Emma Knows All

by Briggs, Laura

  "Tomorrow," said Em. "Or some other time, Izzy. I have to go home right now." She gathered up her shoulder bag.

  "I think we should talk about what happened today before whatever it is cools off," began Isabel.

  "Please, no," said Em, with a groan. "I don't. I just want to go home and forget this whole day."

  She passed Lucas in the hall as she made a beeline for the elevator. "Great show today, Emma!" he said, opening with his usual line. "Looking forward to that debate tomorrow night —"

  "Sure. Great." Glad somebody is. Em pushed the button to close the elevator doors as quickly as possible.

  At home, she made the mistake of answering her phone without checking the number on the screen. "Emmy?" Her mother's voice sounded irritable also. "Emmy, why haven't you returned my calls? I left three messages for you — you won't believe what's happened with the neighbors — we're being driven mad —"

  "Mother, really?" Em answered, fingers kneading her forehead.

  "Well, practically so! First, Jane is having to live in the basement rec room until she can find a new place, since she's been turned down by three employers this week. Three! And there's scarcely enough room for her, what with all the boxes she's brought, and the furniture for the guest room already there. And now the Hursts are at it again with their leaf blower on weekend mornings —"

  "What do you want me to do about it?" Em asked.

  "Come home and help your sister fix her life, for starters! And persuade your father to call his lawyer and sue the Hursts for being a local nuisance! My nerves are all —"

  "Mama, I really can't talk right now," said Em. "I have a debate to prepare for, remember?"

  "All you ever do is work! And that television thing is dreadful! Of course, I told everyone you were going to be on that show — but you looked so pale and sick under those lights I could hardly look at you! And you kept rubbing your palm in that distracting way —"

  "I have to go, Mama. Bye." Em hung up before she could hear the rest.

  She was sitting on the edge of her back stoop with a cup of coffee in her hand when George came outside. He was carrying some sort of rose spray tucked underneath his arm, along with a gardening book.

  "Evening," he greeted her. "How's your mother?"

  "Miserable," answered Em. "How else would she be?"

  "Mmhmm." He twisted the spray nozzle, then pushed his gardening hat back from his forehead and studied her. "No evening on the town?" he asked. "Where's the dashing writer who's in love with you?"

  Her cheeks burned at the thought of Colin, although her brain realized that he was referring to Frank. "He's at a book conference in Minneapolis," she answered. "Besides, I don't really feel like going out tonight. I think I'll stay in with a good book."

  She remembered at this moment that George had loaned her Colin's book. Her cheeks burned once again, as she hoped fervently that he wouldn't ask about her reading progress.

  "Go out," advised George. "Don't sit at home and mope with your problems." He spritzed the leaves of his roses with something white, liquid, and foamy.

  "I would rather mope," she answered. "It's been a really awful day, George. I was distracted, I lost my temper, and I have a really complicated problem involving another person. Their words and their actions just don't match up, and I'm too confused to figure it out. I can't ask them, either."

  "Why not?"

  "They're not a very open person," she answered. "And they might misunderstand the reasons I'm asking." She stroked the side of her coffee cup with one finger. Colin might think she felt the same way if she asked. Strangely enough, if he kissed her again, she was afraid she might not be able to tell him no.

  That was ridiculous.

  "There's no way to make your reasons clear to them?"

  "Not without hurting this person, no." Even the thought of hurting Colin by telling him her heart belonged elsewhere was still too painful to imagine. She shrank from the idea, even though he had hurt her more than once with his words.

  "Then you are in a pickle, aren't you? As we say in the legal world, I mean."

  "That's a polite way of putting it, yes."

  George capped off his sprayer again. "I could take you out on the town tonight," he said. "Just a friend-to-friend drink somewhere to finish chatting. Consider me your chivalrous rescuer for the evening." He grinned at her to prove the offer wasn't romantic.

  "I couldn't accept," Em answered, with a laugh.

  "Is it because I'm old enough to be your father?" he teased. "Because that never stopped some of the great romances of literature."

