by Natalie Ward
“Seems like they know you here,” Emma says, half turning to face me.
I shrug. “Yeah, I come here a bit.”
She smiles. “A lot it seems, she knew your order.”
I watch her, trying to work out where she’s going with this or if maybe I’m just reading too much into it all. The waitress returns with our coffees and asks about the bar and how things are going. I can feel Emma watching us the whole time, but I can’t see the look on her face to know what she’s thinking. When the waitress eventually disappears, I turn back to her, my arm across the back of the couch, my fingers resting on her shoulder.
“What?”
She glances towards the counter before turning back to me. “Nothing.”
I slide closer so my fingers are resting on her neck. Emma reaches for her coffee and I watch her lift the cup to her mouth, my thumb running over the bumps in her spine as she takes a few more sips before putting the cup back on the table. My fingers close around her neck now, bringing her closer as I lean in and press a kiss to her mouth.
“I can hear your brain ticking over you know,” I whisper.
When I pull back, Emma looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. “I just…” she pauses as though unsure if she should continue. I brush my thumb against her skin again. “I just feel like there’s so much about you I don’t know,” she eventually says.
“What do you mean?”
She bites her bottom lip, shrugging as she mumbles, “We’ve slept together, seen each other naked, but I feel like I barely know you.”
I can’t help but laugh, especially as her cheeks redden. “That’s a prerequisite huh?”
She shrugs, her blush deepening. “No, I don’t know. I just…”
“Em, relax.” I say, kissing her cheek. “You know a lot about me. You knew a lot about me from that night in the bar. All before the naked part.”
“I did?” she asks, glancing up.
“Yes,” I whisper, kissing her. “You did. But if it makes you feel better, what else do you want to know?”
She stares up at me for a second or two before finally saying, “What would you be doing today if I wasn’t here?”
“Don’t know,” I say. “Go to the gym, catch up on some TV, maybe see some friends tonight. Why, what would you be doing?”
“Studying,” she immediately says.
“Why?” I ask, confused. “I thought you’d finished studying?”
She shakes her head. “Not quite.”
“But you are a doctor?”
She nods. “I am, but to get fully certified, you need to take some final exams. Mine are next year.”
“Wow, must be hard exams?”
She shrugs.
“Okay, what else?”
Our food arrives and the waitress doesn’t stay this time. Eventually Emma turns and asks, “I don’t know, how old are you, what’s your favourite movie, favourite food, what kind of music do you like, how long have you had Oscar?”
I laugh, reaching for my coffee. “Um, I’m twenty-eight, too many favourites to pick just one but I do love sci-fi and action movies, Italian, varied music tastes and about a year.”
Emma nods at each of my answers, as though she’s mentally checking off some sort of list. I wonder if maybe I can’t get a question or two in myself, risking it with, “Have you given any more thought to the medicine thing?” Emma shoots me a questioning look, but it’s not enough to stop me. “ER, internal medicine,” I add. “Something else entirely?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head.
“I saw you kept the list though,” I continue, fingers stroking her neck.
She nods. “What’s the other guy who works in your bar called?”
I chuckle as I get that message that I’m the one facing the questioning here. “Tony.”
“Has he worked for you for long?”
I nod. “Ever since we opened,” I say. “But we’ve been friends for longer.”
The questions continue as we eat, but they are safe, everyday kind of things. Emma asks me where I grew up, when I opened the bar, if I’ve ever broken a bone. It feels like she’s avoiding anything too personal, but at the same time, as though she’s slowly working her way up to it too.
After we’ve eaten, I silence the questions for a while by taking her to see a movie. It’s one of those action superhero movies I like of which I am absolutely certain she has not seen and probably never even knew existed. It doesn’t matter though because we spend the majority of it sitting up the back of an empty theatre making out like a couple of teenagers.
The questions start up again as I drag her around the supermarket though. And continue all through the taxi ride home and the entire time we cook dinner and eat it. It’s not until later, when we find ourselves back in bed, that she finally exhales and stops.
“What, you’re done now?” I ask, dragging my fingers slowly down her spine.
She’s lying on her stomach beside me, her head resting on the pillow as she watches me.
“Em,” I say, running my hands through her hair. “No more questions?”
Her eyes are focused on my chest, on the word that’s tattooed there and it’s only then that I understand what she’s been working towards. I can already feel the knot of tension forming in my stomach.
She exhales, one hand sliding out from underneath her body to run across my collarbone. “How come you were so nice to me that night?” she whispers.
It’s not the question I thought she’d ask and for a second it surprises me. I watch as her eyes follow the path of her fingers before finally lifting to mine. When our eyes meet, I know that regardless of how it sounds, I need to tell her the truth on this one. That saying something cheesy about how beautiful she is or whatever will not be the right answer.
Even if the beautiful part is true, it’s still not the reason for any of the things that happened that night.
Not the reason I found myself wanting to talk to her.
