Wanderlove - Rachel Blaufeld

by Rachel Blaufeld

  During our tiff, Bev and I had missed each other. When we made up, I’d gone back to work on the premise we wouldn’t discuss Paula. And now her mom wanted to get all Chatty Cathy on me? She still hadn’t given me Paula’s address as planned.

  I couldn’t relate to Bev’s undying devotion to her mother, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t envious. A few months ago, last year, I would have given anything to meet my mom.

  But now? Now I wasn’t so sure I wanted to find her. I had Price and a good life, and I was starting to talk with my dad again. Maybe everyone was right—maybe this search wasn’t worth it.

  Practically turning green over Bev’s relationship with her mom wasn’t a good look for me, so I swallowed all my mixed emotions. “Of course I’d never stand in the way. If Sheila asked, let’s go.”

  I untied my apron, set it on the counter, and flipped the sign to CLOSED before heading out the door with Bev. She’d stopped sobbing, but every breath was labored. She seemed to be dying alongside her mother, something else I’d never truly get, especially since Paula remained a mystery. I knew she existed. I knew she’d been married to a wealthy businessman and had fought a lifetime battle with addiction. She’d disappeared recently, but where to? No one had a fucking clue.

  Perhaps that’s what Sheila wanted to share with me.

  “Come on,” Bev said. “We’ll take a cab. Like my mom keeps reminding me, I’m getting my inheritance early. The bakery will be all mine to do with what I want.” She stood out in the street and threw her hand up in the air.

  “Don’t say things like that,” I said, advising her from no personal experience whatsoever. I tried to channel Price. What would he say or do?

  My heart ached like nothing I’d ever felt before in my life. Price had been back home at his beloved farm for only a few days, and my heart ached for him. The idea that he was spending time with his high school sweetheart worried me. He’d hated New York, and at one point, couldn’t wait to get back home.

  I just didn’t understand why home meant so much to him. Home was just a place, right?

  Once Bev and I reached their apartment, I was surprised to see how much Sheila had faded in the past week. She was sitting at their kitchen table, her face pale and thin, dark circles under her eyes.

  Sheila handed me a slip of paper. “There—that’s her address, the last place she lived before she went wherever she’s been. She could be dead, for all I know.”

  Her hand shook when she handed it over. My mouth dropped open at her insensitive words, so unlike her.

  “Mom!” Bev shrieked.

  “She’s only being honest. I don’t know much about addiction, but I’m pretty sure my mom hurt yours in more ways than one. I’m sure she didn’t mean to,” I said, defending a woman I’d never met. “It was the drugs. I guess that’s why she left me.”

  Sheila sighed. “I’m sorry, so sorry, girls. Bev’s right. That wasn’t fair. The chemo is messing with my sense of humor. Anyway, that was where Paula was staying after she got divorced. I only went there once or twice. She lived a bit like a hermit then, kept to herself. Partly because her marriage failed . . . and partly, I suspect, because she was using a lot.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Sad, but the truth hurts. I could be too late. I may have missed my chance. To be honest, I’m not even sure what I can do. Or what to say . . . hey, mom, here I am!”

  “Don’t say that,” Sheila said, scolding me. “This is on me; I’m being down. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough as her friend. But that man, he was her new beginning and demise all wrapped up in one. His money and his past became her worst enemies. She loved his money, but then it enabled her to get the good stuff and ignore all of us peons. And his past haunted him too.”

  “What do you mean?” Bev asked, still in her dance outfit, her orange raincoat now discarded.

  “Look at the paper,” Sheila told me.

  A good night’s sleep was 100 percent why my hand shouldn’t be shaking right now. I’d not only had one but two great nights’ sleep since Price left, a weekend to myself, and plenty of time to think about how much I wanted this very moment.

  Shoving an errant hair behind my ear, I took a deep breath. On this folded piece of yellow lined paper was my best clue. My only real clue to finding the one person I’d wanted to meet since I realized all my friends had a mom and I didn’t. This was my strongest lead. Maybe, finally, I was going to find my mom. I wanted to hold it close to my heart and rip it up at the same time. The tips of my fingers tingled.

