“Sure,” she said, fidgeting with her hands, twisting her fingers together.
“Look, I don’t want to try to hide this. I have a driver. He doesn’t have anything else to do, so let’s have him take us,” I said, unable to help my defensive tone.
“It’s cool. Look, I’m not judging. We all have our shit.”
Johnny was waiting outside when we pushed through the heavy doors onto Central Park South. I told him where to drop us, and he pulled away from the curb without comments or questions. Small miracles do happen.
Emerson’s phone buzzed, and she asked, “Do you mind if I grab this?”
I shook my head, and she swept her finger over the phone.
“What’s up?” She looked out the window as she listened, nodding. “Oh, that sounds great . . . Glad your mom will be there . . . Sure, let me see if I can get the day off. I don’t want to make too much work for her . . . Um, okay, I’ll text you.”
After quickly disconnecting the call, Emerson smiled like I’d never seen her smile before. Granted, we’d only spent a few times together, but suddenly, irrational jealousy raged just beneath my skin.
“All good?” I asked, tempering my feelings at whoever the fuck put the smile on her face.
“Oh. Yeah. That was my friend Bev. She runs her mom’s bakery. It’s cute. We should go there sometime.” Like creamer in coffee, her comment lightened my mood. “Anyway, they’re having an art show next Friday, and she invited me. I’ve been wanting to meet her mom, and she’ll be there.” Her eyes turned almost blue, excitement sparking in the normally light green orbs.
“You like art?”
“I do,” she said, looking away. “I think so, at least. I’m figuring that out lately. Bev’s mom knows a lot of art people, and a few may be there. I can ask questions, mingle, figure it out.”
There was something she wasn’t saying. Emerson was hiding a thing or two, but I didn’t push. After all, I hadn’t been up front about Moira or my original plan to go back to her, or my reticence to admit I was somewhat happy with Moira’s dismissal of me.
Deciding to let it go, I wanted to live in the here and now and savor this decent moment in this dreaded city I’d been plopped down into.
Johnny dropped us off on the corner near Chelsea Market, where the buildings were markedly less vertical and the vibe less severe. I felt my breathing get a bit easier. My dad could have at least taken time to know me, understand my likes, help me find my own way in this city, rather than just deposit me where he did without any input from me.
“This place is just the right amount of hipster. Not too garish, zero feel of old money, but casually hip, yet not overly hip,” Emerson said, rambling as we made our way down the aisles of Chelsea Market.
I turned to her and lifted an eyebrow. “Casually hip?”
“What? I like to really understand a place. So, kill me,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender.
“You do work with the bunny! I mean, you’re sort of casually hip—”
With a pretty decent side-eye, Emerson told me, “Shut it.”
“I like it here too. Food’s all pretty good, and the vibe is just right,” I said, giving in and agreeing with her.
We paused in front of a Mediterranean restaurant.
“Wanna try this?” I asked her. “I’ve been once before, and it’s pretty damn good.”
“Smells yum. Did you know, vegetarian food is big in a beach town? We have a juice and vegan place on every corner. But I didn’t take you for a veggie. More of a carnivore.”
“Back at home, I’m all about the meat on the grill, but this shit’s growing on me.” I winked at Emerson, and with two fingers in the air, motioned to the hostess that we needed a table.
“We only have bar seats right now. That okay?” She waved toward the bar seating, facing the open kitchen.
I looked at Emerson. “You okay with that?”
“Great,” she told the hostess.
Seated in front of the hot grill, Emerson scanned the kitchen with wide eyes.
“You like to cook?” I asked her.
“I do. I’ve always experimented in the kitchen, especially during the long winters. Most of the places close up until the vacation season, so my dad and I ate at home a lot.”
“I bet you’re a good daughter.”
“Nah,” she said softly, rearranging the condiments on the counter. “My dad misses me now, and I didn’t leave on good terms.”
“I’m sure he understands. People fight.”
“I did the one thing he asked me never to do. Look for my mom.”
