Blitzing Emily

by Julie Brannagh

  She melted into the soft leather of a pedicure chair. The warm water, infused with essential oils and slices of fresh lemon, felt like heaven on her feet. She reached out for a copy of People magazine to flip through while she de-stressed. She almost dropped it on the floor when she saw an all-too-familiar face.

  Anastasia Lee posed with her infant daughter, Delilah, in a highly stylized black-and-white photo shoot scheduled to appear in Vogue. Anastasia’s expression was remote as she sat in a high-backed chair. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She wore a black silk chiffon knee-length dress with décolletage that was only possible with aggressive use of duct tape, and impossibly high heels. The baby was a replica of her mother, dressed in a white couture gown with a black sash. Delilah had her mother’s bee-stung lips and miniature high heels of her own. The caption under the picture read: “Anastasia Lee shows off her first-born, Delilah Marie, with Seattle Sharks’ Brandon McKenna.”

  It was the oddest baby photo Emily had ever seen. At the same time, she didn’t want to see more. She dropped the magazine onto the floor next to her chair, turning away from it.

  THE REPORTER SUBMITTED questions prior to the interview. It should have been twenty minutes of the usual—talking about the role, how much she loved working with the opera company and seeing San Francisco again, and urging people who had never been to the opera to give it a try. She could do these interviews in her sleep, which is why she told David she could handle it on her own for once.

  The reporter was young. He was handsome. He veered off the script almost immediately.

  “Miss Hamilton, I’m quite a sports fan, as well as an opera buff. You must be thrilled about the Seattle Sharks’ three-game winning streak.”

  “It’s terrific. Congratulations to them.” She felt an invisible, icy fist grip her stomach. She smiled brightly. “Let’s talk a little more about Rigoletto, and why I’m looking forward to singing this role so much.”

  His smile was dazzling in response. “You know, Miss Hamilton, I’ve gotta ask.” He almost looked apologetic. “What’s the status of your engagement to Brandon McKenna? You’ve been very quiet about your wedding plans. Our viewers would love to know what’s in your future.”

  Emily recrossed her legs, and resisted the impulse to cross her arms over her chest. She forced herself to sound casual. “We appreciate your interest, but we’re not ready to announce our plans as of yet.”

  “Are you and Brandon still engaged?”

  “I’d prefer we didn’t discuss my private life.” She smiled at him again. “Do you have any remaining questions about the performances?”

  He tried again, a couple of times. Finally, Emily pulled off the lavalier microphone pinned to the neckline of the cobalt-blue silk blouse she wore, extracted the battery pack from the back waistband of her skirt, and got to her feet. She extended her hand. “Thank you so much for stopping by.”

  “I’m not finished yet.”

  “I have another appointment. Let me show you out.” She walked to the door, pulled it open, and waited for the camera person and his assistant to gather their equipment. The camera person and assistant shook her hand on the way out. “Thanks again for the interview.”

  Emily extended her hand to the reporter. He didn’t shake it. “Are you often this difficult?” he said.

  “I’m here to answer questions about my performances and about the opera, not my private life. All questions were agreed upon in advance.” She gave him a nod. “Thanks again.”

  The suite door shut behind him. David was right: Meeting the guy without his presence was just plain stupid. She could only imagine what was going to end up on the newscast. At the same time, she didn’t raise her voice, she was courteous, and she didn’t bite on the guy’s insult. She sent David a text to call her. He would be upset, but she’d deal with it when she talked with him.

  She sat down on the couch in the living room of her suite, grabbing the smallish tote bag holding her knitting. The interview was the least of her problems right now. She couldn’t get the photo of Anastasia and her daughter off her mind. She couldn’t imagine the Anastasia she’d met as a parent. Was she affectionate and loving toward her little girl, or was Delilah an expensive prop? As she sat knitting, she wondered if Brandon had seen the photos. The last place he would want to see his infant daughter was at a high-fashion photo shoot.