  I set it on the counter next to me. Opening the fold, sliding my palm along the creases, I stared at the address written in cursive. More like gaped, my mouth open wide, tears suddenly stinging my eyes.

  I whipped my head up to stare at Sheila. “Is this some sort of joke?”

  She shook her head, and Bev looked confused.

  “What?” Bev snatched the paper from me. “So? It’s some ritzy place on Central Park South. Are you shocked? We told you she found someone who had more money than she was raised with—”

  “This is Price’s address,” I shrieked. “Where he lives, the apartment his dad bought for him. This is where I live with him.”

  “It’s not a coincidence.” Sheila looked at the tile floor in their kitchen. “Or a joke. I’m sorry, Emerson.”

  My world reeling, I stared at the kitchen floor with tear-filled eyes. Blurry swirls of black tiles mixed in with white made me dizzy.

  “Why?” I half screamed, half whispered. Was this even possible?

  “This is why I didn’t want to give it you,” Sheila said softly. “Why I dragged my feet.”

  Bev stood in front of me and shook me. “What the freak is going on?”

  I was standing there, mumbling gibberish, still looking at the floor, feeling crazed.

  “When you said your boyfriend’s name was Price,” Sheila said, “I became curious because it’s an uncommon first name. Called a few friends. I knew the man Paula married had a son whose name was Price. Paula is gone, and I don’t know where, but her ex-husband moved his son into her apartment about a couple months ago. They’d been estranged, and it had been an effort to reconnect.”

  I remember hearing Bev saying, “You need to sit down,” and then everything went black.

  Bev’s voice came to me from what seemed like far away. “Em, open your eyes. You’re gonna be okay. Open them, come on.”

  A cold cloth was pressed to my forehead.

  “That feels good,” I whispered. “Can I stay like this forever?”

  “Oh, thank God. You passed out.”

  Bev continued to ramble on about how worried she was, and I still didn’t open my eyes. As long as they were closed, my reality still included being in love with Price—and him loving me back—and not falling for the son of my missing mom’s ex-husband.

  “Come on, sweetie. Open your eyes,” Bev told me.

  I shook my head, stubbornly squeezing my eyes tight and pressing my lips together.

  “This isn’t going to change anything,” she said gently. “With Price.”

  “It will,” I mumbled. Opening my eyes, I looked at my friend. “You don’t know. He had it out with his dad recently, and a few weeks before that. He’s definitely been wanting to limit any and all contact with his dad. He hates him. Now I’m living with Price in this apartment, and he’s going to think the same as you—that I orchestrated all of this to get close to my mom.”

  “This isn’t your fault,” she said as she sat me up, then helped me into a chair at the kitchen table.

  “You thought it was, remember? And he told me to explain it to you, but I know he won’t be as forgiving. He’s a small-town guy at heart, who believes relationships are built on trust. He’ll see me as a liar.”

  A sob jumped to my throat, begging to come out. “I lost my virginity in that apartment. I’m living there now, and all this time, it was my mom’s. Why? Of all the guys, of all the damn apartments in this huge city, how did I fall for him a
nd meet you? Christ, it’s like a cruel joke. Like my mom is the guy behind the drape in the Wizard of Oz, and she’s playing puppeteer or whatever, making me end up in this tangled mess.”

  “Shhh, you’re letting yourself get carried away.” Bev placed her hand on my shoulder, stilling me.

  “All I wanted was to know my mom. Now I almost lost the only friend I made. And I most certainly will lose the guy I fell in love with. Oh, and guess what? I still don’t know where my fucking mom is!”

  Drained of words, I dropped my forehead onto Bev’s shoulder and rid myself of all my tears too. She patted my back, rocking me back and forth until my sobs slowed and my sniffles died down.

  After a while, I accepted a handful of tissues from Sheila and wiped my face, then blew my nose. Sniffling one last time, I choked out, “I have to call my dad. I messed everything up.”

  Bev and Sheila stood up and said they’d wait in the living room until I was done.

