But Nico had been there when she needed him, like a stashed first-aid kit.
Nico knew Tallie wasn’t ready for a real relationship or anything close to one. She was up front with him from the beginning, letting him know she hadn’t been with any man besides Joel in the past thirteen years. She told Nico that he was the last man she’d been with before Joel. She told Nico she was afraid she couldn’t even remember what it was like to be with any man besides Joel. Nico had said he’d help her remember. He’d said “good thing I’m not Joel” before kissing her mouth like he’d done when they were undergrads with spicy ramen breath and stinging eyes from staying up too late studying for finals. It was like a well-written short story: Nico had been an assistant to Tallie’s French professor, and Nico had also become her French tutor with benefits. Oui, they were adults now, with adult lives and the freedom and problems that came with, but. Part of him would always be College Nico.
College Nico in the emerald library light with his belle bouche and slow, stomach-swooping kisses. College Nico’s wide eyes when Tallie learned to translate and repeat his dirty talk. J’ai envie de te baiser. College Nico in a berry raglan sweatshirt, a pencil behind his ear; College Tallie turning into a soft candle watching him slip it there. College Nico in that fisherman’s cable-knit sweater heathered like static—the one she’d wanted to roll around like a dog on, cover herself with his scent. Espresso, peppermint, paper. Nico, je suis à toi.
Nico had been married for only two years when he and Saskia got divorced, and although their divorce wasn’t as gasp-scandalous and drama-filled as Tallie and Joel’s, Tallie and Nico found the same comfort in their similar broken afters. He called and texted Tallie often, checking in on her, and it was supportive and encouraging, not smothering. They’d slept together three times since her divorce, all three times at his spacious, glassy loft downtown. Him, breathless and naked on his back, reminding her before she left the second time that he was down for hooking up whenever she needed to remember that Joel didn’t have the only cock in the world.
It’d been a month since she’d seen him. He’d texted a few days before, telling her he might swing by Lionel’s costume party. Before meeting Emmett, she would’ve almost certainly gone home with Nico afterward, but Emmett was her “date” to the party now. Nico wasn’t nosy and wouldn’t ask too many questions. Their relationship had always been casually intense. Intensely casual. And if Nico wanted, Tallie was sure he could easily find a fun woman dressed like a taco or a clever woman wearing a white slip with the word Freudian written on it and disappear with her down Lionel’s long driveway at the end of the night. Thinking of Nico leaving the costume party with someone who wasn’t her didn’t exactly flick Tallie’s jealousy switch, but somewhere inside—somewhere she couldn’t specifically give voice to—she prickled.
Nico could be exceedingly stubborn and obsessive, fixating on an argument until he felt his point had been made one hundred times, but he was also self-aware and quick to apologize. He was handsome and desirable, like the men from her beloved Jane Austens. She imagined Miss Austen anachronistically describing him as tall, with cowlike Sinatra-blue eyes and long lashes—and an amiable countenance to match them. Nico’s energy was as blue as his eyes. Tallie sometimes found herself wondering why she didn’t go ahead and marry Nico when he asked, but they were in college. Couldn’t get the timing right. And now, any sort of serious relationship with anyone, even Nico, would be too soon after Joel.
She hadn’t acted out after her divorce besides unabashedly leaning into her natural tendency for woolgathering, crying while eating too much ice cream, indulging in a glass or two of wine in the middle of her off days, and spending too much money on yarn, pajamas, and French and Korean skin care. She was secretly jealous of her divorced girlfriends who’d gotten plastic surgery, splurged on tropical vacations and luxury cars, had mindless sex with men they’d met on hookup apps. One girlfriend of hers disappeared to Paris with a dashing Frenchman for more than a month. Aisha cut her hair after her breakups and repainted the walls of her bedroom, burned sage and smoked away even the faintest memories of her lovers. Tallie hadn’t gotten a prescription for sleeping pills when she’d been struggling; she hadn’t even gotten a post-divorce haircut. She hadn’t gone wild yet, but she’d been feeling the pinball lever of it pulled out tight, ready for release after years of ignoring her own feelings and listening to everyone else’s instead. She could be wild! She could do something! Anything could happen!
