11. Emerson
Emerson
Exhaustion weighs on my body. I cradle my head in my hands as I sit at the kitchen counter. After two weeks, I assumed that I would finally feel comfortable being in the house again.
I was wrong.
Everywhere in this house holds a memory of the past. Memories of Mama.
The essence of her floral scent is still embedded in every inch of our furniture and wrapped up in every blanket and sheet.
The walls are adorned with countless snapshots of our lives.
They’re in every room, filling every hallway, because Mama always said she wanted her house full of life.
She wanted to feel surrounded by us everywhere she went.
Dad kept her plants alive, and as calming as they’re supposed to be, it’s another reminder that she isn’t here to take care of them herself.
Every time I climb the stairs, I’m reminded of the countless times I carried her in my arms to bed in those last few months. Even the kitchen holds memories.
I tried to make breakfast for us yesterday, and when I grabbed the plates from the cabinet, I noticed the intricate floral pattern that circled around the rim.
Her favorite. It brought me back to dinners with the Coles, Henley and our moms laughing in the kitchen, and the plates fell to the floor.
Scattering in a million pieces just like my sanity.
Now I spend almost all day and night in the shop, distracting myself with tinkering on the Porsche and helping service the cars that come in. I drive to clear my mind. However, at the end of the night, I still force myself to come home and try to sleep.
Dark circles have taken residence under Dad’s eyes, and the guilt continues to cramp my stomach.
During our dinners he tries to make conversation, but the entire time I’m trying my best to focus on breathing.
Lately I’ve been skipping dinner entirely, eating things from the vending machine at the shop.
After a long drive on the track last night, I even slept in my car.
I’m exhausted both mentally and physically. I need to pull myself together soon before I break so massively that I won’t be able to put myself back together.
My stomach growls loudly. I look across to the stove and the fridge that I know is fully stocked. However, I can’t bring myself to cook in her kitchen. Instead, I decide to head into town.
What I need is fresh air and a change of space.
“Well, hello, stranger.”
Harper greets me as she places pots of flowers on the bistro tables set outside her little bakery. When she begins to lift the chairs from their stack, I rush over to help.
Old Oak Oven looks more vibrant and inviting since she took over the business after her parents passed. Pale violet awnings cover the windows, flowers overflowing from the boxes beneath them. It’s like a little piece of Parisian life has sprouted right here on Main Street.
Ryleigh shared with me a while back that Harper’s parents had been older when they had her.
Her twin brothers were much older than us and had left to join the military when she was only ten.
I remember Dad telling me about the tragic car crash that took her parents away from Harper during her second year of college.
Between us, we share an understanding of the hole that loss leaves inside your heart.
She reached out to me after Mama’s funeral and told me she’d always be a listening ear to talk about it all if I ever needed it. Though I never took her up on it, I’m grateful to know that there is someone there for the day that I finally admit that I do need help.
Sliding the last chair around the bistro table, I hold the door open.
“Thank you, I appreciate the help. Coffee is on me today.”
Opening my mouth to argue, I’m cut off by her narrowed glare and hands placed firmly on her hips. I raise mine up in surrender while she smiles in satisfaction then heads around the counter to make my coffee.
“To-go or for here?” she shouts over the espresso machine.
There are only a few small booths and a few tables inside the small bakery.
And it looks like all the inside tables are full today.
Right before I open my mouth to tell Harper I’ll take it to go, I spot a familiar head of cinnamon locks sprawled out over a sleeping body in the back.
Harper follows my line of sight and hums softly to herself.
“Looks like it’ll be for here,” she murmurs.
Heat radiates up my neck as a smirk lifts her lips. “How long has she been like that?”
“For about an hour,” she says, plating a cinnamon roll and setting it next to my coffee by the cash register. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my wallet to pay for the pastry, but she shakes her head once more. “This is for taking care of her the other day.”
Puzzled, I raise a brow.
“She told me all about the plane and the drive home.”
“Oh.”
Her eyes wander behind me to her best friend’s slumped body, then back to mine. “The Coles don’t really have a whole lot of extra space with Ryleigh and Lyla there too, so she’s been sleeping on the couch.”
I wince.
“Yeah, so she basically hasn’t been sleeping at all. Plus, as of today, she just started working with me. I feel like she worked out all her frustrations for the past hour and completely exhausted herself.”
She sighs, sliding my coffee and roll into my hands.
“Thank you.”
Turning to join Henley, I can still feel Harper’s gaze on my back.
Only a few steps in, her voice stops me in my tracks.
“I know what happened all those years ago, Em. I’m not sure what your intentions are now, but if any of them have to do with Hen, please make sure this time it doesn’t end up the same way.
She deserves to have someone who will treat her like the wonderful goddess she is.
Something deep down in my soul tells me that could be you, but if you’re not ready to treat her right, I suggest you back away now.
Her heart can’t withstand another devastating break. ”
Harper walks away from the counter and busies herself taking loaves of bread out of the oven. Leaving me standing in the middle of the bakery, trying to find the courage to take a step.
I could sit outside, never bother to wake her up. Continue to keep my space from her while I’m here. Or I could slide into the seat across from her and try to rekindle the one thing I lost all those years ago.
My pulse thrums inside my chest as I take another step forward.