40. CHLOE
40
CHLOE
Everything falls into place. That’s what the philosophers say, right? That somewhere in the universe, written in the stars, is precisely how my life is supposed to play out. Once I connect the dots, I can see the picture.
I don’t know if I’m on dot four or four hundred, but I don’t see the picture. I barely have an idea.
But this moment? I can.
Curled on the couch with my best friend, the guys in the kitchen making bowls of ice cream, per Emerson’s request. This moment is a warm kiss of the sun after a long, cold winter.
If this is the picture, I’ll take it.
After I changed, the lace still imprinted on my skin underneath the looser-fitting clothes, the four of us fell into an evening so natural and fluid.
Liam and Callum left to pick up the takeout they had ordered on their way in from the airport. We ate around the dining room table—which everyone admitted was their first time ever doing—like one big family. George, Beatrix, and Audrey’s absence was apparent, and for a split second, I wish Miller and Riley were here, too. Even Adler.
I’m lighter and vibrant, I can sense it. The girl behind the dark clothes and RBF is the one they see and accept.
Laughter and bickering from the kitchen flutters to Emerson and me on the couch as the guys debate their Premier League teams and next marathon .
He’s lighter, too. A highlighter blue hue to his eyes, a smile that relaxes his jaw and shoulders. This smile is slowly becoming my favorite of his. Usually he only wears it when it’s just the two of us, but I’m happy—proud even—that he’s sharing it with more than me—Okay, maybe slightly envious, too. It’s raw and genuine.
It’s blue. Tranquil. Trusting.
Emerson stretches her foot out, jabbing her toes into the side of my thigh. Turning from Callum, I find Emerson giving me a smug smile, tongue running along the inside of her bottom lip.
What? I mouth, wiping away any emotion from my face.
“You are so charmed,” she laughs quietly. “The British boy spell has officially entrapped you.”
“It’s your fault.”
“My fault?” She points to herself. I tilt my head. “Okay, maybe. But it’s not that bad of a problem, is it?”
I sigh, relenting the truth to her and myself, “No, it’s not.”
The guys bring us our ice cream and return to the kitchen. We eat silently, partly because ice cream is one of Emerson’s weaknesses. She can’t speak around shoveling the decadence into her mouth.
We place our bowls on the coffee table, and she inches her way next to me. I rest my head on her shoulder.
I don’t care about age, there’s something about your best friend that makes everything better. Having a person who chooses to stand in the rain with you when they have the option to stay dry. Someone who replenishes and inspires you but knows how to hold you accountable.
I’ve never needed a lot of friends, just the right one. Sometimes I like to believe that Emerson and I would find each other in every universe.
“I missed you.” Emerson speaks the three words I didn’t know I needed to hear from her. A Band-aid to my bleeding abandoned heart. Missing Emerson, missing people is my version of homesickness .
Her words are a warm blanket being wrapped around my shoulders. “I missed you, too. How long are you two here for?”
“A week, maybe two. Liam needs to go to Florida for work, and I have a shoot here on Thursday. . .” Her words trail off and knowing Emerson Clarke, she’s hiding something. She’s leaving out the real purpose of their return.
There’s only one reason she’s hiding it: she doesn’t want to upset me. Emerson has always been a people pleaser, and I don’t think that she won’t ever be one. Her heart is too big, but Liam has helped dial her tendencies back.
“What else are you not telling me?”
I can feel her slowly swallow. Pulling her head up from mine, she moves to face me.
“ Emme. ”
“I’m moving to London.”
“Moving?”
“Moving,” she repeats with a nod, demeanor going soft as if she knows this is breaking my heart. I try to wipe away any facial expression but know I’m failing miserably. “Liam and I decided that we want to be there.”
“But couldn’t he work here? Your life is here.”
“And his life is there.”
“I—I don’t want you to leave.”
“I’ve already been gone for two months, Chlo.” She brushes a strand of my deep mocha hair behind my ear.
“But this. . . this is. . . forever. You are leaving Chicago forever.” Leaving me.
“No one said this is forever.” Emerson puts her arm around me, dragging my slumped body into hers. “I’d never leave you forever, Chloe. You know that?”
“I. . . well. . . okay,” I finally settle on the word. Okay.
I’ll be okay.
You’re used to this, Chloe. This was bound to happen.
Everyone always eventually leaves you, and it’s always your fault .
“My lease is up at the end of the month. The travel nurse who was staying there already left, so the place is empty and we—”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Or ask my thoughts?” I cut her off, pulling away from her. Standing up, I cross my arms squashing the saying across my chest.
“I needed to make the best decision for me without anyone’s input.”
“Except Liam’s. His mattered.”
“Chloe. It wasn’t like that. For once, I only thought about what I wanted. At the end of every day, whenever I asked myself the question, all I could see was him. I want to be with him. Every second, every minute, every hour of the day.
