She rolled her eyes.
"I wouldn't do that to Emma."
"Ah, the qualifier. So what did you do?"
I briefed her. I didn't relish revisiting it.
"You kissed her. That's so cute and so last century. Later you can go around to her dad's and ask him if you can court her."
I groaned. "Really, Genie? That's not helpful. You're being a bitch."
She lightened up. "Hey, sorry. I shouldn't have been a jerk. I didn't mean it. I was trying to make light of it because I can tell you're bummed. I'm sure it was a nice moment for both of you and she got spooked. Give her some time. I can talk to her."
"No, do not talk to her. You do enough talking." I paused. "What if it's for the best?"
"You're a weenie, you know that. You're stressing that maybe you might like her a little more than all those bimbos you chase after. She's the real deal. Being a big boy is kind of scary, isn't it?"
"Not what I meant. If we did try this out and it didn't work, what if we didn't stay friends? She's right about that."
"And what if you're a big weenie?"
"You should probably stop drinking."
"She's an awesome girl, perfect for you. When I see the two of you together it's so natural. Have you ever felt that way about a girl before?"
"No," I said begrudgingly.
"Exactly. Give her a little space to come around. I don't think she's ever had a boyfriend before and she's apprehensive."
"There's something else. The guys already give me a hard time about her." Genie was about to open her mouth and I stopped her. "Yeah, I'm the biggest weenie you've ever met, I get it. It's just that I don't want them to give her a hard time. I can handle it, but I'm not sure she can."
"Other than Brett – and I don't like him either — none of these guys are going to be friends when you go off to law school, so why do you care about them? If you like her, and it's obvious that you do, why do you care what these guys think? Man, Zach, I thought you'd be tougher than this. Where are your balls?"
"Don't you have some of Dad's friends to impress?"
"Sure, but only after another glass of my special cider."
She wandered away and I pulled out my phone.
Me: You know he's just an asswipe, right? And it's only awkward if you make it that way.
I finished my cider and looked for the wine. I had a two drink limit before I'd start getting the look from Mom. Little did she know I needed about ten drinks to make this evening interesting. I'd slip out early anyway. Brett rented a rink and the guys were going to play a late night game of shiny.
My phone buzzed.
Emma: Jake's not here! How did I get so lucky? Uncle Ron's asked me about Bianca all night. Somehow she convinced Jake to stay in the city. How is your night going?
Me: Not bad. Hanging out with my family and about thirty other people I don't know. Playing hockey tonight with the guys before doing a repeat of this tomorrow.
Emma: Have fun! And see you soon.
Chapter Twenty-four
Emma
Dad attempted Christmas breakfast with Grandpa as his accomplice. I wasn't allowed to help, but I did supervise by reminding Dad to turn over the pancakes before they burned and for Grandpa to put a splash guard on the frying pan so he wouldn't get singed with bacon grease. Dad was a pro at making eggs so he didn't need any assistance there. They did let me put on a pot of coffee.
"Wendy was going to come over a little early to help us with dinner, if that's all right with you," Grandpa said.
He looked meek as if worried I'd erupt into a fit of rage. "No, not at all. I could always use some extra help. Which reminds me, I've got to prepare the turkey once we're done opening presents."
"About presents, I thought we could open them this evening, once Wendy gets here."
"Oh, okay," I said. We were bucking tradition, but Grandpa seemed really excited about the whole Wendy thing.
We dove into breakfast and I was impressed with the pancakes. Dad had added chocolate chips to the batter. He was finally taking some of my advice and thinking outside the box . . . sort of.
Grandpa and I chatted about school while Dad flipped through the newspaper looking for the crossword. The rustling stopped and Dad stared at whatever had caught his attention. Someone die? Dad had a fascination with the obituaries.
He lowered the paper and looked at me, his face mired in confusion. Without a word he passed me the community section. I looked through the pictures and gasped. There I was, posing with Zach, my name in the caption as Zach's girlfriend.