“Because,” I eventually whisper, the word floating between us in the darkness of my apartment. “You looked so sad and in pain.” I watch as she listens to me, her face unreadable in the almost darkness. “And it was…it was everything I could relate to,” I continue, wondering just how much of this she will understand and how much will offend her.
Emma nods ever so slightly as her fingers now brush across the letters, telling me how much she gets what I just said. “Which one of you is older?” she whispers.
I swallow hard, not wanting to do this. “Me,” I say. “By three minutes.”
“You’re twins?” she asks, surprised.
I nod. “We were.”
Emma slides closer, rolling onto her side so we are lying face to face, sharing the same pillow, the same air. “You are,” she whispers, brushing her lips against mine. “Her being gone doesn’t and won’t ever change that, Nick.”
My heart crashes against my ribcage as my mouth crashes against hers. I wish I could explain to her that this might not be the reason I was so nice to her that night, but could very well be the reason for everything I want to happen from this night onwards.
The reason I’m breaking my rule and ignoring the voice that’s screaming at me to stop this because she deserves so much more than me.
But I don’t say anything, because I can’t.
But fuck me if I don’t want her even more now.
~ Emma
“You wanna go get drinks?” Jason asks smiling as he leans against the lockers in the staff room.
I shake my head once. “Can’t tonight, sorry.”
He gives me a strange look as though he doesn’t get it because we both know most of us have tomorrow off and when that happens, going out for drinks is something that’s a given.
“You got something else on?”
I nod, not saying anything more. It feels weird to talk about Nick to him, to any of them. I don’t want to explain who he is or answer any of their questions about how we met, especially when I ca
n barely work out the answers myself.
I haven’t seen Nick since I left his apartment earlier this week. I went back to day shifts on Wednesday, which meant by the time I finished work, he was already at the bar. We’d exchanged numbers though and we talked occasionally, mostly through texts, but sometimes he’d call. He’d asked me to come and hang out with him after I finished work yesterday, but I’d been too exhausted and all I wanted to do was go home and go to bed.
He hadn’t said anything when I’d told him that, but I knew he was thinking back to the things he’d said to me before I’d left his place last weekend.
“Promise me something,” he’d said, his hands cupping my face as we stood in the doorway at the top of his stairs.
“What?” I’d asked, wanting to know the details before I agreed to anything.
Nick had stared down at me, waiting, his eyes searching mine. Eventually, he leaned in and kissed me, whispering against my lips, “Don’t run away from this, Emma.”
I’d exhaled, looking down as I’d said, “I won’t.”
It wouldn’t matter anyway. Eventually it would be him doing the running anyway, when he got sick of me never being around.
He hadn’t said anything at first and when I finally looked back up, he was still staring at me as though trying to work out if I meant what I was saying. I didn’t have the energy to explain how things would likely go from here. As much as I enjoyed being with him, as much as I might have been able to kid myself that we could somehow make this work, I knew it was unlikely.
Nick kissed me once more, as though trying to convince me. “And call Sarah,” he’d added, still watching me.
“Isn’t that two things?” I’d asked, knowing the second request was going to be just as hard.
“Then promise me these two things,” he’d said, pulling me to him. “Don’t run away from us and don’t lose your friendship over what happened that night either,” he’d said, resting his chin on my head.
But in the end, I hadn’t called Sarah. That was a promise I hadn’t managed to keep. I hadn’t technically run away though and this morning when I’d promised Nick I would come down to the bar after work tonight, I hoped that would be enough to convince him.
Jason is still watching me as I gather up my things. I give him a quick smile as I say, “Have a good night,” before walking out of the staff room and heading home. Along the way, I text Nick to let him know I’m just going to have a quick shower and then I’ll head over. I know I could easily have one at his place, but I need to get some clean clothes.
I’d gotten enough shit from Owen and Will about my last walk of shame home, I didn’t need a repeat of it when I undoubtedly end up staying with Nick for the whole weekend.
By the time I get up to my apartment however, I wonder if my plans aren’t about to change.
“Em, hey, there’s someone here to see you,” Owen says, walking towards me.
I glance into the living room and see Sarah standing awkwardly by the couch. “Hi,” she says, her eyes flicking to me before darting away again.
I glance quickly at Owen who raises an eyebrow at me, a tiny move that I know means be nice and talk to her.
“Can we talk?” she asks, stepping towards me and finally meeting my gaze.
I glance once more at Owen who pulls another face at me, this one telling me to stop being an idiot and talk to her. I roll my eyes at him before turning back to Sarah.
“Sure,” I say, gesturing towards my room.
I follow her in, watch as she looks around before walking towards the chair in the corner of my room and taking a seat. I sit on my unmade bed and wait.
We sit in silence for what feels like forever. I know there are things I should be saying and I’m guessing Sarah feels the same, but somehow neither of us is able to find the words. It hits me now how much our friendship has changed, maybe even too much.
Back when we were kids, talking is something we never had any problem doing, often staying up till all hours of the morning, either on the phone or in person if one of us was sleeping over.
I can’t quite remember when it all started to change. Going to separate universities had felt like it would change things, but at the time this distance between us hadn’t felt as noticeable.