“Living temporarily in London was the best I’ve felt in years. I hadn’t realized how tied to my parents and what happened with Natalie living here caused.”
“What about what happened in London three years ago?” I throw in her face.
She shakes her head side to side. “Doesn’t matter. If anything, being there reminded me of all the time we lost.” She reaches for my hand. I pull away. “I’m leaving the city, not you.”
I ignore her, overwhelmed. Flying up the stairs, I go to my room, slamming the door shut behind me. Emerson calls after me. Her voice fading out the further away I got and the further into my grief I went. Cal’s voice echoed in the haze, telling her to let me go.
Lying face down on my bed, I let out an agonizing groan. If it weren’t for the pillow muffling me, I’d be a scream.
What did you do this time Chloe?
You just had to push her away?
She’s leaving, and it’s all your fault.
Who do you have left now? No one. I swear the voice cackles.
My deranged thoughts shift, replaying that day.
“Why was Aaron on that side of campus?” Miller paces the living room of our childhood home. “Chloe! That question is for you. Why was he by your apartment? He had morning skate at eleven. Aaron should have been at the rink.”
“I-I—” I can’t tell them.
“Miller, leave her alone. She’s processing what happened, same as you,” Adler warns him, her voice comforting. She drove to school, picking me up. Miller was in the passenger seat. I climbed in the back, my body still shaking.
“No, Adler. I need answers. I need to know whose fault it is..”
“I-I—” I stutter again.
Miller gets on his haunches in front of me. “What, Chloe? You what?”
Adler steps in between us. “That’s enough, Miller.”
“She’s hiding something, Adler, I know it.”
“Your sister is grieving. You are grieving. This is not the time to tear each other apart. You both need each other. If you don’t stop—”
“If I don’t stop, what are you going to do Adler? Tell me that you don’t want to be with me? You’ve already made that clear.”
“Screw you, Miller.”
He shakes his head, spinning on his heels and storms out the front door. The house shakes with his absence.
Adler sits on the ground in front of the couch I’m lying on. Being anything but horizontal has my head spinning.
“Chlo, can you tell me?”
***
Waking up, I realize how much of a selfish bitch I’m being. The sun bringing the clarity I couldn’t find the other night.
How could I treat Emerson that way?
I should be proud of her, not angry that she’s choosing herself.
I know she’s not leaving me, but unfortunately it’s easier, natural, for me to see it that way.
We didn’t speak yesterday. I actively avoided her all day. Knowing we have limited time left here together, I’m determined to find her today.
By the time I'm dressed and picked up coffee for us, she’s at her apartment packing.
“Emerson?” I knock on her door.
It swings open, she’s in a pair of leggings and one of Liam’s shirts. Her chocolate hair is pulled up into a messy pony. Eyes rimmed red, I can tell she’s emotional over this.
It strikes me that I’m not helping. Treating her the way I did the other night.
She steps back, letting me walk in, but doesn’t speak. I set the coffees down on the counter and then wrap my arms around her. Tightening them till she circles hers around my back.
“I’m sorry.” I apologize for what I said and storming off.
Emerson accepts the apology and we break apart. Sipping our coffees we find ourselves back on a couch, similar positions as we were that night as if we are redoing the ending.
“Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not. I promise.”
“I need you, Chloe. I always have, and no mile between us is going to change that. You’re my best friend. My soulmate.”
“You're mine, too. I’m so proud of you, Emme, and so, so, so happy for you.”
The words are bitter but true. I’m happy, but knowing how alone I’ll be with her an ocean away feels like drowning.
Emerson resumes packing and I’ve done very little to assist her. She’s moving around her room like the Tasmanian Devil, a tornado of clothes, shoes, and accessories being tossed into boxes and at me on the bed. A linen maxi skirt lands on top of my head. Blowing out air, it billows in front of me but goes nowhere.
“Sorry.” Emerson plucks it off my head, dropping it into a plastic container labeled ‘Bottoms.’ “Are you planning to help me?”
“Moral support, hello?” I tease .
“We’d be done by now if that moral support also consisted of—just help me.”
I look at my wrist, tapping it. “Help says it's wine time.” Bouncing off her bed, I go to the ghost of a kitchen. We—she—already packed up all of her cookware, cups, plates, bowls, and utensils; donating the entirety to charity.
I open cabinet door after cabinet door wishful that she forgot at least a cup or two. Even a shot glass would work at this point. There’s nothing.
I guess we can drink out of the bottle. It won’t be the first time.
“Emme, you have no cups. Cool with drinking out of the bottle?”
“Mhmm,” echoes out of her bedroom. “Should be a bottle of rose in the fridge.”
“No red?”