  Both from broken homes, Bev and I were kindred spirits. She got me. I’d thought the same about Price, but now the situation was way different, and we were screwed.

  “Dad,” I cried into the phone. This was becoming a bad habit. I’d left to be more independent, and all I did was call my daddy, crying.

  “What’s wrong, baby?”

  Hearing his voice only made me cry harder. I was supposed to be strong and independent. I am woman, hear me roar, and all that. For Christ’s sake, I was raised by a single man, shouldn’t that make me tough?

  “Dad . . .” I sobbed out his name, my voice hoarse, wrung out with emotion.

  “Emerson, are you okay?” His worry seemed to radiate through the phone.

  “Mom, she used to live in Price’s apartment, but I didn’t know. I didn’t fall for him because of that, I swear—”

  “You don’t have to prove anything to me, honey. I know you didn’t.”

  “But he’s going to think so,” I wailed.

  “I don’t think so, baby girl. He’s a wise kid. Wise beyond his years. In fact, when I finally put it all together—”

  “What do you mean?” My question came out more as a shriek.

  “Well, I had a hunch. When I was chatting with Price, he mentioned his name and how he was part Middle Eastern. I may be from a small town, but I’m not dumb. I knew what your grandpap found out. I knew who your mom married, and at the time, all that stuck with me was he was filthy rich. I can admit, I was jealous or envious, whatever. He had something I didn’t.”

  My father’s words rattled in my head, confusing me.

  “Wait! This isn’t about you now. You knew this about Price and me. Sheila too. And no one thought to tell me?”

  “We were all protecting you, I guess. We knew you’d find out on your own terms. That is, I don’t know Sheila, but I’m guessing.”

  “Crap, I have to put an end to all this craziness.” Anger had replaced my sadness, and I felt a stubborn destructive streak coursing through my veins.

  “I gotta go,” I told my dad as Bev made her way back into the kitchen. I shooed her out with my hand.

  “Em, listen to me. None of this is Price’s fault. Do you hear me? Don’t take this out on him.”

  Not really sure what I knew or what I heard, I knew what I had to do. After disconnecting the call, I marched out to Sheila and Bev’s living room. “I’ll be back. You stay.”

  “Wait!” they called out in unison, but I didn’t listen.

  Price

  “I’m back!” Finally back from Pennsylvania, I dropped my bag on the floor, disappointed that the apartment looked empty.

  Emerson hadn’t answered any of my texts all day. Not a single one. I knew she was working at the bakery, but it was closed for the day by now. Fucking Moira and that group text stuck in my gut like sour milk.

  My greeting met silence, but the security alarm wasn’t on, so I wondered if Emerson fell asleep. That had to be it.

  “Em?” I called, walking toward the bedroom. My pulse raced, worry and regret pounding in my chest.

  I stopped when I noticed a yellow sticky note on the counter.

  I can’t do this right now. It’s not about you, but my mom.

  Love always, E

  “What the fuck?” I roared, crumpling the note and slamming my other hand onto the metal island.

  I stalked toward the bedroom and found Emerson curled up in a ball on the bed, her eyes open, staring blankly into space. “Is this some sort of cruel joke? Emerson? What the fuck is going on?”

  When she jerked back in the pillows, I immediately apologized.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so gruff. But I just walked in on this note. This freaking note saying you can’t do this.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered, and then started to cry.

  “Hey.” I sat down next to her, my hand finding purchase on her hip. Her eyes were open, so I didn’t think she was sleep talking, but she hadn’t said anything more. “You okay?”

  My hand ran up and down her arm, and I noticed she was in dirty, sticky work clothes and shoes. But she still said nothing.

  “Is this about the weekend? About Moira? I told her not to come to dinner. She got mad, but she didn’t come. Wants to be friends and all that, but it’s not going to work.”

  Finally, Emerson moved, shaking her head.

  “Em? Babe, what’s wrong?” I turned her to face me.

  Her eyes puffy and red, she started to bawl. She couldn’t get out a word out through the hiccupping sobs.