  "You're hardly old enough to be my father," she answered. Well, maybe close. Despite his possible fifty-something status, George was still handsome, looking more well-seasoned than aged. She imagined the single women at George's law firm were all hoping he'd offer the same invitation to them sometime.

  "At least it got a laugh out of you," George pointed out. "Anyway, don't mope. It never cures any problem, Emma. As you're aware, I'm sure."

  "It doesn't," Emma answered, wryly. "But there are some times when it feels like the only thing to do."

  Chapter Fourteen

  "How was the seafood restaurant?" Em asked.

  She was sitting in Harriet's apartment — a non-Vic session, thankfully — for the first one-on-one time she'd had with Harriet since before the girl's second date. Harriet had been out with Randy two more times since then, a sign the relationship was ramping up quicker than Em had imagined.

  "It was nice." Harriet smiled. She was curled in her old armchair, her legs folded and tucked in the seat as well. Her scrapbook materials covered the coffee table, although Em didn't spot any new projects among them. Just a half-hearted attempt to frame a photo of the first date's restaurant.

  "Did you do anything afterwards?"

  "A movie," answered Harriet. "That new romantic comedy that was playing at the mall. It was really funny." Her smile was a trifle too bright, Em thought. It looked like a mask fitted over Harriet's lips.

  "So how do you feel about Randy?" Em sat forward with this question, looking at Harriet intently. Beneath her gaze, the girl's smile faltered a little.

  "Um, well, I told you. He's nice," hedged Harriet. "And he says I'm really nice."

  "But how do you really feel?"

  Harriet was giving in. She released a long sigh. "Oh, Emma," she said. "I don't know. I like him. It's only ... there's no spark. I know that might sound stupid. I just thought by now I would feel something. Some kind of excitement, or, at least, miss him when the date's over. But I don't feel anything."

  "Is it just Randy?" Em asked, gently. Her instincts had been right from the start. It surprised her, since all aspects of Harriet's relationship had contradicted it until now. "Is it someone else?"

  Elton was still lingering like a bad smell, Em imagined. Harriet's old crush was probably still tugging at her heart, despite the obvious dismay her coworker had exhibited at the thought of dating her.

  Harriet blushed. "Maybe," she admitted. "I guess maybe I'm looking for something different. I know it's silly...but it would be nice to have somebody who made a dramatic gesture. You know, something really romantic. Or, like, rescuing you when you need it."

  "Like a knight in shining armor?" asked Em, smiling.

  "Not exactly. It's just — I was thinking someone like Doctor Ferris. Colin."

  "Colin?" echoed Em in shock.

  "Well...I know it sounds crazy. But he's really sweet and kind. He can be nice when he wants to be. And there was this moment when I really, really needed somebody, and he just showed up. It was like he saved me at that moment."

  Em's heart was sinking. "Yes, but Harriet —" she began.

  "I can't stop thinking about how nice it would be to have somebody care about me who does that kind of stuff," Harriet continued. "It would mean so, so much to me."

  "But are you sure that's a realistic thing to look for in someone?" Em asked. "Take Doctor Ferris — he's — he's not a
romantic, for starters. I'm not sure he does things like that all the time —"

  "But maybe we don't know him that well," persisted Harriet. "Anyway, I just don't think Randy is the kind of guy who does those sorts of things."

  This was going horribly wrong. At this moment, Em needed Colin to appear with a copy of his book and explain that a perfectly good guy like Randy rescued people in the metaphorical sense, by opening doors or helping girls on with their coats, for instance. And that he, Doctor Ferris, was no more a knight in shining armor than any other man, a statement which would surely end Harriet's crush.

  "I think Co—Doctor Ferris would tell you the same thing I'm telling you," said Em. "He would say that's not a true quality to look for in someone else. Don't give up on Randy so quickly just because of a little doubt." Never mind your own doubts about their dating from the beginning, her brain quipped.

  "It doesn't have to be big," reasoned Harriet. "Just something that seems really meaningful. I don't see it with Randy, somehow. That's all." She brightened again. "Anyway, do you want to see the memento box I'm making for this experience? I've got screen shots from the videos, plus I turned that list of affirmative qualities you had me write out into a scroll!"

