I finally get home to my apartment in the early hours; Jake had two cars awaiting us at the airfield, so I didn't need to share the journey to his apartment first. This was a new move for him as we've always shared cars coming home, so this spoke volumes about his feelings for me.
He never looked at me once in our entire trip. At the cars, he just guided Marissa into his and departed, leaving me standing in the dark with Jefferson. Empty and broken-hearted, aching to have him say something, anything, to me. I almost burst into tears right then and there.
Sarah is in bed, and I know without checking that Marcus is here too; I can sense his presence in the house and smell his scent lingering in the air, cheap cologne and deodorant. The thought makes me uptight, but I ignore it and go to bed, taking sleeping pills before lying down. I need them; my head is so full that I know if I even try to extract one tiny piece, it will unravel like a chaos of rubber bands. I'll unravel. And I'm so done with that kind of pain and turmoil.
***
I wake to the sounds of Sarah making breakfast, my head dizzy, but at least I managed to sleep, a dreamless black haze with the usual night tremors waking me early before I finally dozed off again. The aftereffects of the pills are not great; my mouth is fuzzy, and I feel hungover. In my robe for a drink, I venture through to the kitchen and see her effortlessly moving from stove to countertop. The kitchen has always been her territory, which shows in her graceful, easy movements. She seems different this morning, though, tired and uptight.
"Hey," I breathe; she startles at my voice and then breaks into a warm smile. I notice the lackluster of her usually bright eyes, causing a hint of concern to unravel inside me.
"Hey, stranger. God, I love your hair. When did you do that?" she gushes at me, the tight look dissipating quickly. I automatically reach up, tugging on a strand self-consciously, and shrug.
"Felt like a change," I respond emptily.
Has it really been that long since we have been in each other's company?
"You look so different, so un-Emma," she giggles and returns to the stove. "You hungry?" She returns to the batter she has mixed up and drops some in the oiled pan.
"Not really," I answer tightly. How can I tolerate food when my insides are violently rejecting life? I notice the pile of letters on the counter and sit on the barstool to rake through them, giving myself a task; I cringe at the ones addressed to Marcus and cast her an accusatory look.
"So, were you going to inform me I had a new roommate?" I utter quietly.
Sarah pauses for a second, the whisk stilling then resuming. "I didn't think you would care, Emma. You're never here. I get so lonely." Her voice wavers, and I'm hit by sudden guilt at her admission.
Lonely? Sarah?
The bright and sassy soul of the party, surrounded by her chef friends and busy work schedule? Since when? I look her up and down, my mind racing over recent months, pushing further back. I guess I have never realized that I'm always focusing on my own turmoil and keeping her at arm's length.
I regret it instantly, as though seeing it for the first time from a different viewpoint. I've left her alone many times, assuming she had everything she needed and didn't need me. No one else ever did, so I never gave her a second thought.
"I'm sorry, Sarah," I say, my voice breaking unexpectedly, my emotions tumbling out from a deep recess as the walls crumble. Her head snaps around, and she stares at me in confusion. Overwhelming shame and guilt strike me in the gut, almost winding me, and I struggle to inhale. "I'm sorry I've been such a shit friend and a worse roommate." The dam I've been holding back all night bursts. It is such a tiny reason to fall apart, yet here it is, that extra nudge on my vulnerable, emotional bubble pops. Magnificently.
Indeed losing the plot, Emma!
"Hey, hey, shhh." She drops her pan and spoon and rushes to my side, cradling me awkwardly in her arms as the tears start rolling down my face in a wild torrent.
"Where the hell has this come from, and what have you done with Emma?" she laughs, an anxious edge in her voice as her breath warms my hair; it pains me even more as it reminds me of him.
"I'm sorry," I sniff and try to reel myself back in, embarrassed by my behavior but relieved somehow. Sarah has never seen this side of me, and maybe it's time I let her in on the fact that I'm not the strong, capable shell of a person she has known for so long, after all. I am so tired of pretending. "I'm sorry, Sarah," I stutter incoherently, my face damp and dripping.
"Emma, you're scaring me. This is so not you. To be honest, I don't know how to react." There's a definite edge of wariness. She's still holding me awkwardly because we've never hugged, so this is monumental.
