Now and Again

by Jennifer Ellision

  "I don't know what you're talking about." I pick up our empty champagne glasses and bottles and look for the saleslady.

  "It's not going to be that easy, Em. You're going to have to learn how to be around him again." She marches determinedly after me, skirt rustling.

  "You say it like he's a bull that will go berserk over the color red or something."

  "No, if there's an animal in this equation, it's you."

  "Hey—"

  She pushes her hair out of her face. "I don't know anyone else that runs the way you do. Like a deer in the headlights."

  "And the award for over-used similes goes to…"

  She tuts and slams the door to the dressing room on her way in. "Simile or not, you know I'm right," she calls.

  I swallow. "Forget my bun. I think that dress is too tight. It's cutting off air flow to your brain."

  The door crashes open. "Forget it. Just tell me this—you're committed to helping me with my wedding, right?"

  "Yes," I say around a rock sitting in my throat.

  Her eyes glint with a promise. "That's all I need to hear."

  I have a terrible feeling about this.

  ∞

  By the time Nikki gets changed and convinces the saleslady she's not ready to buy a dress yet, it's eight o'clock and Mom's store is closed when Nikki drops me off. A bell tinkles lightly when I unlock the door and push it open.

  "Mom?" I call. "I'm back." Not finding her inside, I frown. She said she'd wait for me here. I head toward the back of the store and take the green carpet-lined stairs two at a time, one hand lightly resting on the wrought iron railing.

  When I open the door to the converted studio above the shop, a sharp intake of breath greets me.

  "Oh!" my mother exclaims. "Emmeline Hayes, you scared the bejeezus out of me," she scolds. One hand is on her hip as she stands before my window; the other hand clutches yards of hunter green plaid. She turns back to the window, holding the fabric out before her as she considers it.

  "For the love of God and all that is holy," I say, approaching her like a police officer edging toward a suspect, "put down the fabric and step away from my window."

  "You need drapes. I'm just trying to make it homey in here." Mom drops the fabric in favor of being able to place self-righteous hands on her hips.

  "Dark green plaid does not say 'Welcome home,' Mother," I say, picking it up and handing it back to her. "It says 'Welcome to my hunting lodge.'"

  "Right now, the only thing this place is saying is 'Welcome to my storage unit,'" Mom retorts, clutching her plaid to her chest.

  Fair enough. My boxes are piled high around the room, obscuring the walls behind them. The few clothes I brought home in my duffel bag are flung over the unmade daybed that serves as both couch and bed.

  It had seemed only logical for me to move into the studio apartment above the boutique. After all, it's been sitting unused since Mom bought the shop during my senior year of college. After Dad, her therapist had suggested a project to occupy her time and energy.

  He'd probably meant that she should knit a sweater or create a scrapbook, but Mom never does anything halfway. She'd opened Everything But with unfounded confidence despite never having managed a store in her life. Unable to decide whether she should sell clothes, accessories, books, or home décor, she'd decided that she would just throw it all together and sell "Everything But" the kitchen sink.

  Mom exhales in frustration. "I still don't see why you don't just come back home and move into your old room." She folds her plaid, giving the curtains up as a battle best fought another day. "You know that's what I meant when I mentioned free rent."

  "Because, Mom," I say, moving to the fridge and rummaging inside. I find a container of leftover Chinese food and begin stabbing at it with a fork. "No offense, but I like having my own space"

  "Well, that's just silly," she says, but she lets it go and plops down on my bed. "How did the shopping go? Did Nikki find the dress of her dreams yet?"

  "No." I swallow a bite of chicken. "But she found the one from my nightmares." I join her on the couch and sit crisscrossed. "God, you should have seen it," I say around a mouthful of lo mein. "It was the most ridiculously…" I search for a word to adequately describe the dress. "Floofy dress I've ever seen in my life."

  "Don't talk with your mouth full," Mom says primly and smooths my hair. "And 'floofy' is not a word."

  I pull a face and yank my hair down from its bun, shaking it loose. It really had been too tight.

