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.
