No one wakes from a nightmare.
36
EMMA
What arethe odds that Liam’s new contract would bring him to Boston?
“You are fucking stalkers,” my sister says as we find our seats in the arena, led by her new boyfriend, Paul. “I can’t believe you’re moving here, you psycho.”
“You owe two quarters to the swear jar, Auntie Tal,” Laddie announces as he shoves his hand in my popcorn box.
“Buddy,” I say, swatting him away as he giggles. “You said you wanted a pretzel, so I got you a pretzel. Stop eating my popcorn.”
“I tricked you, Mama,” he says, grinning that half-toothless grin I love so much. “I wanted both, and you said one, so I guessed which one you would get and picked the other.”
“Devious, man,” Talia says, reaching over me and fist-bumping my kid. “Well done.”
“Do not encourage this,” I say, rolling my eyes.
The two teams are warming up, and in a fun coincidence, Liam’s new team, the Boston Brawlers, is playing the Chicago Reapers. Liam is all the way down at the other end of the ice from our seats, so the Reapers are doing their warm-up drills on our end.
Talia points out big, red-headed Connor Murphy. “See that big motherfucker? The one who looks like a Viking who lost his axe? I… may have made some questionable decisions with him. Once. Don’t judge me.”
“Twenty-five cents!” Laddie yells.
“Whatever,” Talia says. “Earmuffs.”
I cringe and look over at Paul.“Tal,” I mutter. “Please. Paul doesnotneed to know that.”
My sister just waves a hand like she’s swatting away a fly.
“Oh, relax. Everyone has a sexual history, Emma.”
Paul gives an easy shrug, smiling like this is all perfectly normal conversation for him.
“She’s not wrong.”
He’s an affable dude, I’ll give him that. I shake my head and let out a breathy, incredulous laugh.
I cannot imagine talking to Liam about anyone I was with before we found our way back to each other. He wouldabsolutelyblow a gasket.
I’m happy for my sister, though. Truly. She and Paul seem to be having fun, and they’ve been seeing each other pretty much the whole time she’s lived here. I don’t know if it’ll last—her contract in Boston is only a year, and Talia’s never exactly been the “forever” type—but she’s trying. She’s been seeing a therapist,working through what happened in Chicago, and she’s doing really, really well.
We’ve had some tough but honest conversations since she moved. About her mental and physical health. About Laddie. About Liam and me.
And somehow, after everything, we’re closer than we’ve ever been.
I was barely an adult when I fled to her in California, pregnant, heartbroken, and drowning in fear. And she wasn’t much older, yet she took me in without hesitation.
Our parents are lovely, good people, but they were not thrilled with my decision not to attend art school and instead have a child. Now, we see our parents a couple of times a year, and it’s nice, and they dote on Laddie, but they have never been my rock.
Talia has.
I lean my head on her shoulder and say, “I’m glad you’re not dead.”
She barks a laugh. “Well, me too, I guess. Jesus.”
“I mean, it would be hard to stalk you if you were dead.”