Her head pops out of the room. “The boys will be here soon. We can ask them to pick up a bottle.”
“My phone died, can you text Liam?” I close the fridge, the chilled bottle in my hand. “Can they get food too? I’m starving.”
Emerson returns to the room, mumbling on the phone with Liam.
I set the bottle on the counter, twisting off the cap. Taking a swig of the rose, I wipe the back of my hand on the droplets clinging to the corner of my mouth, letting the ones in my eyes stay.
I return to Emerson’s bedroom, she’s lying next to my spot. She’s a left side of the bed sleeper, I’m a right.
“I can’t believe you are moving.”
Passing the wine between us, she takes a drink, her feet kicked back behind her. “Me either.” Another drink. “To another country. For a boy.”
“Not just any boy.” I squeeze her shoulder and she instinctively leans into me. “The boy.”
“The boy, yeah?”
“Yeah. ”
“Do you finally like Liam?”
“As long as you’re happy and love him, then yes.”
She laughs, drops of wine fly out of her mouth. “What about Brandon then?”
“He goes on the list with Seth. Boys we should never have let each other date.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
***
Emerson and I moved from her bedroom to the living room, forgoing the packing. That’s tomorrow Emerson’s problem.
We pushed all the furniture that’s remaining to the side. The couch is up against the cream-colored wall that used to be filled with photos Emerson took. Her bookshelf is shoved next to it in the corner, empty—she already had Liam cart suitcases of books to London. The coffee table is pushed up against the couch, our empty wine bottle on its side. Her area rug is gone, leaving original dark hard wood that our socks keep slipping on while dancing.
Knock, knock, knock.
“That’s Liam.” Emerson smiles, rushing to the door, doing the splits mid scurry.
She opens the door. Callum follows Liam in. Bottles of wine in his hands.
“Hey, Daisy,” he quietly says to me.
“Hey, Pretty Boy,” I return the sentiment.
“What’s this?” Emerson asks, unpiling the boxes of pizza. In her hands is a smaller box, the branding different from the other boxes.
“Where we got pizza from didn’t have any Chloe could have. Cal stopped by another restaurant,” Liam shares.
All eyes swivel from me to Cal .
I nibble on my bottom lip, swallowing down the butterflies back to my stomach. Any sort of retort is lost on me. Nothing quick wit seems appropriate right now.
My ice is melting and Cal is holding the torch that’s causing it.
“Thank you,” slips from my lips all syrupy with feelings I don’t want anyone seeing, not till I can tell him how I feel. After the lingerie debacle, we haven’t had a minute to talk.
An hour later the four of us are gathered around the coffee table. Emerson and Liam are on the couch, her legs draped over his. Cal and I are on the floor, cross-legged on a pallet of pillows.
“You two have sleepovers? After graduating from college?” The boys glance between us.
“Yeah!” Emerson cheers as I arch a brow.
“It’s not weird,” comes out of my mouth. Cal covers his mouth, hand moving to pull at his chin. I push a finger into his shoulder. “Uh, no. Get the picture out of your head. This was not a take our clothes off and hit each other with a pillow type of sleepover.”
He’s trying to conceal his chuckle. “That’s not what I’m thinking.”
“Don’t lie.”
“It started as birthday sleepovers,” Emerson says. “We thought it was weird that you were supposed to grow up and stop having sleepovers with your best friends. We’d have one for each other on our birthdays and then it sort of spiraled from there. After nights out, random weekdays.” Emerson tilts her head looking at me. “I think at one point I had more clean clothes of Chloe's here than she did at her place.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve never claimed to be an organized girl.”
“We know,” Cal says. I give him a little head bobbing glare.
“What did you thre—two do at your sleepovers?”
“Make voodoo dolls of boys.”
“She’s kidding,” Emerson says. “There was this period where the three of us would make up dances to songs. We tried TikTok dances but agreed we are all creative enough to do our own. ”
“Wait.” Liam leans forward, shuffling through Emerson’s phone that is hooked up to the Bluetooth speaker. “Was it a sleepover where you learned a dance to a One Direction song?” he asks Emerson.
“Maybe.”
“I have to see this.” Cal claps, then reaches for another slice of pepperoni pizza.
Emerson shrugs and I groan. “Fine. Put it on DJ.”
Cal gets out of the way, taking Emerson’s spot on the couch. “I can’t believe they remember it.”
“Perfection is never forgotten, Pretty Boy.”
The routine is built for three—all of our dances were and the moves were usually decided on by Natalie—but we can make it work with two. The music starts playing as I line up behind Emerson, my hands on her shoulder.
We complete our dance, slightly out of breath, definitely tipsy.
By ten, pizza cold and wine empty, Cal and I leave. Liam and Emerson wanted to stay at her place. They alleged it will help them get an early start finishing packing in the morning.