by Natasha Boyd
"David, you didn't do it on purpose. Shit happens." I swiped tears from my eyes. I hated how broken and lost he sounded. "The whole world went through a financial crisis. It wasn't your fault."
"Greed, Emmy. That's a choice. That's on me. I deserved what happened to me. But none of you deserved for me to take you down with me."
I crouched down in front of his chair and put my hands on his knees.
He laid his hand on my hair. "You're a good girl, Emmy. You were a gift to my family."
"And you were a gift to me. You are a gift."
"Listen." His tone took on a new urgency like he knew his mind might slip away at any moment. "Take a chance. Put yourself out there. Fall in love. Start a family of your own. Do it soon. Throw yourself into love, Emmy. It's scary, I know. But don't be like me and shy away from it."
Tears rolled down my face, and I gave up wiping them away. I hadn't had such a lucid moment with David for years. There was so much I wanted to ask him, but I felt stuck in his words and overwhelmed with emotion I couldn't identify.
A strange look came over his face. "Now get up," he said. "I'm about to pass gas."
I scrambled to my feet.
"And tell that lovely Asian lady I wouldn't mind a walk down to the beach this afternoon. Maybe after the concert?"
"Okay, David."
I had no choice but to get David closer to me, no matter what it cost. I'd take on more side hustles in the interior design business with my sewing, do whatever I had to to meet the shortfall from my PR paycheck until I could get his Medicaid sorted out again. I didn't know how much time I had left with him, and I didn't want to waste it.
* * *
I stared at myself in the mirror of the downstairs bathroom off the lobby of David's nursing home. David's thoughts he'd shared today hit me hard. It hurt that he carried so much guilt. My eyes stung again as I thought about him feeling so afraid and alone and worried about me in his moments of lucidity.
At least my hair was clean and nicely blown with waves because the rest of me was a fright. I was pale, and my eyes were red-rimmed, wide and frightened.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Let me know what time you are arriving tomorrow so we can exchange phones before I leave.
* * *
And there it was. It was only me who was dreading trading phones back with Trystan.
If I headed home, I'd have to see him and return his phone. It was frightening to realize I didn't want to. I didn't want this to be over. Being stuck in New York gave me a reason to stay in touch with him. Going home would mean having to see him, knowing it would burst the bubble. We were living in a fantasy. At least I was.
In this fantasy, I was in a relationship with someone who was there to talk to and laugh with and have sexy times with.
In real life, Trystan was a commitment-phobic serial dater.
In real life, he'd never be there for me the way he was now.
David had stuck this idea in my head that Trystan could be something more, and as soon as he had, cold fear had gripped me deep to my core. The signs all pointed to him not being relationship material. I'd be absolutely stupid based on evidence I had, including being another numbered woman in his hotel regardless of whether he was there with me or not, to think otherwise. But the stupid kernel of hope burst forth like popcorn.
The only thing I could think of was to go home tonight and not tell Trystan I was home until tomorrow. He'd rented my place for another night anyway. If he thought I was coming home, he might offer to move out or something, even though he'd already paid me. And where would he stay?
It would be weird and awkward. It would suddenly establish real life rules and distance because I'd be deliberately choosing not to spend the night with him when everything since last night seemed to say otherwise. I’d be coming home and . . . coming at home. Ha.
I guessed that was where the frightened look in my eyes was coming from—I felt caught on the cusp of something. Stuck between going home and lying about it, which didn't sit comfortably, or going home and bursting the bubble of whatever this was between us.
A knock at the door startled me. "Miss Dubois?"
I splashed water on my face and dried my hands and face with a paper towel. Unlocking the door, I saw the lady from the security desk. "Your cab's here," she said.
"Sorry. It's always emotional saying goodbye to David." Giving her a smile, I thanked her and grabbed my wheelie bag, heading out to the cab. Climbing in, I hunted around in my purse for my charging cord. Shit. Where was it? I glanced at Trystan's phone. Ten percent. Then I had a vision of the cord I'd plugged in in the hotel room. Dammit. Looking up Armand's number at the cafe, I dialed. It rang and rang. Annoyed again that I hadn't memorized any of my friend's cell phone numbers, I let out a long annoyed sigh and leaned back against the seat.
* * *
"You again," Phillip said at the information desk on the airport concourse. "Still no phone, I see."
I held Trystan's phone up. "It's dead."
"Buy a new charger."
"I have. Can you please do me a favor?"
"It depends."
"I need information. You provide that, don't you?"
Phillip released a long-suffering sigh. "I do."
"I'd like you to look up the number for Indigo Café in Charleston, and then I'd like to use your phone to dial that number."
Phillip stared at me, un-reacting. "That's got nothing to do with your flight or airport information," he said.
Without breaking his stare, I reached into my purse and grabbed one of my last remaining five-dollar bills and held it out between two fingers. "It's all I have," I whispered, staring him down. "And that information has everything to do with me flying home today."
I assumed he wasn't supposed to take money for information, so my action broke him, and he quickly glanced both ways before his hand darted out and nabbed the money so fast I barely felt it leave my fingers. I was aghast. "Train on the streets, did you?"