  "So," I say, striving for casual. "Cole showed up at the store."

  From the way Mom's head whips around to look at me, I don't think I achieved the laid-back tone I was going for. "How was that?" she asks cautiously.

  "Fine." My voice comes out too tight and Mom's gaze sharpens.

  "That's it? Fine?"

  "What do you expect me to say, Mom? That we talked over grilled cheese for two hours like we used to?" Unsettled, I stand up and toss my now-empty carton in the trash can. "We're adults now, things aren't that simple."

  "Sweetie, things between you and Cole haven't been simple since the day you met."

  "You weren't there the day we met," I remind her.

  She dismisses that with a wave of her hand. "Doesn't matter. I talked to you that week. You tried to sound all nonchalant about him, but I could tell. A mother knows," she says, wagging a finger at me.

  "I told you he was cute, that's all," I say. Years later and I still haven't forgotten the hop in my stomach when I shook Cole's hand for the first time.

  "Mm. Whatever you say, Emily."

  Dad's favorite Sinatra song. He'd been the only one I let call me Emily, despite it not being my given name. I wince. "Don't call me that."

  Mom's voice softens. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry." She reaches across the space between us and lays a hand on my arm.

  But I keep my face impassive. I have to or I'm afraid it'll crash and fall into the pit of my stomach, where a sea of stirred-up emotion thrashes now. In a corner of my mind, I hear Dad singing, Emily, Emily, Emily.

  Mom sighs. "I'll call you tomorrow." She gathers her purse and the fabric that she'd been determined to make curtains with. There's a brief hesitation before she brushes a kiss across my cheek. "I love you, sweetheart."

  I give her a light hug. "Love you too, Mom."

  She pulls back. "Lock the door behind me?" she asks, looking at me searchingly.

  My lips quirk up into a half-hearted smile. "I always do."

  ∞

  Days later, I answer the phone, cringing. "Hey, Nik."

  "Are you avoiding me?" she demands.

  I flinch as I walk downstairs to open Everything But, grateful for the distraction. Agreeing to work a few hours of retail is a small price to pay for a little cash, free rent, and my own space. "You're my best friend," I hedge. "Why would I be avoiding you?"

  "Now, you're avoiding the subject," she accuses. "I told you I wanted to have lunch today to go over some wedding plans."

  I light some of the accent lights around the shop. Their soft glows perfectly set off the kitschy jewelry we sell, making the rhinestones sparkle and the faux pearls shine. "I don't know if I can make it. Mom needs me to watch the store."

  I wander over to shop's "Book Nook." A large bookshelf holds an array of novels and a small circular white table displays the shop's most recent buys. I fiddle with one cover, arranging it so the book lays just so on the table's surface.

  I know what I'd promised Nikki, but I can't help it; something about wedding planning makes my skin crawl. I get the urge to bury my head in the sand or run far, far away. Or, run far, far away and then bury my head in the sand.

  "You can," Nikki says firmly. "I already talked to your mom and she's going to watch the shop for a few hours."

  "You went behind my back?" I say indignantly, phone pressed to one ear with my shoulder as I flip the store's sign from "Bad timing" to "Come on in!"

  "I did what I had to," Nikki says. "I'm not
sorry, but I will be if I have to kill you because you don't show up."

  "Hellooooo!" The shop's bell tinkles overhead. A round face noses its way in, brown eyes alight when she spies the twinkling jewelry. First customer of the day.

  "Nikki, I have to go."

  "One o'clock. Death penalty." Nikki's voice is grim with promise before she hangs up.

  I stick my phone in my back pocket and turn toward the customer. "How can I—"

  The bell rings again. Another one, this early? But no, it's Mom, already striding toward the customer to politely let her know that she's there if she needs anything or has any questions.

  Task accomplished, Mom gives me a gentle shove toward the stairs to my itty-bitty living space. "I'll take care of the shop today. Go get ready for lunch. You can borrow my car."

  "You really don't have to—"

  "Honey," she cuts in, "if you think I'm going to risk Nikki's wrath, you have got another think coming."

