Both of them are startled by my strength, my determination.
“Deal,” Will says.
“Agreed,” my dad joins in.
“Can you give us a few minutes?” I look to my dad. I need to make sure.
He leaves, and once the door closes I turn back to the boy who IS my best friend, the boy who never led me astray, the boy turned into the man I’m still in love with. “Be sure. I feel like we tackled so much in a few hours. I don’t want any more regrets in your life.”
“The only regret I’d have is letting you go again. I did it once, Ems, I can’t do it again.”
“It’s settled. I’m coming home.”
“To me.”
“Always to you.”
“I’m gonna marry you one day, Emma Nichols.”
“I’m gonna let you one day, William Jacobs.”
“I love you.”
“And I you.” I’ve loved him as long as I can remember, but this is more. It’s different. It’s cleansing. It’s freeing. It’s real. The feeling of amity has been something lost since I said goodbye to Nana. It’s overwhelming in this moment, and as long as I hold tight to it, I’ll always find my way.
“So you’ll be here for all events? You’re really moving home?”
“For the millionth time, Holly, yes to all of it.”
“Best wedding present ever.”
“Good because I wasn’t planning to purchase one.” I wink at her and continue to sip my nasty ass cocktail.
“Still not any better?” She’s laughing at the faces I make as I drink.
“No, but for $14.25, I’m drinking this shit.” She reaches over and tastes it.
“That’s rancid. What the fuck did you order?” Her gagging is drawing the attention of every patron in the pub.
“Mint Cucumber Spring Cocktail.” Sounds refreshing, but it isn’t.
“They didn’t rinse that shit off. It’s plucked straight from the ground and dumped in your cup.”
Her description of how bad my drink tastes isn’t helping me choke it down.
“Really, Ems, it’s nasty.”
“I know, Hols.” I take another sip just to prove a point.
“Dirty Rim Job. That’s what I’m calling it.”
I stare with my mouth open. “You, my friend, have issues.”
“I know.” She shrugs. “When are you going to Seattle?”
“We leave tomorrow. Had to wait for medical clearance. I have a few cases I need to hand over and do one last seminar.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Sometimes I can’t either. I mean three years, and it’s like nothing changed.”
“Oh, a lot changed, but your Ems and Will.”
“And?”
“What’s meant to be is meant to be.”
“Like you and Andy?”
“I guess. When we first started dating, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t have the history y’all do. I knew after the second year that being without him wasn’t making me happy, and if I wasn’t happy, none of my dreams mattered.”
I lift my dirty-rim-job to her beer and clink. “Cheers.”
His lips haven’t released mine since I got back to his apartment. It really is a shit hole, but we’ve talked about buying a fixer-upper a few neighborhoods over from our parents. With my savings and trust and his left over college money, we can afford it and make it what we want. Our dream home. Plus, have extra money for a rainy day.
His tongue slides down my neck sending chills through my body. I grip his hair tighter as his hands roam my body. Feeling his flesh against my bare skin is driving me mad, I’m out of control crazy. “Will,” I groan into the room.
“Right here, baby.” That voice pushes me closer. “You still on the pill?”
“No.” I need him inside me.
“Fuck it,” he snarls as he eases slowly inside me. Letting me get used to the full sensation of him, he stills. Holding himself over me, he peers down and watches me. He slides out and thrusts forward in one motion, as deep in me as he can get. “I love you.” Merging our bodies, fusing them as one. As he makes love to me, it’s everything we are; push and pull, fast and slow, soft and hard . . . with one ending.
Bliss.
Harmony.
Ours.
Chapter Forty-Eight
William
I watch her take the podium for her last seminar; her time here is at an end. Seattle is a beautiful city, but we have a beautiful life waiting for us back home.
Mr. Ludz was sad to see her go but gave her a glowing recommendation. She has to take some tests and transfer her license to Georgia, but she’s thinking of working for an agency in Athens on a case-to-case basis. She doesn’t want to give it up, but she doesn’t want to be consumed by it.