  Brandon would take his daughter to the park. He’d put her in a jogging stroller, making sure a blanket was tucked close around her so she didn’t get a chill. He would take un-posed, casual photos of her on his smart phone, and he’d e-mail them to everyone he knew. She’d wear soft cotton, age-appropriate outfits, mostly pink. Definitely no heels. When they got home, he’d tell her a story as he rocked her to sleep. He would think baby spit-up on his shoulder was a fashion statement.

  Hurt and jealousy swamped her. She never thought she wanted a baby, but she wanted his.

  She’d been pulling the yarn so tightly on the needles she couldn’t get her needle back into the work. She tossed the knitting onto the couch cushion, picked up the remote, and flipped on the TV.

  She needed noise. Any distraction from her thoughts would do. She flipped channels until she landed on ESPN. After all, they might have something about Brandon. She grabbed up the knitting again, watching SportsCenter from the corner of her eye. She ripped out the row she had ruined.

  Emily’s head snapped up from her work when she heard the announcer say, “We have a breaking story tonight in the Brandon McKenna saga. For those who’ve been breathlessly monitoring the situation, this story has taken an unbelievable twist. Brandon McKenna, all-planet defensive end for the Seattle Sharks, discovered his ex-girlfriend, model Anastasia Lee, was pregnant with what he was told was his daughter, Delilah. By the time the baby was born, McKenna was engaged to opera diva Emily Hamilton. That engagement evidently ended. We’re not sure, because neither McKenna nor Miss Hamilton will answer questions about it. Despite the fact McKenna took another DNA test recently, he’s been showing off photos of the tyke to anyone and everyone in the Sharks locker room. Happily ever after, right? Let’s go to the tape.”

  The tape showed Brandon emerging from the team headquarters and making his way through a knot of reporters to his car. Her heart beat faster to see the man she still loved. The camera flashes were blinding, and one reporter stuck a microphone in his face.

  “Brandon, is it true that paternity tests show that Delilah is not your daughter?”

  “No comment.”

  “We have unconfirmed reports that Miss Lee lied that you were the baby’s father.”

  “No comment.”

  Brandon’s face looked cold and unyielding, as though it were carved out of granite. His lips were pressed together so hard they were white. Nobody else, though, seemed to glimpse the anguish Emily saw in his eyes.

  “How do you feel about this?” another reporter asked.

  Brandon whirled on the guy. “How would you feel about it?” He finished pushing his way through the crowd and climbed in his Land Rover. He pulled away without another word.

  The guys on SportsCenter were still talking, but Emily wasn’t listening. Her stomach had dropped away. Cold chills swept over her. “Oh, no,” she gasped out.

  She was wrong. He’d tried to tell her. Tell her? Hell, he begged, and she didn’t listen. She threw his words back in his face. She called him a liar, and told him she could never trust him. She’d made the worst mistake of her life.

  The memories of the last few minutes she spent with Brandon came back with sickening clarity. Brandon pleaded with her to listen, and Emily ignored him. Even worse, everyone told Emily she was making a mistake, and she ignored them all, too. Her fear of being hurt overshadowed her willingness to take a risk. She was going to spend the rest of her life knowing she tossed away the best thing that had ever happened to her out of fear and insecurity.

  She ripped out another row of her knitting, but dropped it on the coffee table when she
realized she couldn’t concentrate. She walked to the window that looked out over San Francisco and gazed at the falling dusk. She could go to the coffee shop downstairs and get a bite to eat. Who was she kidding? She had lost her appetite, maybe permanently. She reached out to pick up her handbag, accidentally dumped it over, and her smart phone shot out onto the carpet.

  She still had his number. She wondered if she had the guts to use it. She hit the “Brandon-cell” stored contact, and waited. It rang, and rang. Finally, his voicemail picked up. “Hey. It’s McKenna. You know what to do.”

  There was so much to say, and Emily couldn’t speak. She finally hit the “end call” button. The silence of the room enveloped her.

  EMILY RETURNED HOME on an early-morning flight from San Francisco two weeks later. Nobody she loved waited for her at baggage claim, and right now, she wondered if anyone would again. She wanted to talk with Brandon. A hundred times she’d reached for her phone, pulled up his number in her contacts list, and chickened out.

