31. EMERSON
31
EMERSON
Now
A week has passed since that night in Natalie’s apartment when she and Chloe nursed me back to sanity. Natalie has texted and called several times, asking if I wanted to take a workout class with her, go to the farmers’ market, or pick up a new pair of sandals Gucci dropped and that she desperately needed after I bailed on our weekly margarita night.
By the time Thursday evening rolled around, I was over Brandon—mostly. That was going to end, and I think I knew it for months, so in a way, I grieved it as it was happening. I had moved on to my fixation on Liam, which meant Natalie.
I didn’t know how to face them. So I stuck to myself.
I respond to her texts, knowing she’d be more concerned and panic if I didn’t. Being ‘busy’ is officially running low in stock as an excuse.
Luckily, work has been busy, so avoiding her isn’t entirely a lie. Nelson and Moore isn’t normally busy this time of year, but in the past four months, we’ve onboarded eight new clients, including Hayes Hotels. My coworkers complain about working extra and how it’s ruining their summer, but I’ve welcomed it with open arms. It’s kept my mind off everything else for at least a week.
It was slow, the Liam recovery phase. After what happened in London three years ago, it took me a long time to get back together. Natalie and Chloe struggled to get me up off the couch for months until, one day, I decided I couldn’t be that way anymore. It was my birthday, and there’s nothing like deciding to stop wallowing in self-pity as a birthday present for yourself .
I went back to regularly scheduled girl’s nights, picked up my camera again, and even went on dates that Natalie and Chloe set me up on.
The only thing I didn’t do was tell them the full gravity of what occurred with Liam, who they nicknamed London Lover Boy.
Their help was great, and I’ll always appreciate it, until they realized it was going in one ear and shooting right out the other. As much as I fronted that I was okay and moved on behind closed doors, I wasn’t. What happened between him and I was deeper than a broken heart. It was a broken version of myself.
The tape I used to put the pieces back together is losing its stickiness, coming undone and unraveling me in the process.
My phone buzzes on my desk. Glancing over, I see a number on my screen.
+55 020 4561 8441: Don’t ignore Natalie.
In the haze of Brandon and work, I hadn’t questioned why Liam’s messages last week or today didn’t include a contact name. I knew it was him.
After saving his number, I stare at his contact page, trying to place when I deleted it. I don’t remember getting rid of it.
I’m not. I’ve been busy.
Why do you even care?
Liam: 1. You’re her best friend.
Liam: 2. She’s suspecting something.
Okay
Liam: Emerson. . .
Liam: You have to believe me that we didn’t do this on purpose.
We?
Liam: I would never do anything to hurt you.
Good joke, you should be a comedian.
I’m furious.
I don’t even care that he’s texting me on her behalf. That is the type of guy he is. Liam is thoughtful to a fault and protects those he cares about. It’s one of the things I loved about him. I don’t care about the idea of him caring about Natalie, either. Don’t lie to yourself, Emerson, you do. But I’m not furious about him caring for her.
I’m furious that he has had my number this entire time.
Three years.
I haven’t heard from him for three years, and he texts me now?
No drunk texts. No apology. No groveling. No communication for three years.
Even I had accidentally drunk-texted him a few times in the couple months after.
His ability to go cold turkey on our relationship was unbelievable. Remarkable actually!
I’m trying to tame my temper, but it’s roaring inside me like a lion. I made up reason after reason why Liam never contacted me, especially in those first few months. He deleted my number or lost his phone and my number with it. Or hell, he even blocked me because he was that upset about what happened that he couldn’t bear to have anything in his life that correlated with me.
But he had my number. He still has my number.
This. Whole. Damn. Time.
One call—even a text! That’s all it would have taken. I needed him to reach out first; I desperately needed it. Needed him to confirm and calm every idea that coursed through me after that damn day.
“Hey Emerson. Margot wants to see you in her office.” Blake dips her head into the archway of my glass office. I look up at her, the interruption startling. “Everything okay?”
“Yup. Struggling with location ideas for an upcoming shoot for the new kombucha brand.”
“What about the rooftop pool at The Hoxton Hotel,” she immediately says. “Ben and I went two weekends ago. Immaculate views and their daybeds are this pool-ish teal blue, almost the same color as their new summer flavor.”
“That’s perfect, Blake. I’ll call them after this meeting. Thanks.”
“Have you tried their drinks yet?” Blake asks.
“No.”
I click the side button on my phone. My screen goes dark, and I put it in my top desk drawer. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, re-grounding myself, and push my anger aside.
“I was surprised at how much I enjoyed them. Not normally a kombucha girly; it’s too vinegary for me, but their strawberry kiwi flavor tastes like these juice boxes we’d get as kids. I’ll bring you one tomorrow!”
Heading out of my office, I walk right past Blake. I’m a few strides ahead of her, my pace quick. When Margot wants to see you, that means you don’t dilly-dally. It means you get there now.
Trying to catch up with me, Blake calls out, “You know if this doesn’t ever work out for you, you could be a full-time photographer. ”
She’s finally in step with me when my head whips in her direction, remiss by her comment.
If this doesn’t work out. Is Blake serious?
She keeps going, “Your photos are incredible. Ben and I couldn’t get over them. I’ve barely gotten any work done recently because I’ve been staring at them. You’re extremely talented. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who can capture love like you can.”
What a roundabout way to give someone a backhanded compliment.
Hearing her say I know how to capture love when I can’t in my own life feels too ironic.
Well, I did once, but I was too oblivious to it until it was far too late when it became the weapon that took me down.