  SIX

  COLE

  Cole isn't too proud to admit that Nikki scares him a little, especially now that she's in the throes of wedding planning insanity. So when, buried beneath missed calls from Tori, he sees Ron's text on Nikki's behalf summoning him to the lunch he'd promised, he begs out of lunch with his co-workers and promises he'll be there. He's ahead of schedule on his projected timeline for the corporate event he has scheduled, so he doesn't need another working lunch.

  The only parking he can find is two blocks away and Florida heat isn't kind to polyester blends. By the time he walks into the restaurant, he's sweating beneath his jacket. Not only that, but he's late.

  Shit. At the sight of a familiar brunette head, he ducks behind a plant and swears vengeance on Ron. Another meeting with Em, without a warning. Never one to be late, she's already seated and browsing a menu.

  He walks slowly toward her, taking his time in prolonging the inevitable. A white lamp hangs low over her head. The soft light illuminates the red highlights in her hair and her eyes widen when she sees him, zooming away immediately. She busies herself with straightening her silverware and methodically folding and refolding her napkin.

  "Hey." He draws out the word, sliding into the cushioned bench across from her.

  She "mmmm"s an acknowledgement and then, silence reigns. He finds himself fidgeting with his tie, rubbing at his neck, just to do something with his hands.

  The waiter comes and takes their drink orders. Cole watches in only mild irritation as she meets the server's eyes dead-on and smiles without reservation. Sure, him, she can talk to and smile at. But Cole? He won't bring it up right now, but she's definitely lost his challenge to pretend they're okay around each other.

  Still, he's not going to take that out on this poor, unsuspecting waiter. And he owes the guy for banishing the awkward quiet that hovers over their table. Cole places his order with a degree of relief, just grateful for a break.

  But then the waiter leaves. They've barely been sitting for two minutes and already, the table buckles beneath the weight of their silence. The murmurs of conversation at surrounding tables, the clinking of silverware against plate, stifle them.

  Cole coughs.

  Em sighs.

  Finally, she looks up from adjusting her place setting, links her fingers, and clears her throat. "We're not going to do this," she informs him, eyes steady.

  "Do... what?" he asks.

  "This," she says, gesturing to the space between them. "Us. This weirdness."

  Irritation flashes through him. "Listen, I'm fine." he says. Does it matter that he's lying? No, he decides. Not when she's put him on the defensive like this. "You're the one who sucks at pretending."

  "Neither of us is doing well. All you've managed to say to me is 'heyyy.'"

  Cole frowns. Her imitation of his voice is unfairly nasal. He levels his eyes at her, intent on reminding her why it is that he doesn't know what to say. How much small talk can he make with her, knowing where she's drawn that line in the sand? She's not a stranger on a blind date. She's Em.

  But she doesn't let him voice these thoughts.

  "These next couple of months are all about Nikki, and she's not likely to let us forget it. So." Em puts her elbows on the table and rests her chin on the interlocked digits. "Here's how it's going to be: what happened when we were in college never happened, got it?"

  That was entirely the problem. Nothing really did ever happen. They never quite got to that point. They always fell just a little short.

  But Em doesn't seem to share this opinion as she looks away from him, tears a piece of bread from the complimentary basket on the table, and pops it in her mouth.

  He can't help staring as she peruses the menu, effectively dismissing him. Same old Em. He doesn't know whether to be relieved at the familiarity or annoyed with it. There had never been the option of her way or the highway. With Em, it's only her way and everyone else had better stay the hell out of it. Doing what she wants and pretending his feelings for her are platonic is either going to help him stay sane or push him over the edge.

  "Got it," he says softly.

  "Nik!" Em interrupts his thoughts to greet Nikki, looking up from the menu with every appearance of delight.

  Annoyance stabs at him. You'd never guess at the conversation they just had. How can she just switch it off like that?

  Nikki slides breathlessly onto the green pleather bench beside Em. "Sorry I'm late."

  "A little hypocritical, don't you think? I seem to recall a penalty of death being a consequence if I was late," Em mocks with a teasing grin. Sounds like Cole isn't the only one who worried about an untimely demise if he missed this lunch.