* * *
Emmett French-inhaled again, and it was sexy. Why was he doing that? So sexy. Oh, the rebellious paradox of her not wanting him to harm himself but also loving to watch him smoke. Tallie turned away with blushes. Was he doing this on purpose? Was he seriously this sexy and didn’t know it? Knew but didn’t care? He had plenty on his mind. He could lean there, smoke sexily, and it wouldn’t matter to anyone in the world. He was depressed, and depression wasn’t sexy. She saw so much of it every day that she didn’t have a romanticized idea of it. People died, people were miserable, people gave up. Forgot how important and loved they were. Depression was a vacuum that sucked out everything—leaving nothing behind except the burdening weight of nothingness.
They’d been quiet, smoking by the window of the restaurant. She was afraid Emmett would be able to read her mind because of the look on her face, so she relaxed it. A technique she used often with her clients: projecting placidity. And when he smiled at her it wasn’t the creepy one. It was toothsome and tricky. Like he was saying, I told you so. Tallie smiled in accord. Absolutely. You told me so.
* * *
“Thanks again for this. The food and spirits, figuring out the costumes,” he said as they wandered around the outlet mall after lunch, the air like cool water.
“Don’t mention it,” she said, pausing only for a moment before blurting out, “Yesterday I told you I feel better, but sometimes I still have a hard time with my divorce.”
“Honestly? He sounds like a dumbass. You’re too good for him,” Emmett said, as if he’d been waiting for permission to say it.
“You sure about that?” Tallie asked, snickering.
They stopped in front of a candle store. Tallie felt like she wasn’t a proper steward of her money when she went in there and inevitably paid fifty dollars for candles that made her house smell like campfires, pumpkins, apple trees. She looked at the window display and saw a limited-edition fall candle they were sold out of last time. She pushed her nose to the glass.
“Hell, yeah. I would’ve given anything for a wife like you. That’s me being honest,” he said, looking at the same candle with matched intensity.
“Oh, please, you must be drunk,” she said, giggling. “Let’s go get this candle. This store is so overpriced. Let’s go inside.” She took his hand and he let her.
* * *
She’d worn comforting clothes to the outlet mall that made her feel pretty, like a forty-year-old Hermione Granger on a day trip to Hogsmeade for butterbeer. A toasty, oversize cardigan she’d finished knitting during the heat of summer. The color a deep goldenrod. She wore it over a long-sleeved gray bodysuit, dark skinny jeans. She’d chosen her trusty brown waterproof boots over the toffee-colored oxfords she’d wanted to wear, proud of how she’d gone with the more reasonable, practical choice for once in the past twenty-four hours. She didn’t want to make it look like she was trying too, too hard, but it was a special occasion—Emmett was alive! And so was she! She’d put on hoop earrings, concealer and powder, eyeliner and blush. And lipstick, always lipstick. She never left the house without at least some nude color and gloss.
After Tallie got the candles, they wandered in and out of the other stores, only touching things, mocking, occasionally agreeing when anything cool and interesting was discovered.
“So you’ve been married?” she asked him as they made their way through the rest of the mall and to the parking lot, returning to her car. She’d bought him a fuzzy blue snow hat with ear flaps, pu
lled it on top of his head, and he still had it on, looking like he had owned it his whole life. She’d gotten herself a red one to match.
“I’ve been married,” he said.
Christine? Brenna? Both?
“What happened?” she asked.
“What happened is…I’m not married anymore.”
She smiled at him, playfully swatted at his elbow.
“That’s all you’re giving me?” she asked.
“Your turn to tell me something honest.”
“I’m thinking of adopting a baby,” she said. She’d told only one other soul: Aisha.
“Whoa. Big talk. Huge talk.”
“Yep. I go to the same websites every couple days and think What if?”