“Can I get you guys anything to drink?”
A brusque server interrupted our moment, and I could have sworn I saw relief wash over Emerson’s face.
“Beer?” I asked.
“I have a great IPA from upstate on tap,” he said, his gaze dropping to Emerson’s bare legs.
“Great, I’ll take it. Em?”
“I’ll have one too.”
“ID?” The server eyed her up and down.
“Oh, I forgot it. Never mind,” she said with a weak giggle.
His eyes still on her thighs, I suspected he may have served her if I weren’t sitting next to her.
“Thanks, buddy. Bring some Cokes too,” I said, dismissing Mr. Leery Eyes.
Emerson side-eyed me again when he left. “I think I’m too young to be with you.”
“Be quiet. Now, tell me why you think your dad won’t forgive you.”
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and I noticed the pierced earrings studded along her cartilage. A tiny hand, an evil eye, and an arrow. Obviously, she felt she needed to ward off bad juju.
“He hates my mom, ever since the day she left me on his doorstep and walked away. Not because of me, though. That I believe. He loves me, did the best he could, blah, blah. But he hated her for never coming back, for not realizing her mistake. I mean, who doesn’t want to know their daughter? But he didn’t look for her or try either—instead, he strangled me with rules and tried to keep me under his thumb.”
“Maybe he needed that,” I said. “For himself. Maybe he worried you would leave too. Or maybe he worried about you being hurt again. I mean, I’m sure it wasn’t easy growing up not knowing your mom. I know . . . because of my dad. I had Bruce, though.”
“Well, I did leave. And, yes, it hurt, but not in the way he thought. I didn’t feel like I was missing something other than answers. I wanted to know why she did it.”
“You’re not in Africa or the Middle East. If she wanted to see you, she would’ve. Not to be harsh, but sometimes you gotta let these things go. And you can’t tell me I don’t get it.”
She shrugged, her shoulders slumping.
“Look, you’re only one state over,” I told her. “Call your dad, go see him, and make peace. Then come back and look for your mom, if you still feel you want to.”
She shook her head. “Not until I find my mom. I don’t think she would’ve left New York. From what I heard, she loved it more than anything. More than me, obviously. But I still want to find her.”
“Do you want her to see what she missed? Or do you want to torture yourself with what you may have missed? Or maybe you didn’t miss anything at all . . . could it be?”
“The first. And then I want to go on with my life. Actually, maybe a little of them all.”
Leery Eyes was back with our drinks, and I quickly ordered some appetizers without asking Emerson for her opinion, wanting him gone.
“Well, then, cheers to you finding her soon. I just wouldn’t want you to be chasing a connection or relationship that may never happen.” I clinked my glass into hers and took a sip.
“Obviously, your dad thinks he missed out on something . . . with what he’s doing. And he’s trying to make up for lost time,” she said to me while looking at the floor.
“I don’t know what my dad’s motives are, but they feel more like post-war reparations than genuine feelings. I think it’
s more a guilty conscience than anything else.”
Our food began to arrive, and we shifted the conversation back to less serious subjects.
I told her I was studying business, because what else was there to study? I wasn’t going to be a doctor or lawyer. One day, maybe I’d expand the farm, have some sort of bed-and-breakfast type deal going on. Host weddings. Come up with an extra revenue stream or two. I didn’t mention Moira, or how a few short months ago, I thought we’d build these ideas together.
Emerson said she was putting off school. “A gap year. Although, no one from where I’m from takes one. They either go to work or school. No one is rich or extravagant enough to do it. I guess I’m working, really. Waitressing. Like him,” she said, watching Leery Eyes make his way over with our entrées.
“Maybe you could go to culinary school or do something with food?” I suggested.
“Ha! With what money? My dad isn’t paying for me to stay here and traipse around. He was going to send me to college in New Jersey for state tuition. He was cosigning on a loan.”
“Take a loan here. I’m sure you could make it all work.”
