CHAPTER NINE
EMERSON
THREE YEARS LATER …
I brush a few strokes across the canvas and step back to view my work from a distance. My lower lip is lodged between my teeth as I tilt my head and study the painting. I take another step back and bump into the wall, like I’ve done a million times before in the small space.
After college graduation, I followed Suki back to her hometown of Chicago. I didn’t have any reason to move closer to my parents since our relationship is basically nonexistent at this point, and my sister is here, too, which was another reason to plant roots in this city. I’m currently living in a townhouse with my best friend. Her parents purchased the place for her after graduation. It’s in the Arts District part of town with trendy restaurants and locally owned coffee shops on every corner.
We moved into the house the week after leaving Sinclair and haven’t looked back since. It’s a three-story, a narrow but tall space with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and tons of stairs to climb each day. I insisted on paying rent for the room I occupy, but Suki won’t let me pay much. She knows exactly how limited my budget is. But we split the bills at least, making me feel like less of a mooch. There wasn’t an extra room for my art, so I paint in a small corner of my bedroom. I barely have space for an easel and my paints, but I’m making it work. I’m just thankful for a place to lay my head. Suki has the master bedroom, as she should. The spare bedroom holds Suki’s pottery wheel and clay.
The front door opens and closes. I hear her stop in the kitchen before climbing the stairs to the second floor.
“Hey … I’m home,” Suki announces, walking into my room.
She moves closer to look at my latest creation.
“How was work?” I ask.
“It was a paycheck,” she murmurs with her eyes on the painting. She sits on the edge of my bed.
Suki graduated with an accounting degree. She works for a small firm, playing with numbers by day and sculpting by night. In hindsight, I should’ve done something similar, though I’d never admit that my parents were right about that. Watching Suki make a grown-up salary while I’m still working in a café, scraping by each month just to pay the bills, is a reality check. I’ve worked my way up to manager in a small family-owned café a block from our place, but still. I don’t make the kind of money where I’m comfortable affording day-to-day living expenses. I guess hindsight really is twenty-twenty. I don’t regret my path though. And I wouldn’t change it. I just know the term starving artist intimately.
“I love the colors in the sky. It looks ominous, like a storm is blowing in.”
“That’s exactly what I am going for,” I admit.
I’m painting the ocean, using a photograph from a trip my family made to the coast when I was fourteen. I wanted the horizon to show a storm approaching, so I’ve stuck with darker color combinations.
“I love it,” she says. “It’s dark and mysterious.” Suki takes her bag and starts backing out of the room. “I’m going to take a bath.”
“Sounds nice. This is where you’ll find me until Eliott gets here.”
“You going to dinner?” she asks.
“Yep. It’s about all he has time for these days.”
Eliott and I started dating our sophomore year when I asked him out in class that day, and we haven’t stopped since. He’s a good guy. He treats me well. He got accepted into a medical school at Northwestern. He’s in his second year, and all he does is study. I guess it isn’t much different from the way he was in college. Only now, he’s even more invested in learning. But I don’t mind. It gives me more time to paint.
“Will you be home later tonight?” Suki moves farther out of my bedroom.
“Of course.”
I rarely spend the night at his place. He typically rises early and leaves for the library or study groups to work all day. And he snores. Plus, I like sleeping in my own bed. You can’t really say our relationship is filled with passion and fire. But it’s steady, and he’s reliable. Comfortable. I like being with him, so I stay.
“Well, have fun.” Suki disappears into the other room.
For the next thirty minutes, I get lost in my painting. When I notice the late time, I run into my closet and change clothes. I throw my hair up into a messy bun and touch up my makeup. I’m grabbing my clutch when the doorbell rings.
I walk down the stairs and into the living room to open the front door. Eliott is standing on the threshold, wearing a button-down shirt and jeans. He keeps his hair cut shorter than he did in college, and he switched to glasses, saying contacts irritate his eyes now.
“Hi,” I greet, lifting to kiss him. He kisses me back.
I lock the door behind me, and we walk to his Subaru. He opens the passenger door, and I slide into the seat.
“Good day?” I ask when he’s settled behind the wheel.
“Busy day,” he says, and then he launches into a description of what they’re studying right now.
The only thing I understand is that he’s talking about genetics. After that, he loses me. But he’s passionate about it, so I let him talk and watch the buildings pass by outside of the window.
We make the short drive to our favorite restaurant. The staff greets us by name. I order the same thing I always do, and he chooses between a few of his favorites. When the waiter leaves, Eliott studies me over his water glass.
“What?” I ask.
“I was thinking …” he starts. “Let’s get married.”
“What?” I choke out, taken completely off guard.
He said it so casually and nonchalantly, like he was mentioning the weather forecast for tomorrow.
He continues, oblivious to my reaction, “I’m in my second year of med school. After this, I have two years of clinical rotations. Then, residency. I want you with me.”
“I am with you. We don’t have to get married for me to be with you.” I take a sip of my water when my mouth goes dry.
“We’ve been dating for over three years now, and we graduated college,” he continues, making his case for the reasons we should get hitched. It feels like he’s reviewing a business contract. There’s no romance. No I love you or I can’t live without you . Just a bullet list of practicality. “And I’m not sure where I’ll end up for residency. I want to know you’re coming with me.”
Residency is a matching process, which means that Eliott can pick his preferences, but he isn’t guaranteed to get them. It’s like playing Russian roulette with your future.
“Eliott,” I sigh, pausing when a server drops off a basket of warm bread. “I’m not ready to be married. To you or to anybody else.”
“Anybody else?” The furrow between his brows deepens.
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” he asks.
We stare at each other in a silent stalemate, telling me he doesn’t understand what I’m trying to say. It’s a short distance across the table, but it feels like there are a hundred miles between us right now. Sure, he surprised me. We’ve never discussed marriage before. But the truth is, I’ve never considered a walk down the aisle with Eliott. I never dreamed about the possibility or pictured a white dress and bouquet in my head. I’m not sure if it’s because I can’t see myself marrying anybody or if I can’t see myself marrying him . Eliott’s a great guy with a promising future ahead. He’s everything any parent would choose for their child. But I don’t think of forever when I think of him and me. I don’t know if I’ve ever admitted that to myself before this actual moment.
I look away. My phone rings inside my purse. I ignore it, letting it go to voice mail. But it rings again. And again.
“I’m sorry …” I apologize while pulling my phone out. I glance at the screen, but don’t recognize the number. I answer it anyway. “Hello?”
“Is this Emerson Evans?” a deep, authoritative voice asks.
I hesitate. “Yes. Who’s this?”
“Miss Evans … this is Sergeant Williams. I’m with the police department.”
I’m quiet as my forehead wrinkles in confusion. What is a police officer doing, calling me?
“There’s been an accident,” he continues carefully, like I’m breakable. “It’s your sister … Eve Evans …”
I stop breathing.