  “Shhh, you have to calm down and tell me what’s wrong. You’re scaring the shit out of me.” I pushed the damp hair out of her face and pulled her into my chest, but she continued to cry. “Emerson? Tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  I was losing my patience. My own body began to shake. First the note, and now this.

  “I . . . I have to move out of here,” she croaked out. “I was going to just leave . . . the note. But I couldn’t. I lay down in bed and all I could smell was you, and I couldn’t make myself get up. And my dad said—”

  “What? Why? What does your dad have to do with any of this?”

  A million possibilities ran through my head. Money, jobs, moving back with her dad, leaving New York for good, Moira. Emerson could be lying about not caring. Maybe this was about her asshole ex . . . he could have weaseled his way back in.

  “Em, you’re not making any sense.”

  She shook her head, refusing to look up at me. “I have to go tonight. Now. That’s pretty clear.”

  “You’re talking crazy. It isn’t like you to be mean like this.”

  Finally, Emerson showed some emotion. She gaped up at me, looking like someone had slashed her with a knife.

  “Tell me what happened. Christ, I feel like I’m going to stroke out.” Kicking off my boots—I’d come straight from the farm—I lay down the bed and slid in next to her, and for a second or two, I felt okay. “You don’t have to go anywhere. I know this is new, and a lot, and maybe it’s too soon to live together. But sometimes it happens. This is right. I get that it’s overwhelming.”

  “I have to go,” she said as a tear ran down her cheek. “I want you to know this, though . . . I care for you. I’m not being mean on purpose, I swear.”

  I swiped away her tears. “Em? What is all this?”

  “I care about you. Too much, way too much. And this, all of this, living here, you taking me under your wing, giving me your affection . . .” Her words came out in hiccups, disjointed and crazy-sounding. “It’s been incredible, and I was going to run out and only leave the note, but you deserve better. My dad said this wasn’t your fault.”

  What wasn’t my fault? I didn’t know what any of this was about.

  “Where is this coming from?” I cupped her cheek and looked into her eyes. Forcing myself to calm down, I decided to proceed carefully. My frustration wasn’t helping anything.

  She cleared her throat and spoke, her words raspy with emotion. “I have to go, that’s it.”


  She gave me a tender, closed-mouth kiss. It felt like good-bye for fucking good, and I hated it. No way was I going to accept it.

  “Emerson? Tell me, what the fuck?”

  I didn’t want to move, but I pulled back from her mouth. Standing up, I paced and took in the room. Nothing of hers was on the counter anymore, and there was a duffel in the corner.

  “What the hell?”

  Emerson dragged herself off the bed and to her feet, looking like a drunk on a bender. She went toward her bag and bent down, ignoring me.

  “No!” It was the first time I’d raised my voice in this cuckoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs situation. I thought of my mom; she’d used the expression a lot when I was a teenager. But this was crazier than anything I’d done back then.

  A growl emanated from Emerson’s chest, and I was glad to hear it. Finally, some damn emotion from her other than crying.

  “I. Am. Going.”

  “I see that,” I bit out, my tone curt.

  “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. I’m doing this for you. I adore you. Adore, do you hear me? I’m trying to be strong. Mature.”

  “Mature? You’re running away from me!” Sweat beaded my brow. I cracked my knuckles to keep myself from punching a hole in the wall. I had to remind myself I wasn’t in a barn anymore—I was in a penthouse with the woman I was falling for, a very young woman who was acting her age.

  Shit. I had to remember Emerson’s inexperience in matters of the heart. Her tough outer shell could be so deceiving. But it didn’t matter. I cared for enough for her to wade through this shit—whatever the fuck it was.

  “You’re doing this for me? Come again? Me?” I leaned back against the wall and watched her face fall. Damn straight, she wasn’t the only one who could cause pain. Squeezing my eyes shut, I hated myself for it, though.

  Emerson gave me a bleak look. “Yes, you. Why? Because your dad is . . . was . . . married to my mom. He loves her. He does. And she’s nothing but a problematic bitch. Shocker, she doesn’t love him back, like she did with me too. And now, spoiler alert, he’s chasing her around like I am. Your dad and I are one and the same, desperate for the love of a woman who can’t give it.”