“You’ve never even eaten my cooking,” she said, pretending to punch my arm.
“Well, now I know what to plan for the next time we get together.”
“Oh, now I’m cooking for you? Slaving in the kitchen?”
“At least you didn’t argue about a next time.”
She dug her fork into the baba ghanoush and moaned once she slipped it into her mouth. “That’s good.”
I wanted to say, “Not as good as watching you eat it.” But I kept that to myself.
Emerson
“Emerson!”
My name carried through the bar, and I looked up to find Robby making his way through the crowd. Tall, out of place in his buttoned-down shirt and belted khakis, the guy who used to rock my world now only made me feel anger and sadness.
Shit. I forgot.
“I was going to wait until tomorrow, but surprise! I came early.” He approached wearing his big, fake smile.
Oh, right. He was supposed to come on Tuesday and today was Monday. I had a legitimate reason for not remembering.
Searching for the right words, I stalled as I shoved back a thick hank of hair that had fallen from my messy bun behind my ear. “So, you decided to find me at work?”
That’s the entirety of what I could come up with in a sea of possible responses. I tried to school the anger in my voice, but I wasn’t very effective. It felt like Robby was checking up on me, or maybe that was my guilty conscience?
I hadn’t talked to Price since yesterday when he—well, Johnny—drove me back to Queens. Price’s lips had grazed my forehead as we stood in front of my door. He’d said we’d see each other soon, but I had work and he had classes.
Robby’s smile faltered. “Wow. I thought you’d be a little more excited. Cute place here, where you’re working. Your dad would love to see it.”
“Em!” Randy, my coworker, stood by the flip-up bar door with a heavy bucket of ice, eyeing me, desperate for someone to open the counter for him.
“Coming,” I told him, holding up a finger to Robby.
Randy gave me a once-over as I flipped up the door. “You good?”
“Yeah, friend from home.”
I turned to go back and meet whatever battle Robby was here to start, but Randy tapped my shoulder.
“Holler if you need me,” he whispered.
I nodded and whispered back, “Thanks.”
When I got back after helping Randy, Robby had found a spot on a stool and was staring at his phone like it held all the answers. Or nuclear codes.
“Sorry,” I told him, but I wasn’t. I’d needed the space and the quick break. A month ago, I’d wanted to give him my virginity. Now I found solace in my coworker having my back over any potential blowback of Robby showing up unannounced.
The initial surprise was starting to wear off, and still . . . none of my old feelings for him rushed back. Nada. Zip.
“Want something to drink?” I asked Robby, sliding a menu in front of him.
“I have an ID,” he whispered.
Shaking my head, I told him, “It’s fine, no one will check. This is Astoria. We serve drinks and make money. We don’t police people unless they’re falling over drunk or beating the shit out of someone.”
“Beer, whatever you have on draft.”
I pulled him a draft and set it on a coaster in front of him.
“Your dad’s worried and wants to see you,” Robby said. “He wanted to come with me today, but I told him I’d check in. You should come home. Give up the ghost, make peace. Paula isn’t a part of your life.”
“No,” I said firmly, busying myself so I didn’t need to meet his eyes.
“Emerson, your dad knows he was too strict, that he caused you to run off. But it’s only because he cares. Go see him. He wants to make amends. He needs to tell you that he wants us to be together. To give us his blessing. Then we’re good.”
Stunned, I finally looked up. “Blessing? What, are you crazy? This isn’t some arranged marriage. We’re high school sweethearts. I wanted to spend the night with you, but I also want to find my mom, and as luck would have it, I’m close. I have some leads.” Glaring at him, I added, “You and my dad can’t decide my life for me. I’m not some slab of meat hanging in a butcher shop.”
“You don’t need to find her. I’m the steady in your life. Your dad’s the steady. What else do you need?” Robby reached out and took my wrist in his hand, his grasp a little tighter than I liked.
Pulling back, hard, I wanted to ask him where this was coming from, but we were interrupted. And I started to think I might need Randy.
