Eli
As I’m wheeledout of the ER into the waiting area, I scan the place. For all I know, they left. I sigh with relief when I see the pair of them sitting in the same spot as before. “All set.”
“Need help?” Emma asks, reaching for the wheelchair.
“Nope.” I don’t need help from anybody. Well, I need a ride home but even that, I can call and Uber or something. No way am I going to force myself onto a woman who no longer wants me around. I mean, Emma never came back to the room. Not even after I asked her to talk to me.
“I’ll get the car,” her best friend and thorn in my side says as she sweeps past me.
I merely nod.
“What’d they say?”
Oh, so now she wants to know how I am? That’s rich. “Sprain.”
“That’s good. I guess.” Emma sounds unsure. “High or low?”
I slowly turn my head to look up at her. How would she know the difference? She doesn’t care about sports like she doesn’t care about me. “High.”
“Oh. That’s the good kind.”
The good kind?Is she nuts? “Sure. Right,” I snap, and reach down for the wheel on my chair and head toward the door. The sooner her stupid roommate gets here, the sooner I can go home and wallow in self-pity.
“Here. Let me.” Emma steps up behind me to push the chair. I’m tempted to tell her I don’t need her, but I’m not in the mood to talk. Not to her anyway.
At the glass doors, we stand in silence waiting for Carley to pick us up. Well, it was silent until Emma decided to speak. “Look, Eli.”
When I hold up my hand, she stops. I rotate the chair enough so I can look at her without straining my neck along with my ankle. “I get it. You’re done with me.”
Her mouth opens then closes. That happens several times. “I’mdone withyou?” She does the mouth thing two more times. “I’m pretty sureyou’rethe one who’s done with me.” She points at herself. “You ghosted me the entire time you were in New York. I had no idea what was going on. Then––” Her voice is getting angrier, “Your mom practically dragged me to New York to surprise you even though I knew––” She tilts her head up and pauses like she needs to gather herself. When she looks back at me, her eyes are shining. With her voice cracking, she continues, “––even though I knew you wouldn’t want to see me.”
“I––”
“You what?” I watch a tear slide down her cheek and my hand twitches, wanting to reach up and take that tear away so badly.
“Emma, I thought––”
“You thought what?”
“I thought you wanted the money.”
“Money? What money?” Her face… she looks confused. Sincerely confused.
“The money I’d make playing professional hockey.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her response. When nothing happens, when she says nothing, I feel as though I need to keep going. “You said, ‘Think of all the money you’ll make.’” Or something along those lines.
“When? When did I say that?” She’s no longer leaking tears and her face is very red. “When did I say that? That I hoped you would go away so you can make a bunch of money. Money that would belong toyou. Not tomebecause we”—she jabs herself in the chest—“aren’t married. Heck, we’re not even together anymore.”
“Yes, we are––”
She shakes her head. “No. You took care of that. We’re not together. So why would I give two figs about your stupid money?”
I open my mouth to respond, but she isn’t finished.
“You know what I think?”
I slowly move my head left then right. And I wait.