  She ventured out into a cold, drizzly Seattle morning. She was meeting Amy for coffee and a chat before Amy’s store opened for the day. Emily’s schedule was insane right now: A voice lesson, a costume fitting for an upcoming production, an afternoon rehearsal with Seattle Symphony. She was singing in their holiday performance of The Messiah.

  Emily stepped inside the Starbucks across from Amy’s shop. She’d been to their stores around the world, but she had to smile when she noted the lone, still-dripping umbrella propped against the front door frame. The only people in Seattle that used them with any regularity were tourists. She breathed in the tangy scent of ground coffee. The slight humidity of heat and multiple other customers wearing damp clothing brushed her skin. Yes, she was home again.

  Amy seemed uninterested in Emily’s recitation of the appointments that crammed the calendar on her smart phone. She sipped her coffee and raised an eyebrow.

  “You still haven’t called Brandon.”

  Emily fiddled with the cardboard sleeve on her coffee cup. She didn’t meet Amy’s eyes.

  “If we weren’t in public, you’d be getting the chicken arm motions and the bok-bok-bok,” Amy told her. “You can do this. Call him.”

  “It’s the holidays. It’s football season. He’s probably busier than I am.”

  “You’re miserable,” her double-crossing sister pointed out. “Put yourself out of your misery. Make a move.”

  Jake Tollifson, the grandson of the nice woman Emily had met at the opera benefit, called several times while Emily was in San Francisco to ask her out. She kept telling him “no.” He kept asking. Dating wasn’t even a consideration, at least for her. All she could think of was Brandon, and how stupid and stubborn she’d been.

  Amy broke off a piece of doughnut and popped it in her mouth, giving Emily a tiny headshake as well.

  “We are going to have quite an argument if you keep this up,” Emily warned. “I told you, Brandon and I are over.”

  “He still loves you,” she argued.

  “It’s not an option. It’s not enough.” Emily got to her feet. She knew she was in the wrong, but admitting it to another person was a completely different story.

  “You’re leaving?”

  Grabbing her handbag, her car keys, and the cup of coffee, Emily hurried out of Starbucks. She didn’t want to talk about Brandon right then, especially since any thought on what an idiot she’d been brought inappropriate-in-public emotions.

  The rain picked up just in time for her to get drenched while she walked to her car.

  Amy emerged from the coffee shop and headed toward Emily’s Escape. She tapped on the driver’s side window. “What if you’re making the worst mistake of your life, Em?”

  It would come as a real news flash to her sister, but Emily already knew that. She hit the button to lower the car window.

  “Everything’s going great with my career. That’s what I care about. Everything’s fine.”

  “I suppose that career keeps you warm when you wake up alone at three AM, right?”

  Emily must have looked shocked, because Amy smirked.

  “We’re not discussing this,” she sputtered.

  “Brandon still loves you, and I know you love him.”

  “I have to go. I’m going to be late.”

  “Give me a hug,” Amy said. Emily reached through the car window to fling her arms around her sister. Amy drove her crazy, but there wasn’t a minute of Emily’s life she could imagine without her. Emily backed out of the parking space, waving to her once more.

  “Think about it,” she mouthed.

  It became the “think of anything but a pink elephant” game. The harder Emily tried to distract herself with other things, the more she attempted to think about anything other than Brandon, the more he was all she could think about.

  The voice teacher was pissed she wasn’t paying attention. Emily apologized to her, resolved to work harder, and escaped to her car as quickly as possible when the lesson was over. Luckily she managed to pull it together for the rehearsal that afternoon.

  Amy was right. Even more than Emily’s list of appointments and things to do, she needed to gather her courage and call Brandon. There was nobody else she dreamed of and longed for.

  She arrived home, threw her stuff onto the table in the hallway, and picked up the cordless. It was only a phone call. Emily had made many in her lifetime. There wouldn’t be another as important as this, though.

  Cold sweat trickled down her back. Her hands shook. Her heart pounded. Stage fright was nothing compared to this. She missed him, she wanted him back, and she had to find the words to persuade him. She made a horrible mistake, and she needed to beg his forgiveness. If there was ever a time in her life when she needed to admit that she really, really screwed up, this was it. She scrolled through the caller ID and hit his number.