“Hey, leave the lady alone.”
The voice came from somewhere close by, and it wasn’t Randy’s voice. It was Price.
“Shit.” This time I didn’t keep the obscenities inside my head.
“Mind your own business, dude,” Robby said harshly to Price.
“This is my business. Em’s a friend.”
Robby stood and puffed his chest out. “Is that so? Well, she’s my girl.”
“I don’t give a shit. This absolutely fucking is so my business.” Price stood tall, no chest puffing required, throwing Robby’s words back in his face.
Robby turned to me. “Emerson? Care to explain?”
“Don’t talk down to her,” Price said, staring Robby down.
Frustrated, I held up my hands. “I have to get to work, Robby. Tell my dad I need closure. Or I will. And thanks for looking out for me, Price. I need to make money, so you two can both go your own ways, and I’ll talk to everyone later. ’Kay?”
I snatched Robby’s now empty glass and tossed it in the sink before moving down the bar. Yeah, I ran, but this was too much to deal with on a regular old Monday.
The bar’s door hadn’t even slapped shut behind me after my shift was over before Price was next to me. “You okay?” he asked, his palm on my shoulder stilling me.
“I’m fine,” I told him. “Seriously.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, thanks for letting me do my thing. Some of us have to work for a living.” When he pulled his hand away, I felt its loss more than I would have liked. “I’m sorry. That was a low blow.”
“S’okay. You’ve had a rough night. Want me to take you home?”
“You mean, Johnny?” I asked as the two of us strolled down the sidewalk, going nowhere in particular.
Price’s hand found my waist and stopped me in my tracks. His touch wasn’t rough or painful like when Robby had grabbed my wrist. It was gentle, if that’s a thing. What the heck did I know?
“No. I sent Johnny home and waited here for you. Myself.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? Who the hell is that guy, Emerson? Is he the one you’re holding out for? He doesn’t deserve to be in the same room as you, let alone in your bed. Is that who you’re running back to or from?”
“He’s confused or nervous or something, but he cares for me,” I said, stupidly defending Robby.
Price frowned and shook his head. “He’s not.”
As if drawn like magnets, our bodies met, our feet taking small steps on their own until our chests barely touched, right in the middle of a busy sidewalk in New York.
“Price . . .”
“Em, listen to me. When it comes to you, there’s no reason to be confused. To know you, to see you, watch you smile the way I saw you smile on the way to the market . . . the way you’re easygoing, but serious when it matters, the passion you feel when it comes to others . . . I promise you, there’s no confusion. Not one moment’s confusion.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, because he didn’t give me a chance to ask him to explain.
Before I could take another breath, his lips met mine in a bruising kiss. Closed mouth, urgent, hurried but great. I didn’t think he cared we were in public, and I knew I didn’t. Having Price’s mouth on mine was a luxury I didn’t even know I yearned for, yet here I was savoring it.
“I’m not confused,” he said when he broke away from me. “I want you, all of you. The looking for your mom version, the upset with yourself for abandoning your dad side, and everything in between.”
“Price, I’m a waitress. And you . . . you’re together.” That was the only argument I could come up with.
“Come on, Em. Let’s get an Uber and get you home.”
My right hand tucked in his left, he used his free hand to order a car, some unfamiliar but welcome energy swirling around us.
The next morning, I sat in bed and dialed Robby.
“Emerson, what the fuck?” was how he picked up my call.
“What?” I decided to play dumb. It was early, and I wasn’t fully awake. And I was in denial. My personal life was like a storybook run through the paper shredder. All of my early chapters blown to bits, with nothing to show for where I’d been and what I’d done.
With empty pages behind me, it was time for me to write my own future.
“What? You acted like I was a stranger, basically tossed me out of the bar after you sicced your new boy toy on me. What the hell? Have you been pining away for me, or dating half of New York? Which one is it?”
Wanderlove - Rachel Blaufeld Page 7