Page 91
I smirk.
“You can’t come between us.”
“I have nothing to do with it. Your delusions caused you to lose your daughter.”
“I haven’t lost her.” But she doesn’t sound certain.
“I’ve gotta go. Let’s keep this professional. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Harassing a twenty-three-year-old associate probably wouldn’t go over well with HR. You’re fourteen years older than me, and you work for the owner of our collaborating company. Not a good look.”
“You’re—”
“Just turned twenty-three last week.”
Her mouth drops. “Whatever. It’s a legal consenting age.”
“So is seventeen.”
I jog off, knowing I crossed a line. I don’t feel bad about it either.
I spend the next week focused on the project for work, scouting apartments in California, and training for the triathlon I signed up for next month. I hadn’t realized how much Emma had become a part of my life until she wasn’t there any longer. No texts about random thoughts she needed to share. Or late-night calls to ask what I’m watching.
But I can’t be the one to reach out first. Her life is more complicated, and she needs to do what’s best for her. I can only hope that includes me.
It’s been nine days since I heard her voice. Or received a text. And in that time I’ve only had the two full nights of sleep.
Tonight, I don’t hate that I’m flipping through the channels at two in the morning when her name lights up my screen. Apparently, I’m not the only one awake and watching ridiculous shit.
Sadie: Where are you? We’ve been looking for you all night. I’m worried.
Sadie: You left? You left me? You can’t do this to me! You can’t do this to US!!
Sadie: You promised. You promised to be honest. You promised you’d talk to me. LIAR!
Sadie: Jonathan, please, please talk to me. We can fix this. I will always love you. It’s fixable.
Sadie: I’m worried about you. Please let me know you’re okay. Please.
Sadie: WTF!! I thought you loved me. You said you loved me! You know you still love me!
Sadie: I’m sorry. I’m worried. I’m tired. I need to hear from you.
Sadie: Don’t do this. TALK TO ME!
Sadie: Fine. Forget it. You can do whatever you want. You never needed me. I’ll be fine.
Sadie: You’re hurting me. Please. I need you. Please! You’re breaking my heart.
Sadie: SCREW YOU!
Sadie: I don’t know if you’ve read any of these. I’m sorry. I’m not myself. Please come home.
Sadie: You made your choice. I only wish I knew why.
Emma’s sitting on my couch, taking in every inch of the modern-industrial design of my apartment. There’s not much else to see. I haven’t added anything to it other than furniture and a sound system. It was newly renovated when I signed the lease two years ago. Clean lines, original brick wall and paned windows on the waterside, and a newly varnished wide-planked floor. The kitchen is stainless and modern. And the metal stairs and exposed steel beams add to its appeal. The view of the harbor kept me here a year longer than I intended.
“I know we said we weren’t going to talk about it, but we can if you want.”
Last night, after our first conversation in over a week, we decided to do something again. This time, I promised we’d have fun and not talk about anything heavy—aka Rachel.