I stand up, push the bar stool aside, and wrap my arms around her, giving her the most Jake-like bear hug I can muster. I did learn from the best, after all. At least he taught me that.
This girl has been there for me when I had no one, and now I've pushed her so far into the background of my life to forget who I was. I forgot about her and how much she used to mean to me. I've left her floundering in my past and never realized she needed a place in my present. She squeezes me back, the hesitation in her falling away, and embraces me with equal intensity. We stand this way for minutes.
When we part, there are tears in her eyes, too. Confused, unsure, and overwhelmed, she keeps my hand in hers.
"I'm different, Sarah. Things … Jake … he's changed everything." I smile through my pain, unable to explain. He has no idea what he's done to me these months, these agonizing few days. He's opened a dam, and I can't pull the floodwaters back. He's broken me open and let the parts of me that I tried to contain leak out everywhere, the cracks growing so vast that I can never piece them back together. He's made me face emotions I have always been so afraid of feeling or letting other people see. I was selfish. Sarah deserves to see how much I care for her and have always cared for her.
"Emma, I don't know what he's done or how, but I would love to give him one huge kiss right now." She grins at me, her eyes full of love and sincerity, but I only crumble again. Catching my sob in my throat, I pour my soul out through my eyes as the ferocity of that mess hits me full whack.
"He's made me fall in love with him," I sob, "But he doesn't love me back." I cry at my admission, broken by it, and fall into the arms of my long-forgotten best friend. Ready to unload the burden, finally.
***
Marcus glares at Sarah as he leaves the apartment, his bag over his shoulder as he heads out. She throws him a haughty look and turns back to me on the couch; they have been arguing over something pointless, and now he is going to work. Apparently, this is normal for them.
We're huddled under a warm quilt, drinking hot chocolate; my emotions finally calm. I haven't been able to tell her everything, there is too much to tell, too much to explain, and I am still unable to open up, even to her.
Baby steps.
She knows the basics of the story, how things built up to the last few days in the hotel room and having sex with Jake, then the appearance of Marissa, and the final breaking of my heart on that horrible flight home.
"What was it like?" she asks. There's nothing on her face except curiosity, maybe. Trying to understand me, understand what I'm feeling. "Sex with him, I mean."
"Amazing. Terrifying. Heartbreaking," I answer honestly because that's what having sex with him was like. To fall so deeply under his spell, even though I knew it would go nowhere, the realization that I can never wipe it away and that it will haunt me for an eternity. No one will ever compare in any way. Jake - the ruiner of women.
"I can't get over the change in you, Ems," Sarah points out, her eyes wide with awe, squeezing my hand across my lap. "I feel like I have my old Emma back, but somehow, she's different too. There has never really been this version of you. Despite the heartbreak, you seem somehow better."
"New version?" I quiz, confused, smiling a little.
"Teenage Emma, only less aggressive." She shrugs. "And yet so very changed, emotional, open and honest, even warm," she giggles apologetically.
"You make me sound like I was awful to be friends with," I chide softly, guilt coursing through me again. I lower my lashes, ashamed that I've been this way toward her for so long. And so blind to it.
"You have your charms, Ems. You've no idea the allure you have, even when you're acting the ice maiden." She smiles. "There's always a hint of something more in you like it's just out of reach. I can see why Jake would pursue it. That elusive prize, always dangling out there, that door sitting ajar, waiting to be opened." She grins at me, my face flushing with her version of how she sees me. It seems disconnected from who I am and who I think I am. My mind reels.
Is she right? Does Jake see something worth chasing, holding on to, and figuring out?
"My messed-up brain," I grimace sadly, and she smiles back at me gently, her eyes softening with understanding.
"Have you ever just come out and told him how you feel? He may surprise you," she coaxes, placing a hand over mine again.
Why have I never done this? With Sarah, I mean. This female bonding, sharing our problems, being authentic, and letting someone else figure out my heartbreak with me. That shoulder to lean on.
Because I'm incapable of showing people that I'm capable of being hurt, defensively protecting myself, and always hiding. Jake has stripped me of my armor, slowly and surely.
