“Enjoy.” She beamed at us and then walked away.
I strapped my new bracelet around my wrist and fastened it. My gaze lingered on the piece of jewelry for the next few seconds, adoration flickering in my eyes. “I owe you one, Emi.”
“Like hell you do,” she answered, a small grin tugging at the corners of her lips.
I opened the card attached to the bottom of the small box and read the inscription. “Roses are red, violets are blue. You’rethe coffee to my creamer and the sugar to my brew.” My smile broadened. “Aww, that’s sweet.”
She sipped her drink with a dramatic smile.
“It’s a little cheesy, though, don’t you think?” I teased, deliberately stealing her joy.
She rolled her eyes with a quiet groan.
“I mean, think about it: Violets aren’t blue. They’re actually their own color…violet.”
“It’s called poetry, Debbie Downer.” She flicked me off, frowning at my dry logic.
I laughed, leaning back in my chair, the cushion soft against my skin.
After my chuckle faded into silence, my reality flashed through my mind, a harsh reminder that this blissful moment was temporary.
“All right. Spill,” Emi said, her gaze fixed on me.
“What?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“You’re doing that thing with your face again.”
“What thing?”
“TheI’m worried about something that’s eating me up, but I’d rather keep it to myselfthing.”
I stirred my espresso, watching the foam ripple as I wondered how she always read me like an open book.
“You look like a sad little doll,” she said. “Now talk to me.”
I heaved a sigh and rubbed my eyes. “It’s my father.” I met her gaze, trying to gather my thoughts. “He’s mixed up with loan sharks and people who think threats are communication.”
A scowl settled on her face.
“It’s so exhausting, Emi,” I murmured, covering my face with my palms.
“Then stop it,” she said. “Stop cleaning up your father’s mess all the time. He’s a grown man, for Christ’s sake.”
I shook my head. “It’s not that easy, you know.”
“That’s your emotions talking.” She leaned in, taking my hands off my face. “Look, I know you feel like you owe him something, like he’s your responsibility, but he’s not.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “It’s the other way around, Eva. You’re just twenty; you shouldn’t be carrying so much of a load.”
“If I don’t, who will?”
“Hewill!”
I scoffed. “Oh, trust me, Emi, he won’t.”
“Then let him face the music,” she pressed on. “He makes the mess; he deals with it. Simple.”
I lifted my drink to my lips and took a sip, wishing it were that easy. While my brain was literally spinning with a myriad of thoughts tugging at it, I overheard someone behind us talking about a deadline he needed to meet.
And that’s when it hit me.
