“Whatever, Emily,” she said, her voice dismissive. “See you around.”
I heard the front door slam and felt like bursting into tears. She was right—I was a chicken. Too cowardly to face her. Too afraid she would be able to see in my eyes that I knew she was right.
No, I told myself firmly. She’s not. She doesn’t know the first thing about your relationship with Greg.
I told myself that over and over again throughout the day, as I got ready for work, as I treated my patients, as I ate my lunch alone in the office. She’s wrong, she’s wrong, she’s wrong.
“Emily?” Sarah said, peeking her head into the office. “Sorry, I know you’re on break. I just wanted to let you know that your twelve thirty was here.”
Philip. Great. He would be as grumpy as ever. Just what I needed.
I threw my mostly uneaten lunch away and headed out to the therapy floor. I might as well get it over with.
“Good afternoon, Philip.”
He grunted in reply, hitching himself up onto the table without assistance. I was pleased to see that he was showing some improvement, finally, though he still had a long way to go.
“How’s it feeling today?”
“Little better,” he said. “Sore last night.”
I nodded, making a note on his chart. “The rain probably didn’t help.”
I looked up from the chart, ready to apply his ultrasound therapy, and realized that he was staring at my face. “What?”
“You look like hell.”
“Well, thanks a lot for that, Philip,” I said, feeling even grumpier than before. I’d be giving him a run for his money soon if he didn’t watch it.
He didn’t respond, but he also didn’t avert his eyes, instead holding his gaze steady on my face. “You okay?”
I stared at him, shocked. Philip had never once shown any interest in me, or anyone else in the clinic for that matter. It caught me off guard.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m, uh, fine.”
“Boy problems?”
Okay, seriously? Was I about to have a heart to heart about my dating life with Philip?
“You could say that.” I sighed, feeling like I might as well tell him. “My friends hate my boyfriend.”
“Should they?”
“I…I don’t know. I really don’t. I thought he was perfect but now…”
Philip snorted. “If you don’t know, he’s not. I got forty-five years with my Beverly. It wasn’t long enough. I knew from the moment I met her it would be me and her. And I never doubted that once.”
To my surprise, I felt tears prick my eyes. The love in his voice was palpable, transforming him from a grumpy old man to someone softer, somehow.
“If this guy was the one, you’d know it. And if he is, it’s worth losing all the friendships in the world. I can promise you that. If you’re really in love, your friends will know it. If they don’t, they weren’t worth being friends with in the first place.”
I couldn’t speak for a moment. Philip was so sure of himself, so certain. The certainty of a man who had known true love.
“So,” he said eventually. “Are we gonna get on with this or do you need to go cry in the bathroom like a little girl?”
“There you are,” I said. “I wondered what happened to the gruff old grump I’ve come to know.” But I smiled at him as I helped him roll over onto his side, and, unless I was very much mistaken, he gave me a small wink in return.
* * *
My chat with Philip had made one thing clear to me: Love was important enough that I needed to be sure about Greg before I made any rash decisions. When he called me after work and asked me to have dinner with him at his place, I readily agreed.
Feeling like this could be our chance to start fresh, I took special care getting dressed. I wore a Diane von Furstenberg black and white wrap dress that I knew he loved. I styled my hair straight and, for a finishing touch, slipped my diamond bracelet onto my wrist.
“You look beautiful,” Greg said, meeting me at the door to his apartment. He kissed the top of my head. “Just beautiful.” He caught sight of the bracelet and grinned at me, taking my hand to lead me into the apartment.
“Thank you,” I told him, trying not to remember the scene that had taken place the night before as we passed the laundry room and entered the kitchen. “This smells good,” I murmured, peeking into a sauce pan on the stove.
“Red wine reduction for veal chops,” he said proudly. “Your favorite.”
I stared at him. “No, it’s not.”
Greg looked at me in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Veal is not my favorite.” I don’t know why I was making such a big deal about this, but just then it seemed very important to me that he knew my favorite food.
“Okay,” he said, giving me a bemused smile. “What is your favorite then?”
“Lasagna,” I said firmly.
“Then next time I shall make you lasagna.”
I suddenly felt much better. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to let Greg know the real me.
I heard a buzz from my purse and peeked down at my phone. It was a text message from Michael. Brooke just sent me the final proposal, it read. I’ve emailed it to you. Take a look and let me know what you think.
So Brooke had emailed him the final proposal, huh? I was torn between irritation with her for going straight to Michael, and gratitude that she hadn’t let our fight get in the way of her helping us.
“Can I use your computer for a minute to check my email?”
Greg looked up from the stove, frowning. “We really need to get you a Smartphone.”
I shook my head vehemently. “I love my old, sadly outdated phone.”
He shook his head, but waved the wooden spoon in his hand toward the office. “Go ahead, it’s on.”