She liked to click around reading about the pregnant women, some of them not due for months and months from now. How if they made a good match, that baby could be hers anywhere from twenty-four hours to three days after it was born. She loved thinking about converting her spare bedroom into a nursery and knitting tiny socks and hats with bamboo yarn. It didn’t terrify her, as it had in the not-so-distant past, thinking of how much her life would change, thinking of doing it as a single woman. The trauma of Joel’s betrayal and their divorce had made her feel as if she were starting her entire life over. She’d tried to fight it off, but now? Now she was finally ready to do just that.
* * *
Emmett was driving her car. Tallie was too buzzed, and despite her recent behavior, she really wasn’t a natural risk taker. She’d been on safety patrol in elementary school, forced her family to practice fire drills in every house they’d lived in growing up. She’d convinced Joel they needed to start traveling with a portable carbon monoxide detector when they stayed in hotels after hearing about couples who had been killed by the murderous gas on vacation. Tallie, comfortable in her own passenger seat, clicked on the radio and searched for a song she thought Emmett might like.
“Tell me when to stop,” she said. She flicked through the stations one by one, and he didn’t make a peep until she landed on Sam Cooke singing “Bring It On Home to Me.”
“This one. I like this one,” he said.
“I like this one, too.”
“Why did you say you would’ve given anything for a wife like me?” she asked before she could talk herself out of it. They were at a stop sign. The wipers, a sleepy heartbeat. In the side mirror, red and blue lights spun through the rain. The siren chirped.
“It’s okay. It’s all right,” Emmett said calmly, both hands on the wheel.
“Shit, are you drunk? Look at me.” He obeyed. His eyes weren’t bloodshot or glassy.
“I’m fine.”
Tallie turned around to see the officer approaching the car. She knew he’d ask for license and registration and proof of insurance next. That’s what happened, that’s what always happened. Emmett had taken his new fuzzy snow hat off, quieted Sam Cooke, killed the engine, rolled the window down. When had he done those things? There were gaps in her memory. She should start doing more crossword puzzles or download one of those apps on her phone to help—some kind of brain booster. Maybe vitamins? She needed to re-up her vitamin stash. Organic, food-based. She’d place an order later. She’d donate money to protect young girls from the sex slave trade and put in a vitamin order. She’d do it as soon as she got home and have everything delivered and taken care of by Sunday evening in order to start off the new week right.
“I’ve pulled you over because you failed to come to a complete stop at the sign back there. License and registration and proof of insurance,” the officer said once he was at the driver’s-side window.
“Sorry, Officer. Here’s the registration and proof of insurance,” Emmett said after reaching into the glove compartment and getting the paperwork. Tallie hadn’t told him where it was; he’d opened the glove compartment and found it himself.
Tallie sat with her hands quiet in her lap, looking at them like they didn’t belong to her. Like she’d gotten new hands zipped onto her wrists and it was her job to inspect them, to make sure they were the hands she wanted. She looked at her bare left ring finger, her short nails she’d recently painted burnt orange.
“Your license?” the officer said.
“I don’t have it on me. All apologies.”
“Is there a reason you don’t have your license on you?”
“No, Officer. I just forgot it.”
“You should always have it on you when you’re operating a motor vehicle,” the officer said to Emmett in a voice Tallie was sure should be used only for disobedient children.
“Right. Yes, sir.”
“What’s your name?” the officer asked after sighing and pulling out a small pad of paper.
“Okay…can I talk to you for a second, please?” Emmett asked. “I can step out?”
“Absolutely. Why don’t you do that, huh? Go on and step out for me,” the officer said, opening the door from the outside.
The officer was clearly in an awful mood, and Emmett was going to get handcuffed and arrested because she’d gotten buzzed at lunch and let him drive. It was her fault. Shame on her for letting Emmett drink alcohol in her presence after last night. Maybe he was an alcoholic. Maybe he had a drug problem. She shouldn’t have been drinking with him, period. But! Emmett wasn’t one of her clients, and she deserved a break, too! Truly. Or she could end up on the bridge like him. Still—guilt, shame, foolishness—the intensity of her emotions warmed her face.
