Chapter 49
FORTY-NINE
Twila
It’s been an amazing couple of days getting to know Emerson’s friends and exploring his favorite haunts, but today is the day I’ve been equally looking forward to and dreading. We’re having dinner with his mom and sister. In his childhood home.
And I’m nervous as hell.
What if they don’t like me? I mean, Emerson told them the truth, that this relationship is a sham and our marriage is a bout of temporary insanity, but I still want them to like me.
To not see me as some opportunistic viper using their son and brother as a cash cow.
A cash cow I’ll crumple up and toss away the second he’s no longer of use to me.
Of course, none of that is true. This whole thing was his idea, and I just came along for the ride. And, oh yeah, I haven’t told Emerson this, but I’ve kind of fallen head over heels for him, and it’s going to break me when this thing inevitably comes to an end.
I breathe deep to pull myself together as I add the finishing touches to my makeup.
It’s on point, as is my hair, which I left hanging down my back in fat, beachy waves.
I’m wearing a sundress in the perfect shade of coral that makes my eyes look more green than blue, its hem brushing the tops of my knees and the back a series of crisscrossing straps that allow my hair to tickle my skin.
Taking another cleansing breath, I flip off the light and leave the bathroom.
Emerson is sitting on the edge of his bed, scrolling on his phone as he waits.
He closes whatever app he was looking at and looks up at me as he stands.
Time stops as his eyes widen. His gaze rakes me from head to toe and back up again, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, the words brimming with reverence and awe.
“So are you,” I whisper back, admiring the way his white t-shirt and dark jeans hug him in all the best ways.
His smile is as bright as the sun, and he laughs joyfully when we reach the bottom of the stairs to a symphony of shouts and wolf-whistles from his roommates.
Their silly antics calm my nerves for a few minutes, but the second we’re in the car and on our way, they threaten to return with a vengeance.
“Tell me about your mom and sister,” I say.
“Mom is great,” he says, and though I’m not looking at him, I can hear the smile in his voice.
“She is devoted to Kennedy and me. She’s our mom, our dad, and our biggest cheerleader all rolled into one.
Even when Dad was around, he wasn’t really there , if you know what I mean.
He was in the house, but not present. He thought supporting us financially was his only job, and when he left, he quit doing even that. ”
“She sounds amazing,” I say, choosing to focus on the good, rather than his father’s shortcomings.
“She is,” he says. “She got a part-time job when he left, only working the hours Kennedy was in school so she could be there for her as much as she was before. Money was tight as hell, so I helped as much as I could. Mom refused to take anything from me, at first, so I snooped until I found her checkbook and stole a deposit slip so I could transfer the money directly into her account.”
“And Kennedy? What’s she like?” I croak out, changing the subject before I do something ridiculous like crying at his pure, sweet selflessness.
“She’s a firecracker,” he says, smiling again. “Well-adjusted and brave, despite having a deadbeat dad. I don’t know, maybe she’s that way because of him. Because she needed to be. But either way, you’re going to love her. She’s a lot like you.”
I bite my tongue as the words, “I’d love her more if she were like you,” threaten to pop out of my mouth. I can’t say them. I shouldn’t even think them.
I can’t be in love with my husband.
And yet…
I push the thoughts away and force a smile to my lips.
I listen as Emerson rambles on about his mom and sister, describing their dynamic and how much pure, untainted love abides between the three of them.
It becomes obvious that his dad’s abandonment didn’t leave them a broken family. It made them whole.
The house is a modest white one-story on a quiet street with welcoming yellow and blue flowers planted along the driveway. Queen palms tower over the roof from the backyard, and an oscillating sprinkler creates bright rainbows as it slowly sends a fan of water back and forth across the green lawn.
It looks like a home , and I love it instantly.
The front door swings open, and two women step out onto the porch as Emerson helps me from the car.
The younger one shouts and rockets toward us, leaping at the last second like she has zero doubt her big brother will catch her.
He does, of course, and laughs as he swings her around before setting her on her feet.
“Kennedy, this is Twila,” he says with a giant grin. “Twila, this little harridan is my sister, Kennedy.”
I’m prepared to shake her hand or maybe even receive a light hug, but I’m shocked as she lunges for me, wraps me up tight, and sighs like she’s been waiting to do this for years.
It’s a greeting from a stranger that should feel uncomfortable, but Kennedy’s embrace is undeniable proof that she’s an open and caring young woman, ready to accept me with her whole heart.
That knowledge warms me in ways I’ve never felt.
When she releases me, and we walk up the steps to the porch, I get an identical hug from their mom, and that’s when I know, for sure. This strong, brave woman showered her children with love and taught them to hold nothing back when showing their affection.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Twila,” she says as she releases me. “And please, call me Cadence. At least until you’re ready to call me Mom .”
She says that last bit with a wink, leaving me wondering if she was joking or actually serious.
She ushers me inside and offers me a drink before I can respond, so I think it was a joke.
You know, because this marriage is a farce, and I won’t be around long enough to get comfortable with calling her “Mom.”
The kitchen smells divine, the spicy scents telling me Cadence and Kennedy are making Mexican food for dinner.
As Kennedy grates a small block of yellow cheese, she asks me about our quickie Vegas wedding.
