32. Caspian
32
CASPIAN
“ I ’ve come to take you out.”
Emma cocks her hip against the door and looks me up and down. “Assassination or date?”
“Do you think your exams went that badly?”
She steps away from the door, inviting me into Finn’s apartment with her body. I follow her, closing the door behind me. We walk into the lounge where a movie sits paused on the TV and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn rests on the table.
“I can honestly say I don’t remember my last exam,” Emma says. She flops back down onto the couch, nestling into a pile of pillows she’s created around her form. “So those results will be one hell of a mystery.”
“Did Finn talk to you about extenuating circumstances?”
She nods. “I don’t want more people to know. It’s bad enough that Finn won’t let me go home, and all three of you have been doing everything you can to keep an eye on me. I don’t need the college knowing my business either.”
“Even at the expense of your future?” I don’t intend to push her. Her decisions are her own, but I have to satisfy my own desire to understand. Everything that’s happened this past week has been, frankly, insane. Finn, Asher, and I silently decided to watch over Emma until the stranger in her apartment was caught, but the police weren’t as determined as we were, it seemed.
“You misunderstand how much I care about my degree,” Emma groans. She flops one arm to the side, stretching for the TV remote. “You wanna watch this movie with me? We could order some food, make a day of it.”
“We’re making a day of it alright,” I chuckle softly, stepping forward and snatching the remote out of sight. “But not with this. Come on, get up.”
“I don’t want to,” Emma whines.
“Trust me, you do. Get up, get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Where are we going?” She calls after me as I turn away and head back to the door.
“It’s a surprise!”
Emma perks up during the drive. I know all too well how comforting it can be to settle into a slump and stew in your bad feelings. Sometimes, all it takes is one pull to dislodge the train from that self-deprecating track.
“What is this place?” Emma peers out the windshield as I park up in front of a small white house nestled into a corner of the countryside.
Opening my door, the fresh sharpness of sea air immediately swirls into the car, and I breathe deeply with a smile.
“This is one of my favorite places in the world.” Stepping out of the car, Emma follows and casts her eye around us. In the distance behind me, the ocean twinkles like a thousand gemstones. The nearest neighbor is only two minutes away, but trees and flowering bushes block everything else from view.
Just closing your eyes and breathing in the salty sea air is enough to bring a comforting solitude.
“You’re being intentionally vague,” Emma remarks.
“It’s part of the fun, right?” Winking at her, I lead her up the gravel path toward the front door. Just as I lift my knuckles to knock on the door, it flies open, and I’m slapped in the face by the scent of fish, spices, and the underlying warmth of baking.
“Caspian!” My elderly mother grabs the front of my shirt and jerks me down to her height with surprising strength. Then her hands are on my face, turning my head this way and that as she checks me over to make sure I’m as healthy as I was the last time I saw her.
“Mother,” I laugh. I'm sorry I’m late; I had to make a detour.”
“You had me worried, you idiot,” she scolds, but it’s all in jest. “You’re looking thin. Peaky. Have you not been taking care of yourself, hmm? Come on, in. In, in, in!” She releases me and flaps her hands while striding deeper into the house. “And shut the door!”
Chuckling, I reach for Emma’s hand, and she takes it after a half second of hesitation. Her other hand works quickly to smooth down her blouse, adjust the belt on her jeans, and pat down her hair.
“Your mother?” she hisses at me as we step inside. “You brought me to meet your mother? God, I look a mess…”
“Relax,” I assure her gently. “You look amazing. You always do.”
With the door closed, I head deeper into the house and find my mother in the kitchen, her frail arms elbow-deep in flour.
“Mom, didn’t the doctor say you were supposed to be using the mixer now instead of your hands?”
“I’m sorry, are you a chef?” Mom snaps, fixing me with one beady eye. “Do you want bread that tastes like metal and laziness?”
Biting back another laugh, I shake my head. “You know I’m only concerned for you and your joints.”
“You worry about your own joints, sunshine,” she snaps. “Being that tall isn’t good for your body, I’ve told you before.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Maybe you should have distributed your genes a little better.”
Mom grumbles and returns to her kneading. Her hands move with a deftness and strength that doesn’t quite fit her frail form but her years as a top chef taught her all the secrets.
“Mom, I want to introduce you to someone.” Squeezing Emma’s hand, I encourage her forward with a smile. “This is Emma, the woman I told you about.”
“You told your mom about me?” Emma hisses out the side of her mouth, pink flushing over her cheeks. She steps forward and smiles brightly. “It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? Do I look old enough to be a ma’am? Past my prime, they say.” A throaty laugh rises up from Mom, and she sets aside her dough, then picks up a towel to wipe stray flour from her fingers. She silently studies Emma for all of thirty seconds. Then she smiles brightly.
“Goodness,” Mom continues. “Look at you, so full of life. You see this, Caspian? When will you come to me looking this healthy, hmm? Look at that smile!” She approached Emma with speed unbecoming of her age and immediately pinches one of her cheeks. “Aren’t you just a beautiful thing now. I can see why he likes you.”
“Th-Thank you,” Emma replies hesitantly. Her hands clutch together at her waist and she sends me a nervous glance. “Sorry for the ma’am, I wasn’t sure what to call?—”
“Call me Betty, all my friends do,” Mom says, giving Emma one more glance then returning to the counter.
“Does this mean we’re friends?” Emma asks, and some of her sweet confidence leaks through.
“Of course we are,” Mom replies. “It takes a special woman to turn the head of my Caspian. He’s so stubborn. For years I was certain he was blind and simply couldn’t even see women.”
