39. Emerson Sos
emerson: sos
CAROLINE WAS BACK, THANK GOD. “You have to help me!” I hissed, grabbing her forearm and pulling her in the front door as soon as she appeared on the porch.
“With what?” she whispered back. “Everything is perfect for tonight. I just checked.”
She shook her head and pointed toward the kitchen. That’s when I heard the voices. Well, no. The voice. “You, Genevieve,” Mrs. McClasky was saying to my friend, a bestselling author, “will be staying with me.”
Caroline and I walked in just in time to see Genevieve grin at Sloane and say, “This will be great! Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. McClasky!”
“Why does she look so happy?” Caroline whispered to me.
“Because she’s going to use her as a character in her next book,” I whispered back.
“Ryan,” Mrs. Lucas said to my longtime manager, “your curfew will be midnight, and—”
“Okay,” Mom interrupted. “Mrs. Lucas, we can’t give adults curfews.”
“But he’s staying under my roof,” she protested.
Poor Ryan, all LA in his tight jeans and cashmere sweater, looked flustered. “I can just stay at a hotel or something.”
Mrs. Lucas sighed. “Fine. One a.m. But that’s as late as I can go.”
Genevieve wrapped her arm through Ryan’s. “Let’s go check on Sasha at Mrs. Thurston’s.” Sasha was one of my first friends in LA and, of course, a bridesmaid.
“You won’t believe her collection of cat figurines!” Mrs. McClasky trilled.
“You absolutely will not!” Genevieve winked at Caroline and me.
“Sasha really hates cats,” Ryan whispered to us with a bit of an “SOS” tone to his voice.
“And you hate dolls,” I said seriously. “But some things can’t be helped.”
His jaw dropped, and we all laughed as Mrs. Lucas swept them out the door.
“Do it for the plot!” Genevieve said to Ryan, patting his arm, as they walked out.
Mrs. McClasky huffed, “Well, I’d better follow them. So much to do!”
And, before she could even get out the door, we were all doubled over in laughter.
“No!” I wailed. “You guys! My friends are going to hate it here!”
“But think of the stories,” Mom said. “They will be able to talk about this for years to come.”
My phone beeped in my hand. I looked down: Chase. I smiled but quickly cleared the screen.
Sloane nodded emphatically. “Plus, the guesthouse is all set up and ready for whoever calls uncle first.”
“It will be Ryan,” I said knowingly. “He’s terrified of dolls, and Mrs. Lucas has those creepy porcelain ones in Victorian dresses all over her house.”
“Poor Ryan,” Caroline said.
I nudged her. “Hey, you okay?”
She nodded and brightened artificially. “Of course!”
“That was creepier than the dolls,” Mom said.
Caroline sighed. “Sorry. I’m just distracted. Everything is good. And, hey, James is leaving, so someone can have his room too.”
None of us asked any follow-up questions. We all knew what she meant. I held my sister’s hand. My sweet, darling, wonderful sister who, right now, as we spoke, was quite likely creating more of my family. Or at least trying to.
Sloane took her hand on the other side, and it occurred to me that at this moment, we could all three be pregnant, all three bringing these incredible miracles to life.
I was ready to tell; I was ready to talk about it.
I wanted to bask in the glory of the amazingness of that.
But I knew Kyle was right: I had to let Caroline tell first. And this didn’t seem like the right time.
Snapping herself out of it, Caroline said, “Okay! Mom, we need to head over to the Yacht House to approve the final seating layout before tomorrow.”
She looked at me. “Emerson, please don’t be late for rehearsal.”
She turned to Sloane. “I know you’re very pregnant, but I need you to make some adjustments to Carter’s flower crown for tomorrow. It’s not quite right, and I’m not artistic enough to know why.”
With that, my sister was gone, out the door.
It soothed me that she was back to normal, bossing us around.
But I couldn’t shake the idea that, underneath her usual forthrightness, something seemed off.
She seemed sad. And I hoped against hope that, in giving me what my heart wanted, she hadn’t permanently broken her own.