"It's too hard," I admit sadly. "I'm scared all the time, Sarah. Scared of what he'll say, scared of what he's thinking and feeling. He's complicated. He sleeps around; he has women in every city we go to, always at arm's length. He doesn't do love, and I couldn't bear his rejection." The words slice me open; I can't think about these women he has sex with. The pain is too acute. She's observing me, sipping her cocoa and thinking.
"You think he wants to be with that girl, though? Marissa?"
"I don't know; they have history. He seemed angry at her, but he still brought her home with us and left the airport with her." The tears burn my eyes, and I push them down. I shift to cross my legs under the throw and cradle my mug closer to regain my equilibrium, feeling like the warmth is soothing me somehow. I can't analyze what is there between them; it's too painful.
"How did he take the news about the baby?" she pushes gently, but I shake my head and shrug. I am bewildered by that; I've barely let my brain process that whole mess.
"He didn't seem happy. He closed up; Jake wasn't ready for that kind of commitment. He can't even commit to a girl, let alone a baby," I sigh sadly.
Isn't that where all my self-doubt comes from?
No, my self-doubt has always existed, constantly gnawing at me and reminding me how worthless I am in the grand scheme of things. Having a father reject you and a mother who eternally puts her own needs above yours will do that to a person. I'm a broken mess.
I push it down hard. Sarah sighs heavily, mirroring how I feel; there isn't much to say about this subject. We've dissected it all endlessly through three mugs of cocoa.
Finally, after a brief reflective silence, Sarah cuts in.
"Your mom keeps leaving messages on the answering machine. She knows you're never here, and I know she has your cell number, so I guess she's not trying to contact you directly." She pauses, hesitant for a second. "I spoke to her briefly. She's doing well; her nurse is taking care of her." She smiles at me gently. Sarah had texted me all this before and wasn't surprised at my non-responses to her messages. I remain impassive, making it clear my feelings have not changed.
"Did she mention her new boyfriend?" I say through gritted teeth and slide my mug onto the table, too full of hot drinks, with nausea rising. Sarah raises an eyebrow, then lets my comment pass. I haven't told her about Ray, about what happened in Chicago. I will, I promise myself, tell Sarah everything, just not right now. This is all new to me, sharing … talking.
"Are you going to talk to her?" she asks, her bright blue eyes focused on my face. I avoid her gaze, looking at my hands in my lap, and shaking my head.
How can I ever talk to her again? How can I ever go back there?
I have many emotions about my mother, conflict, love, and hate. It's not something I can evaluate anytime soon, especially not with all this new chaos overtaking me. Ray, Sophie, my past, her past, it's all one massive ball of string waiting to unravel, and I don't have the energy or the inclination to go there anymore.
"What about the little girl?" Sarah asks, as though reading my mind. I had briefly told her, via text and the odd call, about Sophie when all that happened.
"She's doing well. She's going through the process of being awarded a protection order, so she can stay with her new family without fear of being returned home. Her father will be prosecuted. She's in counseling," I sigh at Sarah. I have been keeping tabs on Sophie through Leila, Jake's mother, and Sophie herself by email. Jake told me his brother seems to have taken her under his protective wing, and she trusts him, which is a good sign.
That damned Carrero charm.
"You did for her what someone should have done for you, Ems." Sarah is so direct and spot-on that I inhale lightly. I snap my eyes to hers. I want to deny it, brush it off like old Emma would return to cold and controlled 'no one hurts me' mode, but I don't. I bite my lip, push away the force of emotion, and nod painfully.
"I know." It sounds so sad, and it hurts me. Sarah's eyes widen, moisture glazing them; she knows how hard my acceptance is, how far I must have come to admit this to her. She has seen years of denial, bravery, and fighting in me. She knows me better than anyone in the world, well, maybe except for Jake. He has even carnal knowledge now.
"Promise me something," she soothes with a shaky tone, a solitary tear rolling down her cheek.
"What?" Right now, I wouldn't deny her anything. I'm responsible for her sadness, which is aching inside me.