  "That was for you. I'm the bride," Nikki says. She turns her attention to Cole. "I'm so glad you came. I need your help. The both of you."

  She yanks out a scrapbook lined in lace. Em eyes it warily and inches her hand away and Nikki rolls her eyes at her. "I saw that," she informs her. "Would you relax, please? Commitment is not contagious. My wedding book is not going to bite you and give you rabies."

  "You never know," Em mumbles, but puts her hand back.

  "So," Nikki says purposefully, and heaves a sheaf of pages. "Here's the thing. Ron's mom refuses to let me plan my own wedding." She nabs Em's drink and takes a sip. "She means well, but..."

  "But she's taken Momzilla to a new level?" Em guesses.

  Nikki hums an affirmative. "She keeps insisting that nothing would be more shameful to their family than a 'homegrown' wedding and that I need to hire professionals."

  Professionals… He joins Em in looking at the book with trepidation. "Where exactly do you think we come in, then?"

  Nikki bites her lip. "Mrs. Jennings wants to hire her event coordinator for my wedding. And I just know that if I let her then it won't be at all about me or Ron. It'll be about throwing money at something to make it an elaborate shindig. 'The social event of the season.'" She drops her arms and the air quotations, twisting her face. "Don't get me wrong, I want it to be nice. But I want some of me and Ron in there, too. I want it to be about us. But he's so busy with school and rotations and I have so many lesson plans and parent-teacher conferences and—"

  "Your schedules suck," Cole says, seeing the problem.

  "Our schedules suck," she agrees with vigor.

  "Oh, my God," Em says. Her spine goes rigid in realization. "This isn't what you meant about having a plan for my job hunt, is it? Nikki, I have a life and—

  "You promised," Nikki says to Em, sounding wounded. Em's protests die on her lips. "You know that you and Cole are the best ones for the job. Who knows us better than you guys? And Cole works for that fancy event company, you both majored in hospitality—you could probably even put the wedding on your resume. Use it for job applications."

  Cole turns the possibility over in his mind. This might not be the worst thing. He could use some of his contacts from work and work on it in his free time. Since he's ahead of schedule and Nikki and Ron don't have a date in mind ye
t, it wouldn't be a stressful time crunch. And, at the very least, he may be able to defrost the Em-sicle that sits across from him.

  It would be nice to get his friend back.

  "I'm in," he says. He straightens in his seat. "What are you paying us?"

  Nikki eyes him strangely. "Pay?" she asks slowly, as if the word is in a foreign language. "This is your duty as my bridesman, Cole."

  "I'm Ron's best man, Nikki."

  She bats the excuse away. "Technicalities." Running a manicured hand lovingly over the pages of her book, her eyes soften. "This is my wedding book. It's just to get you started, but I thought it might help."

  The fact that Em hasn't spoken doesn't escape his attention and before he can help himself, he's addressing her. He chooses not to examine why. According to her, nothing has happened between them, after all.

  "How about it, Em? Up for the challenge?"

  She won't back down when it's phrased like that. Cole lifts his head in time to see her eyes flash. "Of course."

  His lips quirk up. Definitely the same old Em. "That's the spirit."

  SEVEN

  COLE

  Friday evening, his boss's Great Dane drags Cole down the street toward Abby's shop. He grits his teeth, somewhat regretting that he volunteered to dog-sit while Laura went out of town with her husband and kids, but when you're at the bottom of the corporate ladder, kissing a little ass never hurts. He's a team player at work. More's the better if this reinforces that for his boss.

  And besides, why not? Laura's a nice lady. He doesn't mind doing her a favor. And he likes dogs.

  He also likes having feeling in his arm though, which seems unlikely to continue if Toto pulls it out of its socket like he's apparently intent on.

  But the dog will save Em a little bit of time when she starts to tear him limb from limb. He can already picture her face when he gets there for the first of their meetings to plan the wedding. He'd conveniently neglected to mention that he'd have to bring the dog that night.