Emma walked to the door, hesitated, and then knocked. After a long while, she heard the barking of a small dog and the unlatching of chains. The door opened slowly.
“Oh!” Mrs. Pawloski said, her eyes wide with surprise. “Emma!”
“Hello.” Emma offered her a small wave. “I hope it’s not too early.”
“No! No, it’s fine,” Mrs. Pawloski replied. Her smile looked fragile.
“May I come in?”
“Oh.” She hesitated. “Of course! I’m sorry, that’s so rude of me! I should have invited you in. I’m just surprised to see you. I don’t think you’ve been here in years. Come in and don’t mind the mess. I never have visitors. Otherwise I would have tidied up!”
Mrs. Pawloski led Emma into the very small, very clean living room and asked her to sit.
Despite the drab exterior, the inside of Mrs. Pawloski’s apartmenthad so much personality Emma wondered if the woman ran her own Etsy shop. All her old furniture seemed to have been repurposed and hand-painted with bright colors. It contrasted nicely with the fading wallpaper, which was covered with framed photographs of her and Burt’s travels, and the numerous lamps with bedazzled shades scattered around the room. It was over the top and bold, but it worked. Mrs. Pawloski’s home had a kitschy style to it that was just like the woman herself.
She insisted on making some tea and Emma waited while the little dog sat on the rug and stared up at her, silently judging.
“Here you go,” Mrs. Pawloski said, returning from the kitchen with two mugs. She gave Emma one, then sat down in an armchair nearby.
They were quiet for a moment. Emma took a sip. She wasn’t sure where to start.
“Oh, I remember Armani,” she finally said, nodding to the dog. “He used to play in our back garden.”
“Oh no, Armani died years ago! I’ve had this little angel for a while now. He is such a good boy. Aren’t you, Mr. Peaches?” Mrs. Pawloski reached down to pet the dog’s white fluffy head while he curled up at her feet.
“He’s adorable.” Emma couldn’t believe Mrs. Pawloski hadn’t mentioned him before, but then realized that she very well might have. Emma just rarely paid attention to her anymore. The guilt hit her again. “I… I really wanted to come over… and apologize for what I said to you yesterday. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”
Her voice wavered, and Emma suddenly felt like she might cry. Whatever pressures she’d put on herself over the past couple months were coming to a head at this inconvenient moment. Her career, her family, her relationships—everything that she had pushed to the back of her mind was now front and center.
“Oh Emma, you don’t need to apologize,” Mrs. Pawloski replied, her expression becoming concerned.
“I do. I really do,” Emma admitted as tears started to pool at the corners of her eyes. She refused to let another person dismiss her behavior. “You’re always so kind, and I was mean to you. So mean.”
Mrs. Pawloski smiled slightly. “But you’re kind, too. You were very kind to come here today.”
“I’m really not.” Emma choked back a sob. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get so emotional. I just don’t know what’s wrong with me! I keep making the same mistakes over and over, even when I should know better. Knightley’s right about that, you know, at least we can agree about that!” She threw up her hands as she now openly wept. “But I’m trying hard, so hard, to be mature, to make the right decisions. It’s just never good enough.” She shook her head, looking up at Mrs. Pawloski again. “And you’re the one who has always been so nice to me. You never, ever judge. I’m just…”
Mrs. Pawloski’s eyes widened in a rare moment of silence.
“So sorry,” Emma finally whispered, wiping her wet face with the back of her hand.
Another minute passed before Mrs. Pawloski shimmied her chair closer.
“I’ve known you your entire life, Emma. Isn’t that something?” She reached over and took Emma’s hand in hers. “I’ve seen you stumble here and there, but you always get up. It’s one of the things I love about you. One very small misstep does not undo all the good in your heart.”
Emma could feel the tears falling down her cheeks again.
“You have to remember something else, my dear…” Mrs. Pawloski continued.
“What’s that?” Emma sniffled.
“You’re only, what is it? Twenty-four? Good Lord, you’regoing to make so many mistakes. And you should! That’s what makes life worth living. The mistakes lead you where you’re supposed to be.” Her smile became wistful, as if recalling a memory she had forgotten about. “Your mom was good at mistakes too, you know.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “She was?”
Mrs. Pawloski nodded as if proud of the fact. “She and I were friends for a long time. Burt and I even introduced her to your father! It was love at first sight; we all knew it. But that first date shouldn’t have happened at all. Cassandra had been planning to go to art school in Paris. Mailed in the application and everything. But guess what? She got the dates wrong. She missed the deadline by two days. Anyone else would have been devastated, but your mom just took it in stride. She even laughed! And then two weeks later we set her up on a blind date with your father. And I remember when she called me afterward. She said, ‘Well, now I know why I messed up that application!’ As if that had been the plan the entire time! Maybe it was destiny or something. Or maybe she just knew how to make the most out of her mistakes.” Mrs. Pawloski shrugged slightly. “Everyone makes mistakes, Emma. And that’s okay. In fact, that’s good! They should. And I think… no, I know that your mom would be very proud of you and the woman you’ve become, mistakes and all.”
Emma closed her eyes for a long moment, feeling the weight of Mrs. Pawloski’s words deep in her chest.