  The phone rang four times. She waited to leave a message. She heard Brandon’s voice instead. “Emily?”

  The rush of emotion stunned her. She swallowed hard. “It’s me. How are you?”

  “Fine. How are you doing?”

  Where was the smile in his voice she loved so much? A knot formed in the pit of her stomach, right on top of the butterflies that were already there. She took a breath.

  “I’m fine. I was wondering if we could get together for a cup of coffee.”

  He was silent for so long she thought the phone had disconnected. “Brandon?” she said.

  “I’m still here. Sugar, that’s not a good idea.” His voice was empty, defeated. The air instantly sucked out of her lungs.

  “Why not?” she forced out.

  “I’m pretty busy. Maybe another time.” She heard him let out a breath. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for calling—”

  “Please,” was all she said.

  More silence ensued. She waited.

  “Why do you want to see me?” he asked quietly.

  “I made a mistake,” she choked out. “I want to apologize.”

  “You want to apologize.”

  “Yes.” She bit her lip hard. She couldn’t bear his silence. Finally, the floodgates opened. “I was wrong. I should have listened to you about Anastasia and the baby. I didn’t. I thought you cheated, and I couldn’t stand the thought that you slept with someone else when you were with me. I miss you. I wonder if there’s any chance we could—”

  It was his turn to interrupt her.

  “Are you sorry because you didn’t trust me, or are you sorry because you had to admit that you were wrong?” His voice was raw. She couldn’t breathe. His words were like a folding chair to the gut: The pain was instant and overwhelming. “Sugar, I told you that I’d never give up on us, and I don’t think I ever could, but you gave up on me a long time ago. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t take me at my word and doesn’t trust me. Even more, I want someone who loves me the way I love her, and you don’t.”

  Now it was Emily’s turn to be silent. More than her own pain, she felt his.
She heard the strain in his voice. He thought she didn’t love him? She loved him like her next breath.

  She leaned against the kitchen counter for support.

  “You still there?” Maybe it was her imagination, but his voice was a little warmer.

  “Yes. I’m still here.”

  “Are you cryin’?”

  “Of course I’m not.” She swiped at the tears with her free hand. She took the deepest breath she could with the weight of grief and regret that crushed her. “I fell in love with you. I’m in love with you.”

  “That’s nice, sugar, but you’re going to have to do better than that.”

  This was not a great time for her fiery redhead’s temper to ignite. Of course, it happened anyway.

  “But I apologized. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I said I love you! What else can I say?” she cried out. “Don’t you believe me?”

  “I’m big on action, not words. If you love me, I need to see it. I need to feel it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I want the sweet, funny Emily I met while she was flat on her back in a parking lot. I want the woman I made every excuse I could think of to stay with. The minute I looked into her eyes for the first time, I knew I could never let her walk out of my life. I want the only woman I’ve ever said ‘I love you’ to and meant it.” He took a breath. “I need someone who can put her pride aside and tell me she loves me before her back’s against the wall. I need someone who will stand with me, no matter what. Someone who trusts me and wants me, no matter what. The day I see that, I’ll know you love me. When you’re ready to show me, I’ll meet you anywhere, anytime.” His final words were barely above a whisper. He waited a few seconds for her to answer and quietly added, “It’s up to you.”

  She heard a click on the other end of the phone, and the sudden silence that followed a call ending. He wasn’t waiting any longer for her response.

  CHRISTMAS CAME. AMY was dating a guy she met at the shop named Brian. David was brokenhearted over this development, but he managed to recover quickly after he met a beautiful young diva from Chicago Lyric Opera who asked him out. Listening to Amy and Brian spar was exhausting, but Emily had to smile at what seemed to be his blossoming love for her sister. Wait till Amy figured it out. She was so happy, and the twinges of jealousy Emily felt over their sweet romance were quickly swallowed up in the joy she felt for them. Her parents were still spending every available minute together. Emily wondered if her father was contemplating popping the question, or if he would.