"Care to explain?" he asked. He was a bit annoyed, but who wouldn't be.
"He's not my boyfriend," was the first thing out of my mouth. And then I thought of Bianca. Did she see or hear about his? Was that why the texts started again?
"Let me see," Grandpa said, taking the section from me. "Oh, he's handsome and a senator's son. You could do a lot worse," he cooed.
"No, he's not my boyfriend," I protested. "He and his sister invited me to the party. Genie is a friend of mine." More truth-stretching. I was going straight to hell.
"Is this the guy you were talking about?"
"Dad!"
"You're grandfather is eventually going to find out. Why the secret?"
"Zach and I are friends, that's it. The photographer got it wrong."
"I think you make the cutest couple," Grandpa said. Now that he was in love, he wanted everyone to be.
Dad pressed his lips into a thin line. "Emma, you didn't even tell me about this."
My cheeks flushed. Busted. "It was a last minute invitation. It wasn't a big deal."
"A party at the Walker house is a big deal," Grandpa said.
I shot him a warning glance. He responded with an apologetic shrug.
"I was going to tell you but I forgot about it. Really, it was nothing."
Dad's eyes stared hard at me. He was a human lie detector. "Why do I think you're not telling me everything?"
What did I do? He wasn't going to let it go. I bit down on my lip, trying to think of something fast, but nothing was coming other than the truth. "I did like him, but I knew right away that it wasn't right. Before anything got started, I shut it down. The caption is still wrong. He was never my boyfriend. That's it."
"Paul, cut the kid some slack," Grandpa said, rising from the table and grabbing our empty plates. "No need to pour salt in the wound."
Dad's hard stare softened. "If this changes . . . "
"I promise you're the first to know."
"Well, let's clean this up. We have a guest coming," Grandpa said.
That was over thanks to Grandpa. Next I focused on dinner duty while Dad cleaned up our breakfast dishes. Grandpa disappeared to ready himself since Wendy was expected in a few hours. I decided it was time to bake. Of everything in the kitchen, baking relaxed me most. With the few hours I had I made Dad's favorite shortbread and Grandpa's gingerbread cookies. I was arranging them on a platter when Wendy arrived. I wandered over to the front door to see Grandpa taking Wendy's coat. Her eyes fell on me and she smiled.
"And you must be Emma."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Wendy."
"I hear so many great things about you and I hear you're quite the chef."
My trusty old bullshit meter dove into action, this time on Wendy, but it wasn't going off. She seemed sincere. And though she'd never replace Grandma, she did have a grandmotherly quality about her. Grandpa told me she was divorced with a son living on the East Coast. She wasn't spending the holidays with him and his family because she had a trip planned out there in the New Year. Or maybe she wanted to spend Christmas with Grandpa? And while she used to be a ruthless prosecutor – Grandpa's words – she had a simplicity to her. Black slacks, a fuzzy baby blue cashmere sweater and although her nails were done, she didn't have on layers of makeup and her light brown hair was cut short, something easy to maintain. Elegant in an approachable way.
"Thank you for the kind words."
"And if you need any help, put me to work."
"Would you like some homemade eggnog?" Grandpa asked. "Emma made it herself."
"I'd love some," Wendy beamed.
I liked that Wendy was and soft-spoken. I'd been a little worried about meeting her, thinking I'd have to walk on eggshells or she'd make me wither under a barrage of questions, but it seemed she'd left that behind for small town life.
"What are you taking in school?" Wendy asked.
"I'm in first year so I'm still trying to sort things out."
"I got my English degree before I realized I wanted to be a lawyer. Just remember that you're young and you have lots of time." She sipped the eggnog. "Oh, this is divine."
Dad, who'd been loitering around but not saying much, jumped into the conversation. "Wendy, do you know the Walkers? What's his name? The senator."
"Oh yes, Daniel Walker. I don't know him per se, met him a few times and he has a good reputation."
"How about his kids?"
"Dad!"
