5. Emma
5
EMMA
T he sun sets low over the city, creating a hexagonal pattern of miniature sunbeams across my bare leg. Sitting on the steps leading up to my apartment, I mull over the strange change in Finn while keeping one eye on my Uber. The driver is ten minutes away, and then it’s time to spend a few agonizing hours with my parents.
But in class…What was that? Finn ignores every single flirting attempt I make, only to have me read out the dirtiest passage to the entire class and then offer his help like it’s nothing. Did he mean it? Or did he really think I needed help with the assignment?
It’s probably wishful thinking that he was actually trying to flirt with me. Now, instead of wooing that sex-on-legs man, he probably thinks I’m dumb and about to flunk out of his course. I’d sent my woes to my group chat with Ana and Meghan, but neither of them had come back with any meaningful advice. Meghan, as always, advised me to find someone my own age while Ana suggested I turn up to class naked.
I think even if I was naked and spread out on his desk, he still wouldn’t be able to see past my class grade.
Sighing deeply, I scuff my heels on the ground and watch my Uber driver weave closer and closer through the little pixel town on my phone. I need to put Finn—and Caspian—out of my mind if I’m going to survive dinner with my parents. I could have driven there myself, but it’s impossible to get through a meal with my family without one or two glasses of wine. I recite the usual answers in my mind, squinting as the sun drops low enough to blind me as it peers through the gaps between the buildings on the other side of the street.
Yes, college is fine. No, I’m not dating. Yes, the car is fine. No, I don’t have a job lined up.
A light honk of a horn and my Uber pulls up against the curb. An older woman with square spectacles attached to a golden chain waves eagerly at me through the window, and the sight of her brings a smile to my face. If all else fails, maybe I can have a nice chat with her on the way there.
As expected, my Uber driver was lovely. She talked my ear off about her children and her first grandchild all the way to my parent's house and even insisted on booking me for the return trip so she could ensure I got home safely. She was surprisingly affectionate, which was lovely, but it left my guard down, and my mother was on me the moment I walked through the door.
“Your hair!” she cried, grasping me by the arm. “When will you stop doing those awful things to your hair?”
It was a blue streak today to match the cornflower sweater and black jeans I wore to dinner. I’ve yearned to dye my hair ever since I was a teen, but my mother’s reactions keep that at bay. Keeping the peace is much more important these days.
“And look at you!” She plucks at my sweater as I set the table for her. “You know, if you lost a little weight, I could take this in for you. It really is your color.”
An insult wrapped up in a compliment, as all her comments are. I smile and nod, then gratefully accept a large glass of red wine from my father as we sit down to eat.
“Really, Terence,” my mother scoffs as she serves a roast chicken dinner that surely took her all day to cook. “Haven’t you anything to say about your daughter’s hair?”
My father glances up from the newspaper folded next to his plate. His gray, bushy brows pull low over his thick, brown glasses, and his mustache quivers for a few seconds before he speaks.
“Berry, you should know better. Hair like that won’t get you far in the professional environment.”
“Yes, Dad,” I answer vaguely, stabbing at a few green beans on my plate while curling inwardly at my old nickname. “But you’d be surprised what’s acceptable these days.”
Dad mutters under his breath. I drown him out by chewing and savoring the sweet burst of flavor across my tongue. There are many painful things about returning to this house and following an obligation I can never escape from, but the food is a highlight. I miss the days when I would run around my mom trying to get her to teach me how to cook. She always refused and told me that if I knew how to cook, I would never come back home.
Back then, I thought she was joking. Now I know she meant it.
My mother sits and the silence is broken only by the gentle clatter of cutlery against plates and the odd clink of glass each time someone’s wine glass misses the coaster. It’s nice to sit and eat, and despite my shortcomings about being here, I miss them. I watch Ana’s mother fuss over her or listen to Meghan telling her father every detail of her life, and I yearn for the same.
For my parents to show an interest in me and what I want, rather than what they think I should have.
“So.” In between small bites of roast chicken, my father speaks. “How is school?”
“It’s good. The same old.” I stab at a roasted potato, keeping my eyes down. I already know what comes next.
“Same old isn’t an answer,” he says. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
I lift my head and do exactly that while reaching for my glass of wine. “It’s the only answer I have.”
My mother focuses on cutting up her food but rarely takes a bite. “Well, you never tell us anything so how are we supposed to know what that means?”
“Are you flunking out? Is that it?” Dad asks.
