her.
“Salude.” We clink glasses and drink. “How are you feeling about the move?”
“Better than I feel about law school.” Natalie drops her shoulders. “Me? A lawyer? ”
Most people think Natalie is stupid—a stunning, bimbo blonde. While she might not be street smart and a girly girl to her core, she’s wicked intelligent. She starts law school at the end of August after being accepted into Northwestern’s law school on early admittance. She won’t admit that she’s nervous, but she’s going to kick ass. I know it.
“Do you remember setting up a courtroom in my basement? We’d use Barbies and whatever dolls we could find as the jury?”
“How could I forget? I’d make you take the stand and pretend to ask you questions.”
“You were good at it, too. Nine years old and already commanding a courtroom. I used to think you’d research techniques or watch Law and Order secretly after your parents went to bed.”
I take another drink of my wine.
“I think I’m just good at getting people to do what I want.” Natalie pretends to sweep something off her shoulder.
I cough-laugh on my wine. “True.”
She nods in agreement. Picking up her phone, she tosses it at me, then picks up her half-drunk wine glass.
“Snap a picture of me? For my blog.”
I take the picture and a few extra candid photos which she loves.
“Here.” I hand her phone back to her. “I think you were destined to be a lawyer, Nat, and you will thrive at law school.”
She smiles up at me, the compliment reflecting off her. “Thanks, Emme.”
We didn’t make it back to the hotel that night to change for dinner. Or dinner.
We spent the rest of the evening at that wine bar, talking about how life will be when we return home and dreaming up our next chapter together in Chicago. We move three weeks after we return. Natalie in law school, and I’ll be a Creative Assistant at a marketing agency. We’ve already lined up a cute two-bedroom apartment in the Loop. It’s closer to my job than campus, but Natalie doesn’t mind .
Those hours sitting there together felt as if we were teens again—fifteen and inspo boarding about our lives right now. It’s hard to believe we are only months away from making it all a reality.
I’m proud of us for reaching this point as individuals and as best friends.