15. Emma
15
EMMA
“ H ow long will you be?” From the tone of my mother’s voice, I’m already late to the party by her standards and there’s no right answer here.
“Maybe twenty minutes?” I offer, keeping my eyes on the road.
“You either will be or won’t be; there’s no maybe about it.” She tsks sharply and sighs. “Alright, drive safe.”
The line clicks and the call ends before I can say anything back to her. Typical. Being late to my father’s birthday party wasn’t intentional. Classes had run longer than anticipated and the present I’d ordered for him hadn’t arrived, so I’d had to drive halfway through the city in search of his favorite malt liquor to make up for it. One thing led to another and now I’m racing—responsibly—to the community center for the party.
Usually, I’d put more effort into trying to get there faster, but today, I keep my speed within the law and let my mind drift back to my time with Asher. Bumping into him again was lovely. Learning he was also interested in me was sweet, and I’m glad we’re on the same wavelength in that regard. What sticks in my mind, however, is how I was so turned on by his presence and his kissing that I came just from grinding against his thigh. Completely unintentional. Things were hot and heated so I just went with it.
He hadn’t minded, thankfully, and his promise of a next time sings warm in my mind.
Next time.
I now know for sure that Asher and Finn share the same deep interest in me. Caspian remains the outlier, but after my falling out with Meghan, a visit to the art studio has been off limits. Meghan hasn’t left the group chat—yet—so there’s still hope. Although she better have one hell of an amazing apology on her hands if she ever wants to talk to me again.
Arriving at the community center, I park near the building and turn the car off. Silence falls around me like a blanket and I stare up at the building in front of me. A row of tall windows illuminated in yellow light stare back at me, and a placard attached to a sign indicates that the Pierce party is in full swing. As soon as I step through the door, I’ll be fielding questions about my studies, career, and future, as well as whether or not I’ll be settling down to have a family anytime soon.
That’s definitely not in the cards.
Detaching my phone from the handheld, I gather up my gift only to pause when a few notifications blink up on the screen. Comments on my Instagram. I don’t post there that much, only when I have some decent pictures of me and the girls. Curiosity gets the better of me and I click the notification. It takes me straight to the pictures I took of me, Ana, and Meghan getting ready before going out. Amidst the sea of compliments, the new comments are sour.
What a whore.
She dresses like she’s skinny when she’s the size of a house!
Nothing worse than a fattie that doesn’t know she’s fat.
These kinds of comments aren’t new. Any kind of picture I post showing myself in a positive light usually gets flooded with trolls trying to make a terrible point. I screenshot a few of the comments and post them into my group chat with Ana and Meghan, followed by a few laughing emojis. Then I put it out of my mind and climbed out of the car.
Showtime.
“Emma!” My mother spots me within thirty seconds of my arrival and she appears at my elbow to help me out of my jacket. As she takes it, she pauses and glances me up and down. “You went with green? Really?”
I raise one brow and look down at the emerald dress I chose for tonight. With a tight bodice that enhances my curves and a flowy skirt, it’s really quite comfortable. Green and gold gemstones dot the bone lining of the bodice, and two sheer straps caress my shoulders. I even dyed the streak in my hair green to match.
“What’s wrong with it? I thought I looked good.”
“You look like a piece of hard candy,” Mom snaps, immediately forever ruining the dress for me.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I’m just looking out for you.” Folding my jacket over one arm, she waves her other hand near my face. “Now, go say hi to everyone and find your father.”
“Alright.” I’m happy to be away from her; so I do just that. In my hard candy dress, I wander on black heels while clutching the present and greet everyone that I bump into. Most are faces I distantly recognize from business dinners held at the house when I still lived there or photos from other social events my parents attended. Friends from work, old friends from my father’s life before me, and even a few neighbors are all here to wish him a happy birthday. It’s an impressive turnout, although I doubt these people see the strict side of my father that I’m always exposed to.
Ten minutes later, I find my father by the bar, nursing a drink and toying with the lemon wedge.
“Dad.”
“Berry.” The nickname makes my spine jump slightly. “I wasn’t sure when you would be getting here.”
“I had some issues with your present.”
“Oh?” One bushy brow lifts and he sets his drink down.
“Nothing serious, don’t worry.” I smile and hand over the present, watching his face closely as he opens the bag and pulls out the expensive bottle of malt that he adores so much.
“Your mother will have a fit if she sees this,” he chuckles, causing his mustache to tremble slightly on his upper lip.
“I won’t tell her if you don’t,” I tease.
