As they had pulled me along, I’d screamed, “How could you do this to us?” He had just dropped his head and cried even harder.
That was the last time I saw him. And then I was shipped off to live with Cyndi and Sharon.
All of the therapy I’d had, all the talking about my problems, had somehow minimized the love Jase and I had experienced to a childhood crush—something more manageable for me to deal with. I was so heartbroken after he turned us in, but reframing our relationship allowed me to move on from the nightmare of being neglected by my mother, my father, and then, finally, by Jase.
But reliving what we had gone through within the pages of his book brought everything back . . . both good and bad. And I was feeling it all again. My heart was growing right alongside the pain, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. It’s impossible to really hate someone if you don’t love them at least a little.
I ripped up Jason’s note and threw it on the floor of my car.
10. Reading Between the Lines
By the time I got home, I only had a couple of hours before I had to meet Trevor, so I read and read and read. I had only three chapters left when I finally stopped.
Everything after Jax and Emerson were caught was totally made up. Emerson goes on to live with her aunt but has a terrible experience in California, while Jax becomes a distant memory. Emerson struggles to get over her past and ends up marrying a guy right out of high school who turns out to be an abusive alcoholic, just like her father.
I didn’t know if I should be relieved it hadn’t gone that way, or if I should be even more pissed at Jase for tarnishing the good parts of my story. Those chapters made Jax and Emerson suddenly feel like characters in a book, not fictional embodiments of me and Jase, and it made the dirt road seem far away. Maybe what Jase said at the bookstore was right. Maybe this really was just a book.
I got ready for dinner with Trevor and then rushed past Cara at the breakfast bar. “See ya!”
“Where are you running off to now?”
I paused at her choice of words. “I’m going to dinner with Trevor.”
“You’re not going to tell me about J. Colby?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern.
“I told him hello, it was nice to see him, and that was the end of it. He found success, so good for him. I just want to move on.” In other words: run far, far away from him. “See ya.”
“Wait, what?” But before she could continue that train of thought, I zipped right out of the apartment and down the stairs in ten seconds flat.
I met Trevor at a tiny Italian restaurant we went to often. He was sitting at a small two-top table in the middle of the dining room, facing the front door. I walked up and pulled my own chair out and sat down, leaning over the table to kiss him as I shrugged my sweater off. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he said. “Are you in a better mood?”
“I’m okay.” I searched his eyes. “I read some more of the book and realized it’s really not about me.”
“It’s not?”
“Nope.” Trevor looked relieved. “I have a couple of chapters to go, but basically it’s rounding out to be your run-of-the-mill unrequited love story.” I huffed.
“Romeo and Juliet, huh?”
“Something like that.” No, nothing like that.
“Hmm. So, earlier, when you said you had all those deep feelings for him . . .”
I looked away. “I don’t know. Seeing him brought up a lot of feelings, but I think it was just my ego getting the best of me. I felt rejected by him, you know? He broke my fifteen-year-old heart.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry for that, Emi.”
I looked into Trevor’s blue eyes, so light you could barely tell what color they were. “I bet you broke some hearts in your day too,” I said.
He laughed. “I’ve been with you most of my adult life.”
I swallowed. “Do I hear regret in your tone?”
“No. No regrets.” He lifted his linen napkin, revealing a red ring box. I gasped. He stood from the table, came to my side, and dropped down on one knee, revealing a gold band at the same time. “Will you marry me, Emiline?”
Holy crap. Was he really serious with that parking-lot proposal?
Twenty seconds went by as I stared at the ring, stunned.
Trevor swallowed. “I’m on the floor of a restaurant. Are you going to say something?”
“I can’t,” I blurted out.
“What do you mean? You can’t say something?”
“No. I can’t . . . marry you.”
He looked wounded. “What? Why?”