She could bail him out if he didn’t have any outstanding warrants. But…maybe he’d committed heinous crimes with a woman who looked a lot like her? The officer would handcuff her and take her in, too. The residents of Fox Commons would have an emergency meeting and tell the media they’d always suspected her. She wore so much yellow, and she recently went through a divorce. Pity. She clearly snapped. She’d have to shut TLC Counseling Services down. She’d get lectured by her brother about how careless she was, again. She didn’t bother wiping the tears away. She was crying about Lionel never mincing words, about Joel’s new baby girl, about Emmett feeling hopeless and lonely enough to stand on that bridge yesterday.
“It’s okay, Tallie. It’s all good,” Emmett said quietly when he saw she was crying. She nodded at him, and he got out of the car, was polite to the officer. Tallie turned away from them and watched the rain slide down the passenger window. She glanced in the mirror and saw Emmett with his hands on his head as the officer patted him down.
“Do you have any weapons on you? Anything that’s going to poke me?” she heard the officer ask Emmett.
“There’s a knife clipped to my pocket,” Emmett said.
He had a knife and Tallie hadn’t seen it—but of course he did. Pretty much every man she’d ever known had carried a knife with him, as if they all got assigned one at birth.
“Is that all you have?” the officer asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“No guns, drugs?”
“No, sir.”
After Tallie turned to see the police officer slip the knife from Emmett’s pocket and heard it thunk on the top of her car, she was careful to remain perfectly still. Emmett and the officer walked toward the patrol car. On Emmett’s face: serenity. Tallie saw it before he got in. She kept crying and watching the rain, which was letting up. What else was there to do? The red and blue lights were still spinning. On the sidewalk across from them, there was an old man in a raincoat walking a dog wearing a matching raincoat—the kind of thing that would usually make Tallie squeal with joy and snap a pic to send to Aisha or Zora. But no, Tallie was still, still, still as a statue.
Would the officer come to the car and give her instructions? Check to see if she was drunk? If she could drive properly? Tow her car if she didn’t pass? She hadn’t had a speeding ticket in fifteen years. She had no clue how any of this worked.
After what felt like forever, Tallie looked in the mirror and saw the officer and Emmett shake hands before he got out of the patrol car. The offi
cer turned off his lights and drove away, waving at them; he smiled at her as he passed. She heard Emmett get his knife from the top of the car, and he sat behind her steering wheel, stretched back so he could reclip the knife in his pocket. She was still crying.
“Hey. It’s all right. I told you it was all right,” he said, putting his hand on her arm. It began raining harder. So hard it seemed as if the rain were coming up from the ground to meet the water from the sky somewhere in the middle.
“What did you say to him? What happened? He was being such a dick, then he waves at us?”
“I told him the truth. It’s fine. Hey. It’s all right,” he said again.
Tallie directed Emmett to her place. He turned the radio back on—Motown, Four Tops—as if they didn’t have a million things to discuss. He was frustratingly calm, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Tallie wiped her eyes, tapped the radio off.
“Emmett, what the hell happened? Tell me! I was sitting here freaking out, afraid to move!” she said, raising her voice.
He put his hand on her leg and continued driving carefully. She couldn’t imagine how anxious she would’ve been if she didn’t have leftover bourbon sluicing through her bloodstream like medicine.
“I’m sorry you got so upset,” he said. Before returning his hand to the wheel, he squeezed her thigh so tenderly she wondered if she’d imagined it.
“Turn left,” she directed him. “And turn right up there.”
“I didn’t want you to get upset. The officer was nice. He asked if I’d been drinking…if we’d been drinking. I didn’t tell him the truth about that because it would’ve gotten me into trouble. I lied to him about it, but that was all. I’m not buzzed anymore. Sometimes alcohol blows straight through my system. I’m a quarter Scottish.” Emmett shrugged. “He asked me how I knew you. I told him you were a friend. He’d heard about your brother’s Halloween party, by the way.”
Tallie pointed, and Emmett pulled into her driveway, turned the engine off.
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