Eventually, I have to break the silence, if only so I can deal with what I know is inevitably coming.
“How have you been?”
Sarah looks up at me, shrugs as she says, “Okay, you?”
I shrug in return. “Okay?”
“You just finish work?” she asks, gesturing to me.
It’s a ridiculous question and we both know it. Not only am I still wearing my scrubs, but we both know there’s never anywhere else I could be.
I nod.
Sarah takes a deep breath. “How’s it going, are you…are you enjoying it?”
Her question confuses me, not least because it’s one she’s never asked me before. I shrug again, knowing it’s the most non-committal response ever. “Yeah,” I add. “I mean it’s tough and busy and all that, but for the most part, I do enjoy it.”
A partial lie, but one that’s not worth correcting, even if I can hear Nick in the back of my head, pleading with me to tell her the truth.
Almost on cue, I hear my phone chime out with a text that I know has to be from him. I want to reach for it, but the look Sarah shoots me tells me not to.
I know I shouldn’t anyway, that so much of why we are in this mess now has to do with me and my phone and never really being present in any real life situation. And even if this text is different, I can’t explain that to her either.
“Listen,” she says, taking a deep breath. “About that night…”
I cut her off before she has a chance to continue. “No, it’s me who should be apologising,” I say quickly. “It was wrong of me to skip your party like I did and I’m truly sorry.”
I can’t tell if the look she gives me is one of disbelief or surprise. Disbelief that I genuinely know it was wrong of me not to come and find them that night, or surprise that I am actually apologising for it. I’m not sure which of those reasons hurts more.
“Why did you skip it?” she eventually asks and even now, I can still hear the hurt in her voice.
I shake my head, my eyes falling to my hands. “I don’t know,” I say quietly. “I was exhausted,” I add. “And it had been a bad day at work.”
Sarah says nothing for so long that I eventually look back up. When I do, this time I can see the hurt in her eyes too, and it hits me then, that this is infinitely worse than anything else. So much worse that I could do this to the person who has been my friend for longer than anyone else.
My phone chimes out with another reminder of the text I haven’t checked and I have to swallow hard as I lock my fingers together to stop them from reaching for it. Another sound chimes sound out, signalling a new message and this time it’s Sarah shaking her head.
“When did it become this bad?” she whispers, her eyes still on mine.
“What?” I ask, even though I know what she’s talking about.
“Us,” she says, gesturing between us. “When we did we get this bad.”
I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say. “Since I started working at the hospital?”
Sarah shakes her head now, somehow suggesting that it might have happened earlier than that. “You never talk to me anymore,” she whispers.
“Yes I do,” I say, knowing it’s a lie.
“No,” she says, shaking her head again. “You don’t. You don’t tell me about why your work is so bad you can’t come to my bachelorette party and you never tell me about your work in general.”
I feel my arms wrap around my waist. “I never thought you were interested,” I offer, even though that’s not even close to the truth.
“But you’ve never even given me a chance,” she says sadly. “You’re my best friend, Emma. We’ve known each other since we were ten years old. Once upon a time we used to tell each
other everything.”
“I know,” I nod, my head falling.
“I miss that,” she whispers. “I miss you.”
When I lift my face to hers, I see the tears in her eyes, the sight sending a sharp pain through my chest at all the hurt I’ve caused her. “I miss you too,” I whisper back.
Sarah nods. “So don’t push me away,” she says, shifting a little in the chair.
I swallow hard, knowing that I’m not the one who pushed the other away. “But you already have,” I say, a touch of bitterness in my voice.
She flinches. “What do you mean?”
“That night,” I say, flicking my hand to an imaginary point in time. “You told me you didn’t want me to be your bridesmaid anymore.”
“Ah, shit, Emma,” she says, her head falling. “I was drunk and hurt and pissed off. I didn’t mean the things I said.”
“Didn’t you?”
I watch as Sarah takes a deep breath, as though fortifying herself before she looks up at me. “No, I didn’t,” she says. “I do want you to be my bridesmaid,” she continues. “But more than anything, I want you to be my best friend again.”
“I never stopped,” I say, defensively.
“Yeah, you did,” she immediately throws back. “You pulled away, you threw yourself into your work and didn’t care about those of us you left behind.”
“Of course I did,” I say, my voice rising a little. “But my work is crazy busy and intense, you don’t get it if you don’t work it like I do.”
“That’s because you’ve never even given me a chance to get it,” Sarah shouts, the frustration in her voice evident.
My phone chooses that moment to once again chime out with a text message and I watch as Sarah’s eyes flick towards it on the bed beside me before moving back to mine. My fingers itch with wanting to pick it up, but at this point, I don’t dare. Not when things seem to have turned bad again.
“How was I to know you’d had a shit day at work?” she says, her voice softer.
I shrug, offering no explanation.
“I want you to talk to me,” she says. “Tell me what happened so I get it. Help me understand why you’re so exhausted and unhappy all of the time.”