Later that week, I got a call from Emzee just after my Linguistic Landscapes class.
“What’s up, lady?” I answered, plugging one ear against the noise in the crowded hallway.
“Not much. I have a few days off between photography gigs and I thought I’d nag my sister-in-law to join me for a ladies’ night,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice.
“Oh my god I’d love to, but I have midterms coming up and it’s crunch time,” I told her truthfully. “I don’t think I can swing it this week.”
Honestly, I was desperate for some girl time after all the heartache I’d been through lately, even if I was sworn by Stefan (and bound by my own humiliation) not to discuss the specifics of my marriage, the KZM models, and everything else that had been going on.
“Aww Tori,” she wheedled. “What if we just grab a lunch real quick? Someplace near campus, even. You still owe me for bailing on the family dinner. Talk about painful.”
I cringed. “Guilty as charged,” I admitted. “Sorry you had to deal with all that testosterone by yourself. I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it.”
“I survived. Don’t sweat it. But you can make it up to me by saying yes to ladies’ lunch. Unless you have back to back classes every day?”
“Tuesdays and Thursdays I’m free in the afternoon,” I said. “Let’s do this.”
We made plans for lunch and I was glad to have a distraction to look forward to.
On Thursday morning, I let myself dress up. I tended to go a little more casual and basic for school because I didn’t want to rub Stefan’s wealth in the faces of my fellow students, and I liked blending in—but because I’d be meeting Emzee, who had her own similarly expansive wardrobe, I didn’t feel guilty about wearing my nicer things. I slipped into a gorgeous Missoni sweater dress, a pair of knee-high designer boots, and accessorized with a super thick cashmere scarf that screamed cozy luxury. For a little glitz, I added the wristful of gold bracelets Stefan had gotten me for the fundraiser. I loved the festive sound of them clinking together. Hopefully it would cheer me up enough to get me through my morning classes and off to lunch with a smile.
When I walked into the sleek Asian fusion place in Hyde Park that Emzee had picked, my sister-in-law let out a low whistle at the sight of me.
“Look at you, you saucy little stunner! You really need to let me photograph you sometime,” she said, giving me a hug and then two butterfly-light kisses, one on each cheek.
I blushed and waved the compliment away. “You look great, too,” I told her.
It wasn’t just her menswear-inspired vest and wool hat—though she always looked sophisticated and chic in her head-to-toe black outfits—it was the happy flush she was wearing.
“You’re glowing,” I told her, once we had ordered. “Tell me your secret.”
This time she was the one who blushed, trying to hide it behind a sip of her drink.
“Well,” she finally said, still fighting an uncontrollable smile, “I sort of met someone.”
I clapped my hands together and let out a little whoop. This was exactly what I needed right now, and I was thrilled to listen to Emzee go on and on about the new flame in her life.
They’d met at a gallery, where Emzee had gone to check out the opening night of a new photography exhibit that had been getting a lot of pre-show buzz all over town.
“So I was gushing about the way the artist had captured the sort of rapacious hunger of the city—without showing even a single glimpse of literal food—and just the genius in that, where you barely realize what’s missing even though you can justfeelwhat the photos are all about—and he interrupted me and said, ‘That’s exactly what this exhibit is all about. You understand perfectly.’”
“Wow,” I said. “You guys totally meshed.”
“Iknow,” Emzee said, nodding. “Turns out he hadn’t had time to write up his artist’s statement or the description cards for the photos, but he asked if I’d stay after the show and help him do it, which of course I said yes, and then he insisted on taking me to dinner to thank me, and later we ended up at his apartment and…” She blushed again. “He isfiiine. And hung.”
I laughed along with her. I’d never seen her so giddy. She continued dominating the conversation, telling me how brilliant he was, how he traveled as much as she did and loved all the same places, how he’d recently moved to Chicago from his former home base in Brooklyn.
“I didn’t want to tell him who I was at first,” she confessed as we ordered another round of spicy edamame and virgin mojitos. “Guys find out I’m a Zoric and they suddenly get all weird, like they think they can get something out of it. It’s like I’m not even a person anymore.”
I rested my chin on my fist, nodding, completely sympathetic. Even though I hadn’t grown up with her family’s reputation and wealth, I knew what it was like to be judged for your family’s name. As a senator, my father had been famous in his own way, and people had always had certain expectations of me—not just who I should be, but also what I could do for them. There had been plenty of times I’d been fooled by a friend or a friend’s parents or even a teacher who had expressed interest in my life, only to discover they wanted to use me to get close to my father (and his power) in some way.
“Does he know now?” I asked, reaching for a California roll.
Emzee nodded. “He didn’t even care—he said he understood why I kept it from him!” She got a dreamy, starry-eyed look as she stared off into space. “When he slept over last week, I woke up to find he’d not only made me the most perfect goat cheese omelet, but he also hung my new curtains up over those crazy floor-to-ceiling windows in my living room andwalked my dog. Can you believe that shit? I feel like I’m making this up! He’s like…amazing.”
I smiled at her. “He better be,” I said. “You deserve nothing less.”
“I think he’s going to ask me to move in with him,” Emzee confessed. “And I don’t know, I think I want to. I feel like he could really be the one…”