I slipped out of the kitchen and settled myself behind Greg’s big desk. He had one of those awesome, plush leather executive chairs—it was more comfortable than my couch at home. I clicked on the Internet browser and loaded my email account. The email from Michael was right there at the top. I opened the document and scanned over it. Everything looked really good, just the way Brooke and I had discussed it. The proposal was thorough and professional; I felt a little leap of excitement. We had to get this loan. How could any bank refuse us?
“That was quick,” Greg said when I had rejoined him in the kitchen. He was dishing out the veal onto a serving platter. “Ready to eat?”
“Sure,” I said, picking up the salad bowl and water pitcher and following him to the dining table. The room looked spotless, despite the number of people that had been here the night before. I was sure Maria and a whole team of cleaners had been here first thing to get it into this shape.
Greg and I ate in silence for a few moments. The veal was very good, but I had never quite gotten over my squickiness about it. Maybe I would tell him that, tell him that I much preferred beef or chicken—
“So, what was the email about?” Greg asked, pouring himself more iced water. “Anything important?”
“Actually, yes,” I said, sitting up straighter with excitement. “There’s a business opportunity I’m considering.”
Greg put his fork down, frowning. “Business opportunity?”
“Yes. The company that owns our clinic is considering selling. Michael—you know, my manager Michael? He asked me if I would consider going into business with him and trying to buy the place.”
“You want to own the clinic?”
I nodded. “I think it would be amazing. There’re so many things I want to do with it, I have a ton of ideas. And Michael is such a good manager; he’d be so good to have as a partner.”
“Emily,” Greg said, a slight smile now playing on his lips. “Owning a business is a huge undertaking. It’s not something you jump into because you think it’d be ‘amazing’. It’s a lot of hard work.”
“I know that.” I felt stung. “We’re taking this very seriously. We’ve been working o
n a business plan to present to the bank so we can try for a loan.”
“You’ve done a business plan?” he asked, frowning again. “Without talking to me about any of it?”
I shifted, uncomfortable. “It’s really just come up in the last week or so,” I said. “You were out of town.”
Greg just watched me for a minute, then picked up his fork again. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought I heard a note of finality in his voice. It pissed me off.
“I think it’s a great idea,” I said, knowing I sounded defiant.
“You realize owning your own clinic means lots of late nights, don’t you? Lots of weekends, taking your work home. Why would you want to get involved in all that?”
“To do something I love? To create something that’s mine?”
“You don’t have any concept of how much work it would be,” he said firmly. “Seriously, Emily. It’s a bad idea.”
I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I was well up to this job. I wanted to tell him to go to hell, to be honest. But I found I couldn’t speak. He took my silence as acquiescence. “Besides,” he said, “you won’t have time for any of that once we’re married.”
I could hear a dull ringing in my ears. Had he seriously just said what I thought he said?
“What?”
“When we’re married,” he said patiently. “You won’t need to work. I can take care of you, of course.”
I felt panic building in my chest. I had the strongest desire to get up and run, as fast as I could, away from there.
Greg was watching my face. “I mean,” he continued, “you’re not going to want to spend all your time working when you’re a mom, will you? My mom stayed home with us, and I’m so grateful for it to this day.”
“No,” I whispered.
“Good,” Greg said, misunderstanding me. “That’s settled then. Why don’t you email Marcus back after dinner and tell him you’re not interested after all.” Greg returned to his meal, spearing a piece of veal with a satisfied expression on his face. All was once again right in his world, under his control.
“No,” I said again, louder. “It’s not settled, not at all.”
He looked at me, clearly beginning to get irritated now. “Emily—”
“No! I don’t want to quit my job and get married. I don’t even want to think about babies yet.” I looked down at Greg’s carefully set table, his beautiful dishes, feeling the blood rush through my ears. “And I don’t want to eat this stupid veal anymore!”
I stood up quickly, knocking over my chair behind me. Greg stared at me, speechless, clearly shocked by my outburst.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just…this is way too fast for me. And I don’t know what I want.”
“Emily, sit down!”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. You’ve been wonderful to me, you really have. But I don’t think this is me.” I spread my arms out wide, as if to encompass the whole room and the lifestyle it represented. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the diamonds of my bracelet flash in the candle light.
“This isn’t me,” I repeated, pulling the bracelet off and setting it next to my plate. “I’m sorry, Greg. I just…I need to go.”
I turned and headed to the door, but Greg was up and out of his chair before I could get more than a few steps away. “Wait,” he said, grabbing my arm and spinning me around. “Emily, what on earth has gotten into you?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling tears start to well in my eyes. “I think I’ve been fooling myself this whole time, fooling you too, into thinking I belonged here. I don’t.”
“You do,” he said, dropping my arm. “Of course you do. I love you.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t really know me. And that’s my fault.”
“This is ridiculous,” Greg said. “Of course I know you. Now come and sit back down and finish your meal. You don’t throw a fit and stalk off when you’re at the dinner table.”
Of course. Leave it to Greg to be more upset about my violating proper dinner behavior than my telling him he didn’t know me.
“I don’t want to finish dinner, Greg,” I said softly, wiping at the tears in my eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to go now.”
I turned again and got as far as the door this time before he caught me.