"You have no idea," he muttered and typed quickly into his computer. He read off the address to confirm it was the right place and then dialed the number and handed me the phone.
"Armand?" I said as soon as he answered.
"Emmy?"
"Yes. Listen, I'm coming home today. I wasn't going to because something happened with David. And then, well, anyway with Trystan renting my place tonight, I just . . . can I stay with you? Or can you call Annie since I don't have her number with me and ask her?" It all came out in a big long rush.
"Si, Si. Are you okay?"
"I'm okay. Yes. No. It's . . . complicated. And please don't tell Trystan I'm coming home if you see him. Just . . . can I stay with you?"
"Of course, Emmy. The couch isn't great but—"
"I'll take it. Thank you, Armand. You're a good friend."
"A good friend who you better give all the Trystan details to later. Because that man is fine!"
"Armand," I whined.
"Deal or no deal."
"Fine, deal. I'll grab a cab to your place. I'll get in around seven, I hope. I'm on standby. And we can still go dancing."
"Perfecto, Emmy. See you then."
"See you." I hung up and slumped against the information desk in relief.
"You know?" Phillip's voice cut in. "I see and hear a lot of weird shit every day with all these people passing through. But Emmy, I have to say, your situation intrigues me."
I looked up at him.
"Don't get me wrong"—he put both his palms up—"not enough to ask you about it. And please, don't share. But nonetheless."
I laughed and shook my head. "You're a character, Phillip."
"So I've been told. Bye, Emmy."
"Bye, Phillip."
The gate attendant said I was first in line on standby so she was pretty sure I'd get on the next flight. I didn't dare move from the gate while I waited. And even though I'd bought a new charger, I perversely didn't plug in the phone. This way I couldn't communicate w
ith Trystan while I decided if I was going to tell him I was coming back or not. I needed more time to think it through.
28
Trystan
Beau, Robert, and I walk through the student housing cafeteria. We've been given a tour of the halls we built that are currently leased by The College of Charleston, and they seem in good shape. Well-lit, freshly painted, clean. Students sit around in groups or dart here and there, late for afternoon class.
I wonder if Emmy went to college here. I never asked specifically, but in our long talk as we fell asleep last night, I thought I remembered her mentioning it. Checking my phone I see she hasn't contacted me in the last several hours. Not that she needs to. It's ridiculous how much I've grown to react to the vibration of a message that might be from her. To need it.
"Okay, well," Robert finally says. "I think that should do it for today. Are we seeing you for dinner?"
"You are. Beau already mentioned it." I nod at my cousin as he hands me a water.
"Great, then I'll leave you two here if you don't mind. Beau, you'll take Trystan by the office and introduce him around?"
"Will do."
We shake hands and my uncle heads out the exit.
I look at my watch.
"You late for something?" Beau asks, his eyebrows raised.
I shake my head. "Nah. I think Emmy might be coming back today, and I need to make a plan to switch phones with her." Something shifts unpleasantly inside me. It feels like disappointment. And I'm not sure, but it feels like I'm disappointed in myself. I have this feeling like I'm on the brink of something that's about to disappear unless I'm careful, and part of me feels like it's already too late.
"Do you think you'll ask her out?"
I exhale. "I don't know," I answer honestly. The thought of not asking her out is ludicrous, after everything we've shared. But on the other hand it also feels like the very reason I shouldn't. I'm so conflicted. "Anyway, I'm headed back up to New York."
"How long for?"
"At least until the sale of my business goes through. But I'm not sure I'm ready to leave New York. I'll have to be here often, of course. But moving here?" I shake my head.
"From what little you've shared, it seems like she's not the one-and-done type of girl."
"You've got that right. She's in a different category, but I'm not sure I know what that is."
"Maybe just friends?"
I think of what that could be like. We could still talk to each other. I'd tell her about my life and my dates, she could tell me if she was having any luck finding normal guys on the dating apps. My stomach turns. No. I can't hear about Emmy dating other men. Imagining those little sounds and gasps she makes when she comes . . . happening with someone else? Fuck no. I close my eyes. "Definitely not just friends." Shit. I think I really complicated things. But I don't know her in real life. That's probably what's making it feel different. So confusing.
"Question," Beau starts. "Do you think it would be better for me to marry a friend or a stranger?"
"Wow, hit me with a big one, why don't you?" I laugh, and we walk outside onto Liberty Street.
"Ha. Well, it's pretty big. I want to build boats. It's all I've ever wanted to do. Now I get a chance to do it, but only if I get married. I have a good friend. Not sure if you remember Gwen from when we were growing up?"
I wrack my brain, searching into the memory banks of the two summers I'd spent here, but come up empty. "No, sorry."
"Okay, well. We're friends. Good friends."
"Ever anything more?"
"Never. I mean, don't get me wrong, when we were teenagers I thought maybe we could have a thing, but she never really gave me that vibe, and I was too shy to push it. So it kind of morphed into a friendship. I'd even say she's one of my best friends. So it makes me think . . . should I just ask her to marry me, knowing we get along great but it means she misses out on her chance to find someone? Or do I find a stranger and have a neatly drawn up business arrangement?"