Nothing about the moment felt right, but I didn’t want to crush him. “Trevor, I’m not saying I won’t marry you someday. I’m just saying I can’t get engaged to you right now, not after everything that just happened. I wouldn’t be saying yes in the right spirit. Please get up and sit.”
He closed the box, threw it on the table, and sat down. He was clearly angry. With his arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back and scowled. “I don’t understand you.”
“I know I’ve been acting strange lately, but just bear with me,” I said.
“Isn’t that what I’ve been doing? Bearing with you?”
I stared at him for several seconds, then I went to stand up.
“Don’t run away from me, Emiline. You know I don’t deserve that.”
I sat back down. “I don’t know what to do. I know you don’t deserve this, Trevor. But I also don’t deserve to be guilted into an engagement.”
He nodded. “I agree. I’ll give you six months to think about it, to get him out of your system. When you give me your answer, promise me that it won’t have anything to do with him. This should just be about us.” He pointed out the window, but I knew exactly what he meant.
I nodded in agreement because, right now, I wasn’t sure why I was saying no. Yes, it didn’t feel right, but what if Trevor was being serious about all of this? If Jase hadn’t come back into my life, would I have wanted to marry Trevor? Or would I have run from this proposal no matter what?
We finished dinner in amiable silence, but my mind was adrift. Every few minutes we’d look up at each other. I would make an effort to smile, but Trevor remained serious. When he paid the check, he said, “I’m gonna watch the game at a bar. Do you want to come with me?”
I looked at my phone and saw that Aunt Cyndi had texted me to say she was at my apartment, and that Cara had let her in. “Hold on,” I said to Trevor before texting her back.
Me: Make yourself at home. I’ll be there in a little bit.
Cyndi: No rush, we’re busy reading your journal.
Me: I don’t have a journal.
Cyndi: Well, you should, you’re a writer.
Me: I’ll be home in twenty.
I checked the clock on my phone. It was nine p.m. I had no intention of going to meet Jase, but I couldn’t help thinking about him waiting for me at George’s in an hour. I snuffed the thought out.
“I need to get home. Cyndi and Sharon are there. You go and watch the game. I’ll text you later.”
“Okay. You want me to come up with you and say hi?”
“You don’t have to.” Aunt Cyndi never said so, but I knew she didn’t think Trevor and I were right for each other. She spent way too much time trying to set me up with guys in the writing program at Berkeley. She firmly rejected the notion of opposites attract. Plus, Trevor rarely made an effort with her. The obligatory offer to come up and say hi was his usual MO. I wanted Trevor to want to come up and say hi, but I knew he felt out of place.
I left Trevor at the front of the restaurant with a quick peck on the cheek. “I love you,” I said.
“You too. I love you too,” he said stiffly, as if he were speaking a foreign language.
I WALKED THROUGH the door of my apartment and was greeted instantly by Cyndi and Sharon, who insisted on smothering me every time I was in their presence.
“She’s here!” Cyndi said as she and Sharon crushed me b
etween them.
“Can’t . . . breathe . . .”
Cyndi and Sharon were in their late forties. If you saw them in a restaurant, you would think they were just friends. Cyndi looked like a less glamorous Julia Roberts, and Sharon resembled her slightly thicker, more stylish sister with blonde hair. They looked and acted like buddies, so when they did partake in public displays of affection, people sort of looked on in shock. I thought it was cute.
“Have you been eating? You’re skin and bones,” Sharon said as she tugged at the skin on my hip. Needless to say, they loved their parental roles. I never really had parents, and they never really had kids, so it was great for all of us.
I smiled wide. “Actually, I had a Big Mac for lunch, but then I puked it up.”
They looked at each other, horrified, and then they scanned me from top to bottom. Cyndi put her hand on her hip and gave me her best concerned face. “Bulimia is no laughing matter.”
“I’m not bulimic. I just had a weird day. A horrible day, really.”