  "Sure," said Em, weakly. "Show me."

  Harriet's words stuck with her the rest of the morning. She wasn't sure why she had been working so hard to talk Harriet out of having a crush on Colin, whether it was for Harriet's sake, or for another, more personal, reason.

  Again, ridiculous. Colin was single, and his love life was none of her business. She was put off by the idea of Harriet having romantic thoughts about Colin while he was counseling her. That was the reason she was so disturbed. It had nothing to do with the kiss at all.

  *****

  "Welcome to the second In the Moment Debate between Doctor Colin Ferris and Heart Therapy's Doctor Emma. As many of you know from their website, their quest to help a young girl find true romance has taken several twists and turns since last time," said Janet Fairfax. "So let's go straight to the heart of the matter. Emma, how do you feel about Harriet's recent experience via online matchmaking?"

  Em made herself smile. "I feel that it's been very positive for Harriet," she said. "Regardless of the romantic outcome with any individual date, it's opened Harriet to a whole new world of interests and experiences."

  "Do you agree, Colin?" Janet swiveled towards him, offering her tranquil moderator's smile to her less-comfortable guest.

  "I do," he answered. "Harriet has reached outside her social pool and discovered the truth. That potential relationships lie outside of one's comfort zone."

  He definitely looked uncomfortable, Em thought. He was restless, shifting his weight periodically, avoiding eye contact with her or Janet. He couldn't be feeling guilt pangs for a secret longing for Harriet, Em thought. Was he still feeling guilty for what happened the other night?

  He shouldn't. He should stop thinking about it, the same as she had. Then they would have nothing left to remind them, and the whole thing would be erased.

  "Whose idea was the matchmaking service?" Janet asked. "Colin? Emma?"

  "Emma's." Colin spoke first. "She suggested it. I agreed, because it was the logical choice for Harriet. A screening process, initial distance for making the decision, and preparation for the challenge of one-on-one contact."

  That was nice of him, Emma thought. She glanced fleetingly at Colin, but he appeared to be studying Janet's left shoulder with serious focus.

  "So neither of you had a disagreement on this issue?" Janet sounded slightly disbelieving. "There were no challenges, no arguments? You both sound very synchronized at this point in the process."

  "It's not true that we agree on everything —" began Colin.

  "There are differences, yes," chimed in Emma, "but we are trying to keep the project's therapeutic aspect professional. Free of all our personal issues, for Harriet's sake."

  "Yes. For Harriet's sake," repeated Colin.

  "I'm sure she appreciates it. And I'm sure our audience is surprised to see you establishing a truce so early in the debate process — let's see if it continues next time we're together," answered Janet. "When we come back from the break, we have a few more questions for our two debaters, then we'll be exploring the issue of college savings funds and taxes with Harvard professor Dr. Winthrop Rally and Harvey Cleeson, CEO of Dropouts.com."

  As soon as their segment was finished, Em tried to escape from the studio. Colin was right behind her. "Emma —" he began.

  "Yes?" She turned to face him, forcing herself to smile again. "Something wrong?"

  "No. I merely ... I wanted to thank you for being polite on the air. It was preferable not to be arguing on television, for a change. I assume you feel the same."

  "Of course. And thank you for your nice compliments."

  He sighed. "You don't have to keep pretending to smile," he said. "About what happened the other night —"

  "There's no need to apologize again," said Em. "Everything's fine. I assure you, I'm not upset about it. I don't hold it against you." It took tremendous effort for her to say this calmly. A perfectly normal expression on her face. She met his eye, so he could see that there was no anger in it. What was hiding deep inside was something he couldn't see, she was fairly sure.

  It was important that he look at her right now and see that nothing had changed. Everything was the same. To the best of her ability, she was forgetting what happened between them for those few, brief seconds.

  Colin gazed at her. "Good," he said, after a moment. "I'm glad to hear it."