I listen to her champion for this passion of hers, stemming from my plight. Her voice is smooth and sure, full of persuasion.
“What we do here is important. We don’t judge, we don’t condemn. Each story has its own past. Each decision has its own reasoning. We don’t have to understand it, we don’t have to like it, but we do have to respect it. Not every client is going to be okay with same-sex couples adopting their child: while unfair and unjust, we can only educate them.
We don’t crusade for equal rights; we live and let live.
To sum it up, here is a motto I’ve adopted when talking to clients:
If same-sex relationships are against your beliefs, that’s fine, but don’t push your beliefs on others as you don’t want that done to you. Everyone has a choice, and it’s not up to you to live with the choices of others.
What you believe doesn’t make what I do any less.
Love should not be tolerated. Love should be embraced.”
I stand, leading the applause, mesmerized by her passion, her strength, and her belief. Sometimes her view makes you want to jump off the cliff, live in her truth, and know you’re on the chosen path.
“I’m so proud of you.” I embrace her, refusing to let her go. In all the turmoil we created, our ride had meaning for each of us. We found our true calling and can incorporate it all in our lives.
Finding the house wasn’t the issue but agreeing on décor is. She’s driving me nuts with all the colors, swatches, fabrics . . . just pick something and paint for fuck’s sake. Our relationship still has its moments; we wouldn’t be us if we coasted in this life. Nothing life-altering just patience-testing.
Elise is coming to visit, her home is still in Belize, and she and Emma have become partners in crime. Blake’s picking her up and meeting us for dinner. “Emma, we have to go.”
“You’re always in a hurry. Slow your roll.”
“I’m always on time. There’s a difference.”
“We can be a few minutes late. Come help me zip this up.” I walk in and know immediately we’ll be more than a few minutes late. Standing in front of me is a vision of an angel with the temptress of a devil. She’s wearing pale lavender sheer lingerie, and I’m going to peel it off piece by piece. Dessert before dinner is an adage we still live by.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Emma
I honk at the aggravating driver in front of me. Passive aggression is taking front seat in my repertoire as I pull up to his bumper as closely as I deem safe. Mr. Officer in the passenger seat feels it’s too close.
“Any closer, Ems, and I can tell you what the driver had for lunch.” I ignore that comment because I guess technically I’m tailgating.
I flash my lights, the fucker still doesn’t move over. I bang my hand on the steering wheel and push the button to turn up my radio. “I think Luke Bryan makes you an angry driver.” I catch his smirk from my peripheral vision.
“No, what makes me angry is douche-kabobs like this; he shouldn’t be driving. Clearly, I’m in the left lane. That doesn’t mean speed limit . . . it means get the fuck out of my way if you can’t hang.”
The Sunday driver finally moves, and I hit the gas. Lo and behold another compact car
moves over and makes me hit the brakes. “Damn it, Ems. Let me drive.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t drive for shit.” Thankfully he didn’t bring up the fender benders marring my record.
“Are you alive?”
“Currently.” I flip him off.
“Both hands on the wheel. Jesus woman. Ten and two.”
I roll my eyes and proceed to get us home in one piece. “I love you, but you are a nuisance to those of us that have valid drivers’ licenses, Ems.”
“I have a valid license, smartass.”
“If I hadn’t taken you myself, I’d swear you blew the guy to pass.”
“Why do you think my oral skills are so stellar? You think I got this far in life on merit?”
“Not funny, Ems.”
“I know . . . I can bring grown men to their knees with this mouth. That’s nothing to laugh at.”
“Keep talking about knees, and that’s where you’ll find yourself when we get inside.”
“I have a headache.”
“I know a great stress reliever for that.”
“You leaving? Because it’s you that stresses me.” I bite the inside of my cheek to stop laughing.
“Don’t force me to demonstrate.”
“Is there a cover charge because I don’t have cash?”
“Baby, all this is yours . . . free of charge.”