“Tell us everything,” Sharon said, pulling Cyndi onto the couch. “We’re certainly not going to read it in any journal of yours.” They both stared up at me, gripping each other’s hands like they were about to watch a movie about the Holocaust.
“Well, I decided to go see Jase at his book signing here in town and ask him why he lied about what happened between us in his novel. And then I saw him and he looked like a fucking supermodel. And then Trevor showed up and asked me to marry him. And then Jase wrote me a note. And then I read it and threw up. And then I had dinner with Trevor and ordered an arugula salad, which gave me a stomachache. And then Trevor asked me to marry him again. And then I said no.” I glanced up to see two sets of wide, unblinking eyes. “And then I kissed Trevor good night, and then he acted like it was hard to say I love you, even though he had just proposed to me. Twice. And now here I am.”
Cyndi shook her head. “Wow. Terrible diction, sweetie. What did they teach you in that writing program of yours?”
“Valid point, honey,” Sharon said, “but, Emi, what did the note say?”
I sighed. “He asked me to meet him tonight.”
“Well, did you?” they both asked in unison. I swear to god, it was like they shared the same brain sometimes.
“No. He wants to meet at ten, but I’m not going to. I don’t care what he has to say; I’m not subjecting myself to all that.”
They stared at each other, as if they were communicating telepathically.
“We think you should meet with him,” Cyndi said.
“I do too!” came a voice from the other room. Cara peeked her head out of her bedroom and then walked into the living room. “Emi, please tell me you finished the book.”
“No, I didn’t,” I said with a hint of irritation in my voice. “Why?”
“Come, sit,” Sharon said, scooting over and making room for me in the middle of the couch. “Cyndi and I read it on the way down here, and we think—”
“It’s not about Jase and me,” I said bluntly.
“Of course it is. And you should go talk to him,” Cara said from the kitchen as she scanned the contents of the refrigerator.
“It’s not like us to give away the ending,” Cyndi said, “but I think you should finish the book.”
“Why is everyone being so cryptic?” I asked.
“Just go meet him! He’s so hot!” Cara shouted from across the room.
Without taking her eyes off me, Sharon said, “I like her.”
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten. “Fine.”
“Oh goody!” Cyndi exclaimed. “At the very least, he can give you a few pointers on word choice. That young man is a very talented writer.”
I rolled my eyes and then hurried into my bedroom, with Sharon, Cyndi, and Cara trailing behind. I gave myself a once-over in the full-length mirror. “Why is everyone so eager for me to go meet him?”
Sharon furrowed her brow. “You can’t go like that.” I looked at my uncombed hair, sneakers, and pilling sweater. I was a wreck.
Like a flash of light, Cara took off for her room. Ten seconds later, she returned with a black slip dress, a cropped denim jacket, and black booties with a short heel. “Here. You’ll look hot, but you won’t look like you’re trying too hard.”
“Again, why is everyone so eager for me to go see him?”
“It’ll be good for you. Might give you some closure,” Cyndi said noncommittally, though I could sense she wasn’t telling me the whole truth.
My clothes went flying in every direction, and then I pulled the new outfit on. As I ran to the door, I applied lip gloss and pulled on my boots at the same time. “Look at her: she can multitask. She gets that from me,” Cyndi said to Sharon as they followed me onto the landing.
“We love you!” they shouted as I jogged down the stairs.
“Love you!” Cara yelled from inside of the apartment.
I waved over my shoulder to them and slowed my pace once I got to the street. I walked the two blocks to George’s, past the boutique stores that I normally window-shopped, and tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I patted the pockets of my jacket several times to make sure I had slipped my keys, wallet, and phone into them before rushing out the door, and I nervously smoothed my curly hair as best as I could. I was sweating, but I was too afraid to do a BO check. My bootie heels clicked against the sidewalk in rhythm with the steady beat of my thoughts. What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?
When I got to George’s, I checked my phone. Ten p.m. I went up to the hostess stand and paused.
“Welcome to George’s. Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked.