Emerson holds nothing back as he regales them with the tale of an overbearing bridal party mixed with tequila and champagne.
Kennedy guffaws at his description of the morning-after freak-out while Cadence smiles warmly at her son, then at me.
“Like it was meant to be,” she says softly, then shakes off the emotion. “Emerson, show Twila the rest of the house while your sister and I finish up here. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he says, then takes my drink, sets it on the counter, and weaves his fingers through mine before pulling me down a short hall and into a small bedroom. “This is my room.”
A neatly made bed in one corner, a dresser topped with a small television, and a nightstand make up the furniture in the room. The walls are covered with posters of professional wrestlers, and I notice a blush on Emerson’s cheeks as I peruse them.
“ WWE fan?” I ask like it’s not completely obvious.
“Yeah, yeah. Shut it,” he says with a chuckle. “I was obsessed. Look at this.”
He opens the closet door, and instead of clothes, there are championship belts hanging from the rod. They’re all plastic and look cheaply made but are displayed with obvious reverence and affection.
“You are never allowed to use this against me,” he says as he closes the closet door.
“I promise nothing,” I say as solemnly as I can manage, then squeal when he rushes me, tackling me to the bed and tickling my sides.
When he finally stops, he settles against my side with a quiet sigh of contentment. His fingers toy with the ends of my hair, and I fight to suppress the shiver that threatens to quake through me.
“So,” I start, then clear my throat. “They know this…thing isn’t real, right?”
“They know,” he says softly. “They’re just hoping something will change, and we’ll end up together. They want me to be happy.”
Any relief I should be feeling that I don’t have to lie to Cadence and Kennedy is swallowed whole by guilt.
They want him to be happy. With me. And they know the truth.
That I’m using him to make money. He’s using me, too, of course, but that point is moot.
He’s their family, and they’re obviously very close.
How can they be okay with my presence in his life, much less hope that we’ll somehow miraculously end up together?
Don’t they want more for him? Something that starts naturally and is real?
“I need to use the restroom,” I choke out.
“Of course,” Emerson says, rolling off the bed and helping me to my feet.
He shows me where it is, and I tell him I’ll meet him in the kitchen when I’m done. Locking the door behind me, I lean back against it and take a few deep breaths. I need to get my emotions under control so I don’t start crying in front of Emerson and his family.
And I need my best friend.
I decide to text Joey so there’s no chance of this conversation being overheard. Flipping down the toilet lid, I sit on it as I type out a message.
Me: Help! 911! This is not a drill. I need bestie advice, stat.
Joey: What’s wrong? Tell me everything.
Me: I’m hiding in the bathroom at Emerson’s mom’s house.
Joey: Why are you hiding? Were they mean to you? Do I need to send Raven up to give them a good verbal beatdown?
Me: No, it’s worse, Jo. They are so NICE. They’re treating me like I’m really part of their family. Like I’m really Emerson’s wife.
Joey: You ARE really his wife, T.
Me: You know what I mean. I don’t know how to handle this. I’m freaking out.
Joey: Stay calm. Just be yourself. And have fun. They know it’s not real, right?
Me: They know. It’s me who keeps forgetting.
Joey: What do you mean?
Me: Forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying.
Joey: I think you do, Twila. I think you’re falling for Emerson, and you’re too afraid to let his family love you because you’re afraid he’s the only one who won’t.
Me: God, when did you become so insightful?
Joey: Always have been. Just didn’t have the confidence to speak it until…recently.
Me: Since Dallas?
Joey: Exactly. Now, stop being a wimp. You are a strong, beautiful, brilliant woman. I see it. Emerson sees it. If you want him, just tell him how you feel.
Me: I don’t think I can, Jo.
Joey: Ugh, you’re exhausting.
Me: Gee, thanks, bestie.
Joey: No guilt trips, T. You know I adore you. But sometimes, you’re too stubborn for your own good. Open your eyes. See what’s in front of you and seize it.
Joey: Or fake it in front of his family and end things when you get back here. This limbo is making you crazy.
Joey: And for the record, I’m all for option number one. I think option two is a terrible decision.
I hear Emerson call my name, and I know I’ve been in the bathroom for too long. I quickly send Joey a short message to let her know I have to go, then flush the toilet like I’d used it before washing my hands. I open the door, and spot Emerson smiling at me from the other end of the hallway.
“Dinner is ready,” he says, and I plaster on a smile as I walk toward him.
The food is delicious, and the company is stellar.
The banter never lags, and by the time we’re halfway through the meal, I am completely relaxed and laughing along with them, for real.
Later, when it’s time to go, the women hug me tightly and tell me how great it was to finally meet me.
I hear Cadence whisper to Emerson that she thinks I’m perfect, and my cheeks heat with a mix of embarrassment and pride.
“Your family is awesome,” I say as we drive back to his house.
He nods. “I know. That’s why I try to take care of them. So the stress of making ends meet will never knock the joy from their hearts.”
I love you.
The words ring through my head again and again, my mouth threatening to blurt them aloud. I bite the inside of my cheek to snap myself out of it.
“Glad I can help,” I say instead, then flinch at the trite words.
I’m helping them monetarily, of course, but emotionally? It’s going to hurt them when Emerson and I “break up.”
Shit. Divorce .
Divorce is the right word, and I fucking hate the sound of it.