“Emily,” he said, his face scared now. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m trying to tell you,” I said, the tears falling freely now. “This isn’t working for me. I don’t think you really know me, and I don’t think I fit here.”
He shook his head. “You’re just upset because we quarreled at the party last night. You’re probably tired. Go home and get some rest, and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“I will rest,” I said. Even I could hear the sadness in my voice. “And I’ll call you tomorrow. But I don’t think anything will have changed.”
“No,” he said, putting his thumb over my lip. He had done that once before, and I thought it was the height of romantic. Now, it just made me want to push his hand away. “I’m not going to accept that, not yet. You’ll feel better tomorrow. Just promise me you’ll call me.”
“Okay,” I said, wiping my eyes. I knew nothing would have changed by tomorrow. “I’ll call you.”
I reached for the door handle, and he caught my hand. “Emily,” he said, his voice panicked. “I really love you. I do.”
I just looked at him, feeling so guilty and so, so sad. This was all my fault.
“Good night, Greg.”
Chapter Twenty-four
I did call Greg on Saturday, but I told him I wasn’t ready to talk. He seemed to take my refusal as good news. “Time is all you need,” he said confidently. “Time and a nice rest.”
He was right about the rest part. I felt exhausted, like I had just run some kind of race or something. The second I got home from his apartment I went straight to my room, saying a silent prayer of thanks that the apartment was empty. Once in my room, I unzipped my dress and let it fall away from my body, leaving it to pool on the floor. I knew Ryan would be horrified if he could see what I had done to a precious piece of high fashion, but I couldn’t care less.
I climbed straight into bed, in nothing but my underwear, and didn’t leave it for more than a day.
My body felt hot and tingly, like I had a fever of some kind. My arms and legs ached and my head pounded. I fell asleep almost immediately.
I woke in the morning to the sounds of Ashley and Chris in the kitchen, making breakfast and laughing. I considered getting up to join them, but decided I was still too tired to move. I rolled over and went right back to sleep.
Sometime after noon I heard a knock on my door. I sat up, feeling disoriented and confused. “Come in,” I called, pulling the comforter up over my chest.
“You okay?” Ashley asked, sticking her head around the door. “You’ve been asleep all day.”
“I’m pretty tired,” I said, yawning.
I saw her eyes flick to the dress on the floor. “Everything go okay last night?” she asked, and I could hear the concern in her voice.
I sighed, not really wanting to have this conversation yet. I was still feeling so muddled up inside. But Ashley took my response as an invitation. She came in and sat on the side of my bed, peering at my face with a worried expression.
“You never told me what happened at the party,” she said. “Chris wouldn’t tell me either, but he and Brooke both seemed so upset.”
“We got in a fight,” I sighed. “Brooke thinks I let Greg control me. She doesn’t think he’s good for me.”
Ashley frowned. “Really? Does she know about all of the nice stuff he does for you?”
I nodded. “I guess…I guess she thinks I’m not myself with him.” I felt a little nervous to tell her the next part, so I studied my comforter instead of watching her face. “And then, last night, Greg and I had a fight. And I think…I think it might be over.”
/> “Oh, Emily!” Out of the corner of my eye I could see Ashley slap her hands over her mouth. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry! Oh, Em, are you sure?”
I nodded. “It just…it doesn’t feel right. It hasn’t for a while.”
She didn’t say anything, so I chanced a look at her face. Her expression was very concerned and also…was it doubtful? Skeptical?
“What?” I asked.
“I just wonder if you’re really sure that you can’t work it out.” I watched as she twisted her fingers together.
“He wants me to be someone I’m not,” I sighed. “It’s like, he doesn’t really know me, or something, you know?”
“Have you tried to tell him that? He seems like such a reasonable guy, I’m sure he’d listen. Maybe he really wants to get to know the real you and you’re just not letting him.”
I frowned. Was it possible that Greg would still be interested in me if I showed him who I really was? God, did I even know how to go about doing that?
“I don’t know, Ash,” I said. “I just don’t see it working.”
“Emily, I’m only going to say this once, and please don’t get mad, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, feeling apprehensive. “Go for it.”
“I know you love Brooke and everything, and you respect her opinion, but I don’t want you to make this decision just because she doesn’t approve. She doesn’t understand your relationship with Greg. How do you know she isn’t jumping to conclusions?”
I stared at my friend. Her words had sent a brand new worry into my already confused mind. Was I seriously just trading in one form of control for another? Was it possible that I was now making my decisions based on what Brooke wanted, instead of what Greg wanted?
I suddenly felt so frustrated I could scream. I buried my head in my hands, clutching at the roots of my hair. Why the hell was it so hard for me to just figure out what I wanted for a change?
“I’m sorry,” Ashley said quickly. “I’ve upset you even more.”
“No, it’s not your fault,” I said. “I’m just all muddled up, Ash.”
“Why don’t you get out of bed?” she suggested. “We can hang out on the couch and eat ice cream and talk it all through.”
In Search of a Love Story (Love Story Book One ) Page 19