“Thank you, Berry, this is very kind.” The bottle slides back into the bag and he sets it on the bar, then he leans in and presses a whiskey kiss to my cheek.
“You’re welcome.” Leaning against the bar, I catch the bartender’s attention and order a Coke. “There’s so many people here. Are you having a good time?”
“Oh, yes.” Dad nods. “When you get to my age, Berry, it is easy to forget just how many people are in your circle. You appreciate things like this a lot more.”
“I’m glad all your friends could come.”
“Me too. There are even some of my old college buddies here that managed to make the trip. Imagine all of that for me.” He chuckles again and there’s a distant wistfulness in his eyes. His mind is clearly running to memories I can’t share. Reliving moments and comments with people he holds dear.
My heart warms a little. When we disagree, it’s easy to forget that he lived a lifetime before me.
“Emma.” Once again, my mother melts out of the crowd and lightly touches my elbow. “Could you pop into the kitchen and check on the cake?”
“Aren’t there hired people here to do that?” The last thing I want to do is appear overbearing to any staff simply trying to do their job.
“And I don’t trust them so can you go and check on it, please?”
“If you don’t trust them, why did you hire them?”
“Emma.” My mother’s sigh grates on my ears. “Just go.”
Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I do just that. Leaving my untouched drink forlornly on the bar, I head through the crowd toward the kitchen. Knocking lightly, no one answers so I push past the swinging door and peek inside.
Empty.
Dad’s cake sits on a trolley dotted with candles displaying his age. From the sweet smell, it’s definitely a fruit cake smothered in vanilla icing.
It’s much quieter here and cooler, too. I hadn’t fully registered how warm the hall was until the cooler kitchen air stroked my bare skin, inviting me to stay. Seeking my phone from my purse, I snap a picture of the cake and send it to my mother, along with a message telling her to come check on it herself if she has any doubts.
Then, my thumb leads me back to Instagram where more notifications have sprung up. There are a couple more horrible ones that I barely glance at, but there are multiple from Ana, who’s going out of her way to belittle the people behind those icon-less accounts. Just reading her defense makes me smile. I head to the group chat and send my love and thanks to her, keeping it vague so that Meghan will also see it.
Ana replies immediately, and while Meghan’s tiny profile picture moves over the messages indicating what she’s read, she doesn’t reply.
I also send a picture of the cake to make them jealous, then close my phone. As much as I try to ignore Meghan’s words, they still sit on the edge of my mind. The words themselves don’t hurt as much as the fact that she was the one who said them. She’d always been more uptight and prude compared to me and Ana, but we’ve never judged her for it.
Not like this.
“Fuck,” I whisper into the low light of the kitchen. I need some time away. Spending the weekend up in the mountains at the family cabin is growing more appealing by the second. I won’t even care that my family will be there because I can stroll in the woods and take time for myself to work everything out.
Because, as much as I try to focus on the good, like Finn and the others, I can’t shake this sensation of a shadow lingering over me. It’s like something is standing behind me, and it vanishes every time I turn around. The break-in of my car is mingling with the situation at the club, my missing phone being perfectly placed on my pillow, and even the rise in nasty comments online; it’s all boiling together. Not to mention I’ve found my bedroom window open more than once this past week.
Maybe I really am sleepwalking again, and all of that is the stress.
I need a break.
Another door in the kitchen suddenly opens and in walks a staff member who flashes me a polite smile. I wave at her, then hurry back out into the party, where the light and noise effectively stun me.
“Berry!” Dad excuses himself from whoever he’s talking to as soon as our eyes meet and he hurries toward me.
“I’m not telling you anything about the cake,” I warn him as soon as he’s close enough. “Not a thing.”
A slight smile causes his mustache to rise. “That’s not what I want you for. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
I take his elbow and let him lead me through the party, preparing myself for what is surely about to be a long and dull conversation with someone who has been friends with my father for so long they probably saw me in diapers.
Those conversations are always the same, and they will never retain anything about me so we can repeat that song and dance the next year.
“You might remember him,” Dad says as we weave through the crowd. “He’s one of my old college friends who used to visit when you were quite tiny. I haven’t seen him in a good few years now, but I’m sure he’ll remember you.”
We stop and Dad touches the shoulder of a man that’s facing away from us.
I breathe in, preparing the same polite speech of Oh yes I remember you, it has been a long time hasn’t it? Then a familiar citrus scent tickles my nose. The man turns around with a wide smile and our eyes meet.
My heart plummets like a rock.
“Asher,” Dad says. “You remember Little Berry, right?”