Chapter Four
Four
AS EMMA SCANNED THE COFFEE SHOP, SHE REMEMBERED that Tony had a habit of being a hair past fashionably late to everything. So instead of ordering at the counter and opening herself up to the possibility of being surprised, she maneuvered her way through the cramped tables to snag a seat with a view of the door. As she sat waiting for what might be a life--changing moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to check her new video’s view count. She genuinely wasn’t sure if she wanted the video to flop so Jackie would lose interest or for it to catch the algorithm wave and make the whole project more real.
At exactly seventeen minutes past the time they had scheduled to meet—and approximately twenty-eight months since they had last seen each other in real life—Tony Moretti walked through the door. Their eyes found each other and suddenly Emma Moskowitz felt eerily certain that despite everything that had happened, despite the heartbreak that was still very much alive and propagating, she was meant to be here in this moment—with him.
“Look who it is,” Tony said with more charm than any single man should be allowed to have.
As he enveloped her in his sinewy arms, Emma was transported back to when they first met, at a rock show. For Emma, a lifelong Blink-182 fan, the fact that for a moment in history she had actually been saved in someone’s phone as “The Girl at the Rock Show” was still a thrill. Whether or not the local indie band they were both casual fans of at the time counted as actual rock was beside the point.
“It’s so good to see you,” Tony gushed as he gave her a playful shove.
Emma’s therapist brain tried not to attach too much meaning to him physically pushing her away so quickly into their reunion. She understood that part of Tony’s appeal was never knowing if he was about to surprise her with the perfect gift or completely disappear into the ether. It kept her on her toes. It also didn’t hurt that with his jet-black hair, short thick beard and classic yet simple wardrobe, he was the epitome of Emma’s type. She loved a man in a flannel shirt and nice jeans. So sue her.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet. I know it was probably out of the blue for me to text you like that.”
Tony shrugged as though it hadn’t even occurred to him to question her invitation. “We’re old friends. Old friends get coffee every few years—that way we can still pretend to know each other.” He pulled out a chair and sat down without ordering any coffee. Emma joined him and launched into her best impression of playing it cool. All while secretly panicking that they were going to get in trouble for loitering.
“You probably heard that I got engaged—”
“You got engaged? Emma, that’s amazing! I know that’s what you’ve always wanted. I think you even said that on our third date. And most of our dates after that.” Tony laughed at the memory of her inappropriate behavior. Emma suddenly had more insight into why she had romantically struggled for so many years, but right now wasn’t the time to unpack that.
“Yeah…well. It didn’t work out. Ryan…left.”
Tony’s face fell and Emma worried that any lingering affection he had toward her was about to turn into pity, which rarely brought about sexual desire—at least not healthy sexual desire. She needed to change the narrative and take back control.
“Work has been good though and my dad’s trying to get me to try pickleball—”
“Wait. Sorry. What do you mean Ryan left? Are you okay?”
It was a good question. Was she okay? In the immediate sense, yes. She was still alive. She was still breathing. She was able to feed herself when she was hungry and bathe herself when she was dirty. But in a larger sense, Emma feared she would never be the same again. Unless she managed to pull off the impossible and convince this man to marry her in approximately five and a half months so she didn’t have to give up on love. Or herself.
“It’s been tough. I didn’t see it coming—at all—so the last few weeks have been…hard.” By which she meant soul crushing and completely destabilizing. “But my support system has been great. They’ve really encouraged me to move forward and not let Ryan’s complete lack of empathy ruin my life for any longer than it has to.”
“I agree with them. Fuck that guy. You deserve better.” Tony smiled at her, and Emma felt her insides move.
“I just realized I’m not actually thirsty. Do you want to get out of here?” The words were out of her mouth before she even understood the implication, but Tony seemed unfazed.
“Sure.”
Emma smiled. When it came to Tony, “sure” was the most enthusiastic commitment one could get. Not bad for a pity hang.
***
Everything looked exactly the same, from the I Love Lucy memorabilia to the Urban Outfitters record player she’d bought him for their one-year anniversary. The only indication that any time had passed since Emma had last been in Tony’s Holly-wood apartment was his receding hairline. And her extra seventeen pounds. It seemed bodies changed far faster than stuff needed to be replaced.
“Is a bowl okay? I also have some joints.”
Emma broke away from trying to see if he had at least added any new books to his bookshelf to find Tony holding the same pipe they’d used back when they were together. She tried not to think about how many other women’s lips had sucked on it in the interim.
“Let’s do a joint.”