  "Good," answered Em. She thought about touching his arm, then feared the signal that touch represented — was it Colin's book doing this, with all its symbols and gestures?

  "See you tomorrow afternoon, then. At Harriet's."

  "See you then."

  *****

  "Em! I'm so glad you called." Frank's familiar voice was cracked with static over the poor connection.

  "Me, too. I've missed you." Em curled her arms around her knees as she nestled her phone against her ear. Above, she had plugged in the string of lights across her back stoop, little neon balls of color glowing behind paper lanterns.

  "It's been crazy here. I ran into Doctor Klopper — you remember, from Cheryl's dinner party? The one with the Freudian-alien hypothesis?"

  "I do," she answered, with a laugh. "Is he still writing his memoirs?"

  "Yes, he is. It's hilarious, Em. I don't have long to talk, though," said Frank. "I've got this banquet at eight and I'm really rushed ..."

  "It's okay," said Em. "Just talk as long as you can." She settled her shoulder against the porch post, listening to Doctor Klopper's latest wild theory in psychology.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Colin wasn't at the next session with Harriet. Em could see Vic's disappointment during setup, as the producer grumbled under his breath, untangling the microphone packs' wires from each other as Em and Harriet sat waiting in her living room.

  "He didn't call you? He didn't give any reason for not coming?" It was clear the producer was not happy with the unexplained absence of one of the project's participants. "Anything at all?"

  "No," said Emma. She should feel indignant that he didn't engage in this professional courtesy. She was relieved, however, that he hadn't. That she hadn't heard his voice over her phone, anyway, where there was a possibility things could somehow become unprofessional — on his part, not hers, of course.

  "He just said he couldn't come," said Harriet. "I think maybe he had a faculty meeting or something that he'd forgotten about."

  "Fine. I guess we'll do it with only you and Doctor Emma." Vic was syncing two wireless mics instead of three.

  It was a quick session, mostly to cover Harriet's modifications to her profile on the dating site, and her experiences with Randy — whom she did not refer to as her boyfriend, Em noticed.

  Em was simply grateful it was short. She had a million errands to run today, from a r
ecording session with Isabel for their show promos to little errands like buying her sister Kit a birthday present, and buying a block of Gouda and some whole-wheat pita crackers as an appetizer to celebrate Frank's return. Dinner was at his place at seven, and Frank was ordering in chicken couscous.

  "Give this to the doc when you see him," Vic told her as she was leaving, tossing her a computer disk identical to one he had given her this afternoon. It contained all the webisodes and the unused footage — something he wanted them both to study to find a new 'angle' for the upcoming week's filming. It was growing boring, Em supposed, with Harriet steadily seeing Randy, at least for the moment. The producers were afraid they were losing viewers by the day, undoubtedly.

  Between the show's conclusion and her rush to the dry cleaners, Em realized she had left her pink scarf someplace — the most likely location being Harriet's.

  "Harriet? It's me, Emma. I wondered if I left my scarf at your place? It's paisley pink with fringe — yes, exactly. Is there any chance I could come by and pick it up? Maybe in a half hour?" That scarf was her favorite, a gift from Isabel when the show was first syndicated.

  "My place? Um, well, I'm leaving in about five minutes to drive a friend to the airport," said Harriet. "I won't be back for awhile, but I have to stop by Bobby's and return his DVDs, so I could leave it there for you. I'll give you the address."

  Bobby's apartment was across town, but near Colin's, which would give her a chance to drop off Vic's CD if she wanted to. She didn't — but it would be the polite thing to do. Besides, she was curious to know why Colin had canceled his part in their mutual session with Harriet, without calling her with some warning. And still a little curious to see where he lived, although the urge to avoid him made her shrink from satisfying either of these questions.

  She climbed the narrow, painted steps to the second floor of the building where Harriet's friend lived. Harriet had said to look for the door with the biohazard stickers affixed on the front — like a college dorm's decorative labels, Em thought, knocking twice, then waiting. It opened to reveal the same boy she remembered from the bar. Only this time he wasn't clutching a comic book, but a paint brush.