“Thanks.” I give her a weak smile as we walk into Margot’s office.
***
Margot is a bitch, but we all knew that already. Twenty minutes later, Blake, the rest of my team, and I exit her conference-style office. We were informed that we are being pulled from an upcoming campaign to launch Bamboo’s new all-organic sunscreen line. Blake is devastated. Besides Hayes Hotels, this would have been her most extensive campaign yet. I’m pissed because I’ve been working with Bamboo for all of their product releases for the past two years. Margot didn’t even give us a good enough reason for why we were getting pulled from the account.
“Shitty excuse for a shitty situation from a shitty person,” Blake mutters quietly to me, and the lack of composure in words from her surprises me. “At least we can focus on Hayes Hotels more now.”
Yay, how exciting. Like I need more time to focus on Liam.
With anger-colored glasses on, I grab my phone from my desk and slump into my chair. Mad at Margot, mad at Liam, mad at Natalie, and mad at myself for feeling this way. I fire off a text without thinking.
Do you know how often I thought about contacting you? Fighting with myself on whether I should or shouldn’t reach out to you. I convinced myself that after everything, you’d reach out to me. That you would apologize. When you didn’t, I had to convince myself that you meant what you said and hated me so much that you ‘lost’ my number or blocked me. I had to believe this so I wouldn’t hurt myself all over again. Three years. Three years, and this entire time, you’ve had my number? If this was all part of your plan to get back at me, consider it a gold-star success.
Without wasting another minute, I type out another message and press send.
You could have talked to me then, just like I could talk to Natalie now. Don’t fight her battles when you couldn’t fight ours. I need time. . . you just better hope for her sake I don’t wait three years.
The rest of the workday was incredibly slow. After Margot’s meeting, I threw myself into the current campaign I’m working on. Dotting I’s and crossing T’s, perfecting the campaign to the point where there is no question about whether my team should be pulled from another account.
I also hoped that work would rid me of this headspace.
My brain had other plans.
Graciously, it fixated on what I had sent Liam.
I was a bitch.
It was entirely out of line with everything I said. Liam doesn’t reply despite my incessant checking for messages. I’m surprised my phone battery didn’t die, considering how many times I tapped the screen or turned the volume on and off.
I don’t think he will reply.
I don’t deserve a response.
I’m making dinner when my phone rings. On the screen is Natalie’s name and a picture of us from Halloween circa 2007, dressed as Candy Land characters that my mom made. She’s, of course, Princess Lolly, and I was required to be Queen Frostine.
I checked that my sheet pan meal in the oven wasn’t burning before grabbing my phone and answering.
“Nat! Hey. I’m sorry about this week. Work has been swamped, and I was pulled from Bamboo’s new product launch, but that doesn’t matter. You are my best friend, and I should always have time for you,” I force out the half-truth quickly when I pick up the phone.
“This isn’t Natalie,” a male voice replies. “I didn’t think you’d answer a call from me after your texts earlier.”
“Oh—”
“Natalie is in the shower. I don’t have much time, but we need to talk.”
“About earlier. . . Liam, it was uncalled for. You weren’t doing anything but being kind. I was fired up about work and took it out on you.” I am sincere about my apology.
“You were right.”
Liam catches me off guard. I was right ?
Before I get a chance to reply, he continues, “Leave the ball in whoever’s court out of this. This is on both of us.”
“Okay. . .”
“But do you think I didn’t want to talk to you? Countless times, I picked up the phone to call. I’d write entire messages and then delete all of them. Over and over again. I told you I loved you, and you rejected me. Then you told me not to contact you and to delete your number. My ego bruised and heart—my heart that I gave you—destroyed. I cared about you deeply. You were my best friend. In a way, I thought maybe you’d come back, you’d reach out. . . but you never did.”
Words and emotions I know, but now, in a tense I don’t want to accept.
“I did reach out.”
“When your thoughts were impaired.”
“Drunk thoughts are sober words.”
“I wanted sober thoughts and words,” Liam says.
“Okay, but I didn’t tell you not to contact me,” I hear him mumble, sighing. “I wouldn’t do that. There’s so much more to it.”
“Enlighten me.”
“I didn’t reject you! I just didn’t say. . . didn’t say anything. Then, at the bar—”
“Please leave that out of this...” Liam begs.
“How can I leave this out of it? What you said to George about me?”
Liam scoffs. “I didn’t mean it, and you know it.”
“Do I? Haven’t been told otherwise.”
“You didn’t give me a chance.”
“I did. . .”
“Did you, though, Emerson?”
I don’t respond. I’m unsure what to say, even if there were words to encompass what I’m thinking and feeling right now .
Liam breaks the silence that fell between us. “Look, we both can acknowledge that we didn’t leave things the best. We messed up and are both to blame, but we can’t change anything now. There are too many what-ifs. Too. Many .” He emphasizes those words. “Trust me when I say they consume a part of my brain daily.” He sighs again. “Natalie misses you. She doesn’t understand why you are avoiding her. She needs you in her life. . . we both need you in our lives.”
I need them both in my life, too.
“I know,” I respond. “I’m not trying to hurt her. It’s—” I pause before I say what I’m about to say. It’s a test to see how far gone Liam and I are. “I never thought I’d see you again, let alone with my best friend.”
His voice catches. “Emerson,” he mumbles, but I hear the curses after my name. There’s a lingering tension between us on the phone.
“Neither did I,” he finally says to me. “The shower shut off. Natalie will be out soon, so I need to go. Can we be friends? Not for me, but for her.”
“Friends. Yeah, we can be friends, Liam.”
The line goes dead.