"You won't go back to hiding it all. I want you to talk to a professional; take this further, Ems, regardless of what happens with Jake." There's bravery in her eyes. She's waiting for my reaction, pushing to see if I am old Emma after all. This is a request she's made many times over the years, the same one Jake made, which sent me into a rage and had me accusing him of thinking me crazy. I bristle. Old Emma's habits are hard to kill. I stiffen as the defensive response forms on my lips impulsively, but I take a steadying breath, exhaling slowly to calm my reaction.
"I'll think about it." It's all I can promise her. I note the delight in the depth of her eyes and her celebratory smile as she realizes that something huge has changed within me. I don't think it's something to be all that happy about, but it is what it is. Jake has ruined all that I was.
***
For the rest of the afternoon, I help Sarah clean the apartment in companionable silence; we've talked ourselves out, and there's nothing more to say. I have so much to process on my own.
She keeps catching my eye and shaking her head at me in awe. I don't think she can accept that this is how I am now, as though she keeps waiting for the old Emma to jump out, be in emotionless and commanding mode again, and pull out some tight tailoring and an iPad checklist. Her attention unnerves me, but I don't want to freeze her back out again; she deserves more. I deserve more.
I obsessively check my cell, but Jake doesn't call or text. Every time I see the blank screen, I die a little more inside. I long for one of his song emails, a message, anything! I understand his silence; she'll be with him. He has a lot to think about and talk about. He's mad at me, and he's overwhelmed. It doesn't make this any less painful, and feels like an eternity.
I spend an hour reviewing emails and work files before throwing my laptop aside listlessly. I can't even begin to dwell on what the future holds, for my job, for Jake and a baby, or seeing him again. I'm trying not to focus on him, her, on what we did. It's like trying to turn back the tide; my head is my worst enemy.
I feel like I'm in an alternate universe while sitting in my apartment. It looks different. The whole atmosphere has shifted since I opened up to Sarah. I feel like I'm home for the first time since I moved here, and this place actually feels like a haven from the outside world. I remember my childhood room in Chicago; I never felt like it was my home. I never connected with the city, the people, or my own mother; I was always on edge.
Sarah had been a force to be reckoned with. She was shy and small and looked vulnerable, so I swooped in to protect her because I needed someone to watch and take the focus off the lack of it in my life. Except she wasn't that vulnerable at all. She let me believe it so that I had a purpose, a focus. That's what I did; I fixed things, helped others have better lives than me, and organized things to make everything safe, steady, and predictable. Much like my mother does for her homeless shelter patrons. I was trying to fool myself and detach myself from my own life. It's why I've excelled at my job, distancing myself from my needs and emotions and robotically taking control.
Is that what my mother does? Are we more alike than I care to admit?
Jake flipped the tables on me when he brought my life, flaws, and insecurities into the picture. He didn't want a brainless PA to do his bidding. He wanted involvement from me, a two-way friendship. He wanted to delve into my life and fix things, something that others failed to do. This insane need in him to pry and figure me out, like a kid with a toy, was the first time someone took control of my problems and wanted to hear them.
He is like a child sometimes, so it's hardly surprising that I posed a challenge and an adventure to him. I was probably the first young female to grace his presence who didn't want to bed him, who hadn't fallen at his feet drooling. It was perhaps refreshing not to have a girl swooning demurely all the time. I was real. We bonded as friends and got to know each other, never posing a threat to one another. It caught me by surprise.
That's how he got in, by being the one man I have ever met who didn't want anything from me. He didn't desire me; he didn't frighten me. His straightforward, laidback manner forced me out of my standard mode, constantly pushing my boundaries further into laxness.
I crossed the line, not him; I fell in love with him, and in turn, I gave him free rein to chase me as another conquest. He is a hot-blooded male, and that's what he does. I removed the rules to our friendship by kissing him and opening a can of worms, spiraling into confusion, blurring the lines of our actions, and causing chaos between us. I only have myself to blame.
***
Marcus returns mid-afternoon, his short shift for the day over, and offers to take us for a late lunch, which shocks me. The fight between them has been forgotten and replaced with giggles and hugs like it never happened.
I still can't warm to him, so I decline the offer, aware of Sarah's eyes on me. She wants me to give him a chance for her sake, and I throw her a look that I hope conveys the message,
"Baby steps."
They finally leave, giving me space to think and time to figure out how I'll face Jake at work on Monday.