“Mom!” Even my complaint can’t hide the affectionate smile she brings out of me. “Sometimes it takes time.”
“A late bloomer, huh?” Emma grows more relaxed by the second and she winks at me. “Hot.”
“Oh my God,” I murmur under my breath. “This was a mistake.”
“Nonsense!” Mom snaps. “But make yourself useful. Lunch won’t make itself.”
She puts us to work quickly. Emma joins her in making the bread and I take over basting the fish. Mom asks Emma enough questions about herself to fill a book, but Emma answers them all in her stride. The conversation then turns to art and when we sit down to eat, Mom brings out some of her proudest pieces. She was a fantastic artist back in the day before arthritis took her chef career and her artistic capability. Now, she just dabbles, but she is clearly the source of my own artistic talent.
“As soon as he picked up a brush, I knew,” Mom says between bites of fish and freshly baked bread. “He has an incredible eye for beauty. And then he breaks my heart and goes into teaching .”
“I can’t pay my bills on talent,” I remind her with a laugh.
“Indeed,” she scoffs, then takes Emma’s hand. “But now he brings me a work of art like you, and can a mother complain? No. My son is happy, lit up like a Christmas tree in June. Imagine!”
We eat, we walk down to the beach and let the wind carry away our troubles, we collect some seashells and walk a little further until tiredness takes over Mom. Then it’s back to the house to let her rest, and Emma and I retire to the porch and watch the sunset with a glass of wine.
All in all, it feels like a pretty great day and Emma’s smile was unwavering.
But now, in the calmness of the evening with an orange sun clinging to the horizon with all its strength, she seems sad. The corners of her mouth dip slightly, and there’s a faraway sadness in her eyes.
“Emma?”
“Mm?” She glances at me and while her smile widens, it seems forced.
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re sad. I can tell. Was this too much?” It wouldn’t be the first time that I’d misread things and provided a bad solution.
“Oh no, no. Today was amazing. Kind of breathtaking actually in the strangest of ways. It’s just…I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
“If it’s affecting you, it’s not stupid.” Leaning forward in my chair, I set my glass down and give Emma my full attention. “Talk to me.”
A light breeze pulls slightly at her short hair, sending the purple strands of her streak skimming over the top of her head. Her eyes sparkle with the hint of tears, and she chews on her lower lip before she speaks.
“It’s just…your mom. She’s kind of amazing. She’s warm and funny and she just accepted me without a second thought. The way she just included me and showed interest in me and everything. It was just…”
The glistening in her eyes worsens, turning her lashes into diamonds as she stares out at the horizon. My mother has always been a gentle soul to people she likes and has always prided herself in her judgment of character. If she hadn’t liked Emma, today would have been very different.
“In just a few hours, she gave me more love and support than I think I’ve ever had in my life. I could never get that from my own parents, y’know? It just got me thinking what my life would have been like if I’d been raised by someone like that. Someone full of love that supported me rather than judged me—” She cuts herself off as a sudden sob bubbles up, and she presses one hand to her chest. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying!”
Sliding closer, I drape one arm around her shoulders and pull Emma into a tight hug.
“This is so pathetic,” Emma weeps. “One afternoon and suddenly I’m a mess!” Her laugh is hollow, and initially, she tries to escape my hug. That only lasts for a few seconds before she’s crying against my shoulder. Her body shakes and her breath escapes in gasps. One hand curls into my shirt and pulls so hard that the fabric against the back of my neck strains.
I know little about how she was raised, and given how my relationship with her father was always one of mutual respect rather than firm friendship like Asher’s, I never saw him in the fatherly role.
I can take a guess though.
“It’s not pathetic,” I assure her softly, rumbling soothing sounds around my chest. “You’re going through a lot of shit right now, and anyone would want to seek comfort from their family. Instead, yours has cast you out with more judgment than you deserve. On top of that, there are exams and everything with your apartment, your car, the cabin…”
I pause and draw Emma into my lap. She curls in, burying her face against my neck. I hold her as the sadness takes over her and she cries herself hoarse against me.
“You deserve all of the love and support. I hope you understand that.” Given the power of her upset, I begin to rock back and forth in an attempt to soothe her. “I can’t speak for your shitty parents, but I can speak for myself, and confidently for Asher and Finn. We care about you deeply, and we are here for you. We’ve all fallen so insanely hard for you and supporting you comes as easily as breathing.”
“How can you say that?” Emma lifts her head, sniffling. “All it takes is one phone call from my dad, or from whoever stole those pictures and your lives are over. Your jobs are dust. I’m not worth that. I’m not worth—” Her throat closes, and she can’t continue. Instead, she whimpers.
“Emma.” I press my lips to her forehead, lingering there for a long moment. “We’ve all lived long enough to know that what we feel for you is more important than our jobs. We’ve lived. We have money, savings. Jobs come and go, but you?”
I cup her face and bring her head up, locking eyes with her.
“You, my dear, are a one-in-a-billion chance encounter, and none of us are willing to give you up. Do you understand?”
Tears pour down her cheeks and she nods wordlessly.
“We care about you, for you. Nothing else. Just you. And my mother can see that too so don’t you worry about anything, okay? You deserve us and we are here for you.”
Emma weeps harder and cries herself to the point of exhaustion. When I take her inside, Mom is one step ahead of me, and the guest room is already set up for us. I take Emma to bed, assuring her constantly that she’s worth our choices and reminding her that these are our choices to make.
We fall asleep together, tangled together, and I wrap my entire body around Emma in order to soothe her to dreamland. It works within an hour, and sleep comes for me shortly after.
I wake the next morning to the scent of eggs and spice and a single text from Finn.
We need to talk. Now.