“I’d like to revoke my membership.”
“Get your ass inside.” He growls at me as he climbs down, and when I don’t move he raises his eyebrow at me. That look has me scurrying as fast as possible and beating him to the door. I left my phone in the console, so I can’t unlock his fucking smart door. He stands at the car chuckling.
“Seriously, you just lost the blow job of your life!” I hear the clunk and see Mrs. Griswold staring at me, mouth agape, with her cane on the ground next to her. I lose it, bend over at the stomach, sucking air, choking laughter. I watch William from tear-filled eyes and see the blush creep up his neck.
“Serves you right.”
“If you’d keep your damn phone in your purse.”
“If you’d have installed a lock with a fucking key.” I can go all day with my frustration over his computer hubs and smart technology. He relents, and as soon as he gets close enough, I touch the lock, and voila, I’m allowed entrance. He doesn’t immediately follow me, so I peer out the door and see him helping the old biddy to her door, after retrieving her cane for her. Sucker. She is shaking her finger at him, and his head hung low.
I call for Roxy, and she comes barreling from our bedroom. She had been resting on her throne atop her bed before she spots a squirrel and barks her head off. Mrs. Griswold starts admonishing William about our mischievous daughter, and his ‘Yes ma’am’ makes me whisper to Roxy. “Get em’ girl. Go.” Her barks become louder and more frequent.
“Em, knock it off!” he yells over the gate, which sets Roxy off in a frenzied state. My work here is done.
A year since I moved home…a year of adjusting, a year of love, a year of growth. I drop the lilies beside me and sit.
“Diane Nichols. Beloved wife, mother, grandmother. Fly with the angels, sing with the birds.”
“Nana, it’s me. I miss you so much. When something funny happens, I reach for the phone wanting to repeat it. You know what I’ve been up to, but I couldn’t have done it without you. I strayed from the path you were leading me down, but I followed your breadcrumbs to get back home. See you next week. Love you.”
I visit every week, sometimes more. I’ve come to terms with her death, but I’m not at peace. I don’t think I’ll find concord in it because that’s like saying I’m okay with it, and I’ll never be okay with her gone. I’ve accepted it. I’m still dealing with it.
Her recipes fill my kitchen, her lessons enrich my life. Her laughter plays melodies for my ears, and her memory warms my soul.
Epilogue
Emma
“Today’s the day I’m gonna marry you.” He snakes his arms around me.
“Today’s the day I’m gonna let you.” I turn my head, landing a kiss smack on his mouth. I absently rub my thumb against the rings resting on my finger; my Nana’s wedding set sits there, as it has from the day he placed them there. The whole set, never separating them just as my Nana and Pops weren’t.
We bucked tradition. No sleeping apart. I didn’t care he saw me before the ceremony. Nothing we’ve done to this point has been traditional. We fell in love as children, we saved ourselves for each other, we were each other’s first, last, and only in every aspect.
We are unconventional. I thought my mom was going to have a heart attack when I told her my plans. Her eyes were shooting daggers, her mouth running a mile a minute until she stopped mid-sentence, closed her eyes, and silence filled the room. When her eyes opened looking heavenward she whispered, “Yes, Momma N. I’ll let her have her day.”
I stared at her wondering how much wine she’d had. “Emma, whatever you want. You can marry that boy in a cow pasture in yoga pants.” I immediately said a prayer, thinking the world was coming to an end.
Our quirks, our lives, our love; it’s all our own, and we make no apologies. “Daddy,” our two-year-old son, Damon, shouts. “Watch me.” This is never good.
See what I said regarding tradition? Fuck it. Make your own path. Burn a lane where you want to walk. Do it with pride, morals . . . do it for love. It may not heal all, but it sure makes the suffering worth it.
Note to reader:
(Warning- this is long)
Months ago I struggled with this story. Emma kept telling me she wanted a story, she knew her love, she knew her strengths, she knew her weaknesses. What I didn’t bargain for was Nana. In my mind, Nana was never part of this story. I put off Emma’s story. I put off a lot in my life.