I discard my empty water bottle in a nearby recycling can and stuff my hands into my dark jeans pockets. "I'm about as far from the best person to advise you on this, having never been, nor ever planning, to be married."
"I know. But I thought maybe if you were me for a second . . . what would you do?"
"If it were me, I'd keep it as clean as possible. No room for misunderstandings. I'd still be able to date without worrying about confusing anyone."
"So . . . marry a stranger?"
"You asked what I would do." I shrug. "I also know I've been pretty relentless about keeping my distance from women's feelings." Even as the words come out of my mouth, I think of Emmy. But knowing someone over a phone, and hearing them cry and cheering them up, is different. "But you're you," I tell Beau.
He frowns. "I'd have to pick someone Gwen got along with though. I don't plan on losing her or any of my friends because they don't like my business wife."
"Yeah, definitely be careful. You'd have to find someone for whom the arrangement was equally beneficial. How long do you have to stay married?"
"I have no idea. The stipulation is I have to get married. It doesn't say stay married."
I shake my head again at my grandfather's perverse sense of humor. "He was a real piece of work."
"Grandfather? Yeah, he was. But Suzy and I were talking about it. Look at us. Here you are in Charleston. Grandmother is trying to make nice, which she never did before. And planning a wedding? Two weddings? That's going to require everyone to talk to each other. He might have been a sadistic son of a bitch, but he sure knew how to get us all in a room together to sort all our shit out."
"True."
We hit Broad Street and Beau points left. "Let's swing into the office."
* * *
At the Montgomery offices I see the two accountants I've already met and also meet some other support staff. Then after an hour I say my goodbyes to Beau and walk back to Emmy's. If I ever move to Charleston, I'll definitely look at living in the French Quarter. I love this part of the city. Ha, city, not town. I catch myself. With a smile, I pull the silent phone out of my back pocket even though I know it hasn't buzzed just as it vibrates.
My pulse spikes.
But it's a text from Annie.
* * *
Annie: Have fun tonight at Django. I'm so jealous, can't wait to dance the baby weight off with you and Armand. Have a shot for me!
* * *
I guess Annie still doesn't know Emmy doesn't have her phone and is stuck in New York. I realize I never forwarded Annie's contact info when Emmy asked me. I do it now while I'm thinking about it.
The hotel told me Emmy left this morning. I haven't told her I know this, but it made me think she might be coming back today. Surely if she is she'd have let me know. I’m staying in her place after all.
I give in to curiosity and pull up the Find My iPhone screen on my laptop. I log in and wait as it zeros in on a map of the New York area. I zoom in all the way and I'm super aware of my heart beating heavier in my chest. I'm not nervous. Maybe I'm—my stomach swoops.
The airport.
Last seen a few hours ago.
Emmy's coming home.
And for some reason she hasn't told me.
* * *
After a quick shower, where I'm completely incapable of shutting out thoughts about all the reasons Emmy hasn't told me she's coming home, I brush my teeth then wrap a towel around my waist and jog down the stairs to the stackable washer and dryer in a cabinet by the kitchen area. I open the dryer and pull my clothes out, hastily taking them back upstairs and dumping them on the bed. Then I pull on a clean pair of boxers and jeans. I'll have to re-wear a white button-down shirt to go with the jacket I need to wear to dinner. I roll up all my other clean clothes into my suitcase, in case I have to vacate her cottage, but God knows where I'll stay.
I slip on my jacket and check my watch. There's just enough time to knock on Armand's door before I have to leave for dinner.
> Why does it bother me so much? I'm completely off-balance. I should be happy I'll get my phone back.
Last night has crept into my mind so often today that just the sound of her voice on the phone earlier gave me a semi.
Emmy hasn't read anything more into our call last night than what it was. I don't think. But what was it exactly? I'm not sure I know. It felt exhilarating and terrifying all at once. As soon as it was over, my main fear was that Emmy would retreat. And I hung on to make sure she didn't. If that had been two people hooking up in real life last night, my main fear would have been how to leave. I would have been out the door so fast, I'd have left a scorch mark on the carpet.
The fact I'm still thinking about it should bother me, except I'm relieved it's taken my mind off the fact I have to face Isabel Montgomery this evening.
I leave the cottage and head to Armand's. He'd mentioned he lives above the café, so I head to the fire escape stairs on the side of his building and knock on his door.
"Trystan," he greets me, surprised. "Everything okay at the cottage?"
"Yeah, I think so. Can I come in for a second? I can't stay long."
We shake hands and he steps back. "Si, si," he says and offers me a seat.
"How was business today?"
"Good. It's always good. I'm lucky. Can I offer you a cerveza?"
I put my palm up. "I'm good. I—" This is stupid—sitting here ferreting out info about a girl like I have a crush or something.
Shit.
Of course I have a crush. That much is pretty clear. I stand up. I'll be late if I don't leave now. "Is Emmy coming back to Charleston tonight? She hasn't told me, and I feel like she should have her cottage back if she is."
Armand looks conflicted. "Si," he says. "She is coming back. But she said you must stay at her cottage, she made another plan."