“Why would you assume that?” I reply, frowning.
“You used to skip school. You don’t take care of yourself, and you’re dressing yourself up like a clown,” Dad says sharply. “I have no confidence in your ability to stick with something serious.”
“I skipped school one time, and you’ve never let me forget.” My glass drains, so I reach for the bottle and pour myself another. “I’m not failing. I’m doing pretty damn well, actually, and graduation will be a breeze.”
“Please don’t swear,” Mom mutters.
“I’ll believe that when you have a diploma in your hand. I don’t suppose you called Reginald? I told him all about you, and he was ready to interview but he told me you never got in touch?”
Oh, shit. Honestly, I’d forgotten about my father’s attempt to get me a job at some dusty law firm and winced inwardly, absently stabbing at my food. “I didn’t think the position was right for me.”
“What position are you looking for then? A decent job? Stable pay? A future?”
That was my dad gone. Once he started, it was better to just sit quietly and let him finish his rant about how I didn’t know anything about life, how I was careening toward disaster with no prospects. He always finished by reminding me that he wouldn’t be there to pick up the pieces when I failed.
Three glasses deep, his rant was over, and dinner was finished. My mother serves strawberry pavlova for dessert, and the tiny slice she gives me is her way of telling me to lose weight. I’ve always been a bigger girl, and it’s taken me a long time to learn to love myself, especially growing up in this environment.
Instead of eating the pavlova, I finish the bottle of wine by emptying it into my glass.
“Oh, before I forget.” Mom points her cream-streaked spoon at me. “Your father’s birthday is at the end of the month and we’re putting the final touches to the party. You’ll be there?”
She poses it as a question while her tone is clear that it’s a statement.
“Of course I will be.”
“Good,” Dad says. “We will have the party and then I want some time at the cabin with family and some close friends. You only turn fifty once.”
“The cabin?” I haven’t been there in so long, but taking that trip for my father’s birthday would be a good way to evaluate the condition it’s in so I can persuade Ana and Meghan to go there in the summer.
“Yes, is that a problem?” Dad asks.
“No,” I reply hurriedly. “I love the cabin, you know that.”
“More than you like it here,” Mom mutters under her breath.
I decide to ignore her. “It’ll give me a chance to take some really amazing pictures too, and then we can create an album for you to cherish.”
My wide smile at the idea fades quickly when my father sucks sharply on his teeth.
“You’re still messing around with that silly camera?”
“Yes.” My heart sinks slightly. “Still messing around with it.”
“You should know better. Something like that is a man’s hobby. You shouldn’t be taking pictures like that.” Dad’s spoon scrapes along his dessert plate. “I’ve told you before.”
“Do you want pictures of your birthday or not?” I snap slightly, fighting to control the rising heat of irritation.
“Pictures will be lovely,” Mom cuts in. “A few here and there couldn’t hurt.”
Knowing their reaction to something as innocent as birthday pictures is all I need to know. I can never tell them about my true desire when it comes to photography. I have always adored taking intimate pictures, particularly boudoir sets to help people look and feel their most attractive. Following that as a career, however, is a fading dream.
My mother would surely have a heart attack.
The rest of dinner passes quietly, with talk turning to the ins and outs of Dad’s birthday party. By the time my Uber arrives to take me home, my father has retired to his chair by the fireplace. My mother starts her usual pleasantries to ensure I’ll be back.
“You know we love you,” she says, clasping my elbow.
“I know. I love you too,” I say, even as my heart isn’t in it.
“You will be back next week?”
“Yes, I’ll see you then.”
“Goodbye, darling.”
The cool night air is a welcome relief from the stuffiness inside. The driver greets me with her usual cheery wave, and all it takes is one question. Then I’m pouring my slightly drunken heart out to her about my family problems. She listens, interjecting a few soft words of advice every so often. By the time she drops me back home, my heart is lighter, and sleep calls with every step up the sidewalk.
I use the app to tip my driver generously and wave her off, and then I head for my door.
Suddenly, a strange crunch of glass reaches my ears. Glancing down, the sight of broken glass scattered across the sidewalk halts my steps.
Why is there glass everywhere?
I follow the trail with my eyes to the right side window of my car, and horror locks cold around my throat. The window is smashed in, and the windshield is completely shattered. Part of the body is dented and broken and something sharp has torn the covers of my seats to shreds.
A tremble shoots down my limbs and I wind my arms around myself, fighting the sudden internal freeze.
Some asshole broke into my car!