I still had the passion to write, the love for the story. I lacked the ability to create, the capacity to sit down and lose myself in words. That’s the only way I know to write; let the voices take over. I couldn’t do that because I had lost myself somewhere in the past two years.
I quieted my voice, and therefore the others wouldn’t shine through. It’s been almost two years since I lost my grandmother, and ten months prior to that I lost my grandfather. I didn’t deal. I allowed my need to take care of others, my snarkiness and humor to mask what was inside.
The relationship I had with my grandfather was in-your-face. Our banter, our passion, our voices were always battling, and it was one hell of a ride. I mourned and grieved for him . . . I dealt with him being gone. It was his time, and he was ready. I had my closure. While he will forever be in my heart, a void never filled, I understand.
My grandmother. She was my mentor. My champion. I strived to emulate her my entire life. It was her guidance, her strength, and her love that made me who I am. When Nana spoke in this story, it threw me for a loop. When I typed the word Alzheimer’s, I got up and walked away from my desk. I couldn’t do this. I refused to open this wound. I knew what I was doing, admitted to myself I was hiding . . . I came to terms with it. The rest of my life didn’t. Days of not writing turned into weeks. Into months. That allowed me time to dwell, to reminisce, to be angry, to confront what I hadn’t.
I didn’t deal. I couldn’t function. I was lost. I was angry. I was hurt. I needed her.
This story allowed me to share her with all of you, and in turn, with myself. I focused so much on taking care of her, doing what I needed to do that I forgot to see her. To hear her. I was that girl who felt the obligation because each visit, each trip to her home was a gift and a curse. I was lucky she was still here . . . but was she really? I would catch glimpses of her, but they were fleeting, and the more I tried to hold on to those, the faster they would evolve into the tantrum and lashing out.
Yes, I was the cult leader who kidnapped her.
Yes, I was the ‘dear friend’ visiting her.
Yes, I was lost to her as she was lost to all of us.
You can’t compete or prepare for that. IT HURTS. All I could do is show up, listen to her rants, her stories, hold her hand when she let me, and then allow my past with her to flood my head, never reaching my heart. Because it was broken. One day she patted my cheek, something she had always done as a loving gesture, and a moment came back to me.
I was a new mom, struggling, tired, and totally fucking clueless how I sustained my life as long as I did, and now I was responsible for another—I would go over to their house daily and hang out. This was before Alzheimer’s reared its ugly head. So my son had spit up all over the FIVE outfits I packed, was cranky, wouldn’t nap, didn’t want to be held, but didn’t want to be put down. I was about to lose my mind. She came over, swooped him up, rocked him for a few minutes as she hummed to him, fed him his bottle (which he drank and never spit up) burped him, and he fell asleep in her arms. She got up, went to the kitchen, and went about her business . . . all while cradling my sleeping child. What? How?
I followed her, determined to get answers. When I let my exasperation out with tears running down my cheeks, she chucked the flour into the bowl . . . because she was preparing a homemade, from scratch cake, while also preparing meat, baked apples, and green beans (fresh). Rolls were rising on her cutting board. Don’t forget the cheese and apples she would slice for my granddad’s snack. She walked over to me, patted my cheek, and let out a chuckle. I lost it. I’m not proud of that moment, but it’s one I learned from. I shouted at her. “It’s not funny!”
She turned to me with her eyes narrowed. First, I shouted at her. That was a no go. Second, she was holding my sleeping child. No way I wanted him awake. “I never said it was funny. I was trying to show you it’s the ending that matters. He’s fussy today. Tomorrow he’s going to be going off to college. But today he’s here. And in a few hours so will your husband, sister, and niece. I have a meal to prepare because at the end of the day that’s what I can do. I can look at what love created. My family under my roof, healthy and happy.”
Embracing Emma (Companion to Brisé) Page 26