Wendy's grey eyes looked from me to Dad. "I haven't heard a thing about them, and for a politician, that's a good thing."
I laughed nervously, wanting to throttle Dad. Time to make my exit. "I'm going to finish up dinner," I said, rising and giving Dad stink eye as I passed.
"Let me help," Wendy offered.
I wasn't entirely sure I wanted her help, but to refuse would disappoint Grandpa, so we got to work. The turkey needed a few more minutes in the oven before resting for at least a half hour. Wendy peeled potatoes and I stuffed mushrooms. I was attempting acorn squash for the first time and prepped them with fresh ground pepper, Himalayan salt and a parmesan rub. Once the turkey came out they'd go in.
"I don't mean to be nosy, but I'm guessing you're the reason your dad asked about the Walkers?"
"Zach and I are just friends. The stupid paper published a picture of us saying that we were dating."
"How'd they get a picture of the two of you?" she asked.
"I was at their Christmas party."
"And with the both of you at the party, I guess the paper assumed."
"So now Dad's all bent out of shape."
Wendy saw the paper lying on the kitchen table and glanced at it. "Well, he's certainly easy on the eyes."
My cheeks blushed and I made sure to keep my face hidden from Wendy. "Like I said, we're just friends."
"I don't mean to sound nosy, but how did you get invited to a Walker party? Invitations like those are pretty exclusive."
"Zach invited me–I mean Genie, invited me, his sister."
If Wendy had a bullshit meter, it had to be off the charts.
"How many friends did the Walker kids invite?"
"I don't know, but I wasn't paying attention. Genie's boyfriend was there, but I guess the rest of the guests were donors and friends."
"I see. All your grandfather does is talk about you, so if I'm overstepping, you tell me to mind my own business, but usually a senator's son invites only special people to fundraisers like that."
My face was growing more crimson by the second. "Zach is a really nice person."
"I bet he is. How many potatoes should I peel?"
"I think six is enough," I said relieved that she'd changed topics.
"What is Zach doing for Christmas?"
Damn. "I don't know. I'm sure he's spending it with his family. He may have mentioned a ski trip with friends."
"And how long have you been friends?"
"Since the beginning of the school year. Do you like spinach in your mashed potatoes?"
"I love spinach and I've never had it in mashed potatoes before. Sounds intriguing." She peeled the last potato and brought them to the sink to wash. She glanced over at me as I coated the squash. "How did you meet him?"
"Jake, he used–he's a friend. He introduced us." Damn. I could see why she was such a good prosecutor. She had me tripping all over myself.
Wendy piled the potatoes in a colander. "Should I cube them and get a pot on for them?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Jake is your roommate? Henry mentioned that."
Grandpa sure did share a lot with Wendy. "Uh, yeah."
"Sweetie, I'm going to be honest with you. Your grandfather asked me to come early so that I could get to know you and talk to you about, you know, girl things. It seems your dad is really worried about you, and as much I want to help them out, I feel a need to be honest with you. Please don't tell them I told you. And if you want me to butt out, I'd understand fully."
In so many ways Wendy wasn't anything like Grandma. Grandma doted on me, made quilts in her spare time, played cards every Sunday night with her friends, volunteered at the church, didn't care about clothes or makeup, probably the exact opposite of Wendy. Grandma was a simple woman, Wendy was a lawyer, a woman who would have intimidated Grandma, but despite all that, I felt a kinship to her. She liked Grandpa a lot, it was obvious, and even though she didn't give off the warmth Grandma did, I was drawn to her.
"Can you keep a secret?"
She nodded.
"Jake kicked me out of our apartment after I punched his girlfriend in the face. Zach took me in and gave me the spare room at his place where I've been living ever since. Jake and I no longer talk. Please don't tell Dad or Grandpa." I felt like those people who walk into sacred rivers and are cleansed. The burden was lifted, the lies out in the open.
Her eyes bugged open. "Well, I wasn't anticipating all that! You did what? You don't seem like the type of young lady to have that kind of outburst."