“You got it, toots.”
Tony went to rummage through a drawer in his brightly tiled kitchen and Emma was reminded that despite being born in 1987, Tony was a relic from another time. He worshipped Lucille Ball and almost exclusively listened to music from before 1965—with the notable exception of Blink and a few other pop-punk bands. Unlike most Angelenos, Tony never wore sweatpants or sneakers and actually dressed up for air travel. He firmly believed everything in society went to shit after Nat King Cole died. Minus, you know, all the newfound civil liberties. Tony seemed to long for a version of the past that had never actually existed. Emma wondered if, in some way, she was doing the same thing.
“Here.” Tony went to hand her the weed and lighter before stopping himself. “Oh wait, let me start it for you.”
Emma smiled and didn’t mention that since they last smoked, she had finally learned how to light her own joint at the ripe age of thirty. It was nice to have someone do it for her. And even nicer to feel the effects of the drug strip (some of) her anxiety away. They sat next to each other on the couch, passing the joint back and forth, neither acknowledging that their legs were touching.
“Is it weird that this doesn’t feel weird?” Emma eventually said.
“Why would it feel weird? We’ve smoked on this couch like hundreds of times.”
“We also haven’t seen each other in person in over two years. I lived with someone else and almost married him.”
“That’s not saying much though. You try to marry everyone.”
Now it was Emma’s turn for a playful shove—although it wasn’t that playful. She’d always known she’d wanted to get married. She just hadn’t been aware of how loudly she had been broadcasting it.
“What was he like?” Tony asked while removing some ash from his tongue.
“Ryan? I honestly don’t know. My whole conception of him has changed since he left. The way he acted at the end, leaving like that without any warning. It’s made me think I didn’t know him at all.” Emma let out a long puff and shared the thought that had slowly been burning a hole inside her soul. “Maybe it’s not possible to really know anyone.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course you can’t really know anyone. That’s what makes life interesting.” He turned to face her on the couch. “Like right now. I can listen to you and nod and say the right stuff, but you have no way of knowing that at the same time I’m also trying to figure out how I can get a burrito.”
“You’re thinking about a burrito right now?”
“Among other things, yeah. That’s what’s great about the brain. It’s just for you.”
“That doesn’t freak you out? That you can share your entire life with another person and not know what they’re actually thinking or feeling?”
“Depends on the person. I pretty much always knew what you were thinking or feeling because you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it out loud.”
Emma’s face got hot. Oversharing wasn’t something she was particularly proud of. “I keep my true thoughts from my clients all the time—that’s like ninety-five percent of being a therapist.”
“I’m sure they can still tell. You don’t have much of a poker face.”
“That is blatantly untrue! I have spent years of my life learning how to keep a neutral but open face.”
“Show me.”
“Okay. Go sit on that chair and tell me something shocking.”
Tony obliged, moving to his midcentury modern teal armchair. Emma shifted her body upright and planted both feet firmly on the ground, something she made sure to do at the start of each new session, although this was her first time doing it high. She had to stop herself from rubbing her socks on the carpet over and over again.
“I had a threesome with two of my sister’s friends when I was still in high school.”
Emma nodded in response, keeping her facial muscles calm.
“One of those girls still texts me all the time even though she’s now a lesbian.”
“And what do you think compels you to keep responding to Angela?”
“How do you know her name is Angela?”
“Because you tell everyone this story within like five minutes of meeting you. I said tell me something shocking, not your greatest achievement to date.”
“Fuck! Okay, I got something else.”
Emma retook her therapist pose as Tony shifted nervously in his seat. He took a deep breath and locked eyes with her.
“Sometimes, when I’m bored or really lonely, I think I made a mistake letting you get away.” Emma’s mouth dropped opened at the same time Tony’s broke into a grin. “See! No poker face!”
“That’s not fair!”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Emma couldn’t think of a reason. She was too busy trying to figure out if what Tony had said was true or just meant to shock her. “Do you really think that?”
“Maybe. I think all kinds of stuff. I try not to read too much into it.”
“Tony…” Emma braced herself for what would be a full confession. She was going to tell him all of it. That deep down she was afraid that she’d never stopped having feelings for him. That she wanted to give their relationship another try. And that, if he acted quickly, he could probably get a bespoke suit in time for their August nuptials.
But when she picked her head up to look him meaningfully in the eye, his phone was out, and a burrito menu filled the screen.
“Want to order some bean and cheese?”
Emma released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Definitely.”
Confession could wait. It wasn’t like it was Yom Kippur.