“No. I mean, yes. Well, not me. I’m here to see Jase? I mean, Jason Colbertson.” Wow, I seriously needed to get my shit together.
She nodded and then led me into the restaurant and then out again to a table at the edge of the terrace, under a heat lamp. Jase looked up as I approached and immediately stood to pull my chair out for me. Before I sat, he put his hand on my hip, leaned in, and kissed my cheek. I sucked in a deep breath and held it when his lips touched my face. In that moment, it felt like my heart stopped. I at least stopped breathing.
“Took you long enough,” he whispered near my ear.
“Huh?” My brain was short-circuiting.
“Never mind. Sit,” he said, gesturing toward the chair.
I sat with a clumsy thud while he gracefully slid back into his seat. He was wearing the same well-tailored, charcoal-colored suit and white shirt he’d had on earlier, but he had ditched the tie. The top button of his shirt was undone, and for a moment I imagined undoing the whole long row of pearly buttons beneath it.
“I wasn’t going to come,” I said.
“That’s a shame.” He blinked impassively.
“Don’t you want to know why?”
“No. You’re here now.” There was nothing left of the timid Jase I once knew. He was in full command here.
I looked out to the ocean. “Quite a view, isn’t it?”
His eyes were fixed on me. “Yes. It is.”
Our table was so small that I could easily reach across and touch him if I wanted to. Which I did. I just didn’t have the courage.
“A bottle of wine, perhaps?” he asked.
I nodded. “Sure, you choose.”
“Red okay?”
I nodded again. I was rapidly losing any mastery I had over the English language.
He summoned the server and ordered an expensive bottle of pinot noir, like he had done it a million times.
“So . . .” I said after the server left to get the wine.
“You didn’t finish the book this afternoon, I take it?”
“I read some, but I was busy.” The server returned with a bottle and two glasses. She poured the wine as Jase continued to pierce me with his gaze.
“Thank you,” he said.
I took a sip and smiled. “It’s very good.”
/>
He sipped from his own glass and looked out to the ocean and then back at me. “God . . . I missed you so much, Em.”
My smile faded. I tried to fight the tears sprouting into my eyes. “Don’t, please.”
He looked away again. “So . . . Trevor, huh? Never pictured you with a jock.”
“It’s not like he’s an abusive alcoholic,” I said defensively.
“Is that all it takes?” he said with a wry smile.
“No, I mean . . .”
“I’m just playing with you.”
“You’re still exasperating, Jase.”
“You’re still beautiful, Em. Even more so than I remember.” His eyes traveled over my shoulders, my breasts, down the length of my black slip dress.
“When did you become such a pig?”
“I was just . . . appreciating how much things have changed,” he said, flashing a grin before he took another sip.
“Please.” I rolled my eyes. “We’re not children anymore.”
“We weren’t children then. If memory serves, we grew up pretty fast.”
“Regardless, I’m still mad at you,” I replied.
“I can tell.” He smirked.
“Stop fucking smirking at me.”
“Okay.” His lips flattened, but he couldn’t mask his cocksure expression.
A few moments of silence went by as we sat, sipping our wine and enjoying the view. Far from feeling strange, the tension between us seemed to relax.
“I’m so glad to be here with you,” he said, finally sounding earnest. “Crazy, huh?” He looked out at the moon glistening over the ocean. “California, like we always said. Can you believe we’re here, together?” I remained silent. “So, tell me, Em, what has your life been like? Because from the outside, it seems like you’ve got everything figured out.”
“Not at all, actually,” I mumbled, looking down into my lap.
He looked at my lips and then back up to my eyes. “Trevor is a good guy, I assume?”
I nodded. “Yeah, he is.” And I meant it. Trevor, for all his flaws, had been a dedicated and loyal boyfriend for years.
“And you’re an adjunct writing professor now?” Jase asked.
“More like an underpaid instructor,” I corrected him.
Swear on This Life Page 16