I told Wendy all about Bianca over another cup of eggnog. We sat at the kitchen table and I relayed it all, every last detail right down to the kiss. She listened, enthralled by every word. At one point she stopped me, telling me she needed another glass.
"You really should tell your Dad," she said, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"It will kill him. I figure I'll just let the school year end and come up with some story why Jake and I aren't living together next year. And you never know, Jake and Bianca could break up."
"They could, but is Jake still someone you'd call a friend?"
I deflated. "I guess not."
"I will keep your confidence, but at some point your dad is owed the truth."
"I know."
"And about Zach . . . he seems like a really nice young man. From one girl to another, you might want to give him a chance."
I looked at the clock. It was getting late for dinner. We mashed potatoes, plated food and called Dad and Grandpa to the dinner table. As we all sat together I wondered if I could trust Wendy and if she really intended to keep her word. I'd know if she didn't. Dad and Grandpa would be all over me the second they found out.
Chapter Twenty-five
Emma
I packed up for my return trip to Western. I sent Zach a few texts, including one on New Year's Eve, between batches of caramel popcorn and movies with Dad, but they all went unanswered. I felt a twinge of guilt and a bad case of nerves. Maybe he was still upset with me. I'd left so much up in the air.
"Let me drive you back to school," Dad said.
"It's an hour there and back on some pretty slick roads. The bus will be fine. Besides, I already got my ticket."
Dad frowned. "It was nice having you back, Kiddo. We're going to miss you. You'll call me when you get there?"
"I will."
"And keep me up to date on any developments with that Walker kid."
"Dad!"
"You're my girl and I worry."
"Well, don't!"
He took me to the bus station and a part of me didn't want to go. I wanted to stay behind with Dad and Grandpa, working in the shop, making dinners and living a much simpler life. The only problem was that Dad and Grandpa would have none of it.
I texted Zach a few more times with no response. I decided to put thoughts o
f him aside and pulled out a book to pass the time on the drive. As the bus pulled into the station in Minneapolis, a fleeting part of me hoped that Zach was there waiting, arms extended and I'd run into them like a sappy romance movie, but the only people there were waiting for other buses.
I did like him. I liked him a lot, but it was so complicated. It wouldn't last. I was not Zach Walker material. And then what? He'd dump me, I'd move out and have nothing. I cared too much about him to just throw it away on a two or three month fling. But I had a bigger problem. What would we do now? Forget about it like it never happened? Or worse, try to talk about it. I cringed.
These thoughts floated through my head as I hailed a cab to the apartment. This would be the first time seeing him in a month and as the cab dropped me off and I made my way to his apartment and put the key into the lock, I thought my chest would explode from the nerves. I opened the door and walked into darkness. Nothing and nobody. I let out a huge sigh of relief and went to my room. It was just as I'd left it. Next I hit the kitchen and scoured it to see if we needed groceries. I found a few dishes in the sink. At least Zach had been here recently.
I opened the fridge door. Other than a few beers, a brick of cheddar cheese, condiments and limp celery, there wasn't much to eat. I grabbed my purse and keys and walked to the grocery store less than a block away. I bought only the essentials and whatever else I could carry. Some mixed greens, chicken breasts, milk, bread and a few other odds and ends. I got back to the apartment and this time a few lights were on. Zach was inside and he glanced up from the sofa when I walked in. He nodded and that's when I saw someone sitting next to him. My heart thudded to the floor.
"Emma, this is Heather."
"Hi," she said with a spastic wave.
"Hi," I said and scurried into the kitchen. Not Heather. I tried to keep calm as I set down the groceries. Heather, the one who'd been pining for him. A wave of nausea made me grip onto the edge of the countertop. No, no, no.
Zach came into the kitchen and gave me a funny look. I didn't bother trying to cover up why I was hunched over. Sure, I could have said I had cramps, hurt my ankle or some other excuse, but I didn't bother.
"You don't need to make food for us or anything. We already decided to go get burgers."
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