Page 17

Chapter 17

Zack

“Miss fidget, what’s your deal?” I ask as Emilie rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck for what seems like the eighth time in the last three minutes. We’re in the car, driving to her parents’ house for dinner, and she hasn’t stopped moving since she got in.

We’ve been doing the fake dating thing for a month, and it’s time to meet her parents.

She turns, with the fakest of smiles I’ve seen from her to date. “I’m fine. Just mentally preparing.”

“What’s your middle name?” I ask, trying to get her mind off whatever it’s stuck on.

“James.”

I expected Marie, Ann, Rose—certainly not James.

“Emilie James. That’s unique. I like it.”

“Thank you. People loved telling me it was a boy middle name… like letters have a gender association.” Her words would roll their eyes if they had them. “What’s yours?”

“William. That would make me Zachary William Andersen. I got to learn almost all the letters of the alphabet real quick.”

“You’re the first Zack I met with a ‘K’ instead of a ‘c’ or ‘ch.’”

“Well, my first name doesn’t actually have a K, it’s your typical CH spelling. But I came home from school one day demanding the different spelling; apparently I had an affinity for the letter K. My parents said yes. The rest is history. ”

“Stop, that’s adorable. My parents would never. They even changed my nickname. Like friends started calling me EJ and they told me Em or Emmy was a better fit for a girl.” Her voice trails as she looks out the window.

I fucking hate that.

My hand finds her knee. I squeeze, and she looks over with a semi-sad smile on her lips. Maybe sad isn’t the right word—maybe tired would be better? I know family relationships are complicated but hers seems like it’s always been that way—even when she was a kid, when it’s supposed to be easy.

“Well, EJ, if you want to leave early, say the word and we’re out of there.” When I use the new nickname, her eyes damn near sparkle.

“Thank you, Zack with a K.”

“Your home is lovely. It must’ve been special to raise a family here,” I say, taking a sip of the red wine Ethan, Emilie’s dad, handed me as soon as we got settled.

The vibe is tense. Eliza and Mitch sit on a couch next to Elaine, their mom. Ethan sits alone, and I sit next to Emilie on a love seat. The room is set up for social gatherings but it feels like the people currently present aren’t.

“Oh, we lived in Michigan. Moved outside the city when Eliza went to NYU. She got an early acceptance into the law school.”

“Wow! You’re doing the law school thing?” I ask, trying to bring Eliza into the conversation.

It’s like I can feel Emilie’s shoulders move up to her ears as she drinks her wine .

“School wasn’t for Eliza. Not a good fit for our girl. Instead, she works at Ethan’s practice as an administrative assistant.” Elaine smiles at Eliza. “She and Mitch do very well for themselves.”

Emilie coughs, covers her mouth, and takes a drink of water. I nod because I have no idea how to respond to that.

I’ve been here for fifteen minutes and I’m starting to understand. I can’t necessarily put my finger on it, but it’s clear Emilie doesn’t fit here.

“Emilie, have you heard from Jen?”

“No, Mom. Not since I went back to Michigan for a girls weekend that was a disaster. I don’t anticipate I’ll be hearing from Jen, or any of them, for a while.” Her voice is pointed, defensive.

“Oh, you can’t just throw away friendships, Emilie. Those girls have been with you since high school.”

The rage radiating from Emilie is something I could reach out and grab. Instead, I reach for her free hand, the one not holding her glass of red wine like it’s a life source.

“They didn’t want to hang out with me. The only reason I got an invite was because I work with Willow. They wanted concert tickets, or a lunch date, or who knows what else.”

Fuck. That stings.

Elaine rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic. You don’t have many friends. It’d be a shame to lose someone like Jen. Her dad and yours still play golf at the club when we’re back in Michigan.”

How does this keep getting worse? Doesn’t she see how uncomfortable this makes her daughter? I try to think of a time I saw my mom do this with Riley, and I’m at a loss. They’ve had their fair share of mother-daughter fights growing up, but this is different.

“I won’t be friends with someone who doesn’t want me just so it’s more comfortable for Dad and his golf partner.” Emilie’ s words are sickly sweet, dripping with sarcasm, and the smile she wears goes from ear-to-ear.

My eyebrows raise with each word that comes out of her mouth, and I look down at my shoes. I’m trying to wrap my brain around the idea of someone not wanting Emilie. That just doesn’t track with what I know about her.

“Well, I can’t get Willow tickets, but if you ever want to see a Cosmos game, I’m sure I could hook you up.”

Honestly, I don’t want to give these people anything besides a reality check, but I’d do anything to change the topic of conversation, and the offer kind of just fell out of my mouth.

I’m desperate to change the vibe; the air is thick like smoke you shouldn’t breathe in.

“Wait a second… I just got it,” I slap my knees, sit up straighter with the realization. “You all have ‘E’ names.” Eliza slowly blinks, while Mitch looks confused. “Big fan of the fifth letter in the alphabet or a coincidence?” I shrug my shoulders.

“Yes, we all have first names that start with the letter E,” Elaine replies, her words like a scratch on a record player you want to run from.

“Oh man, you guys were on fire last week. Great first game,” Mitch chimes in for the first time tonight. He pulled himself from his phone for long enough, and I don’t know if I’ll ever him like him more than I do in the next few seconds.

“Appreciate it. Hoping for a good season.”

“Have any trick plays drawn up like the Super Bowl?” her dad asks.

“We might have something up our sleeves.” I give them the generic answer before drinking the rest of my wine. I’m for sure not about to share playbook secrets with these people.

“Are you really coming to the wedding? With Emilie as a date?” Ethan asks, like Emilie isn’t sitting next to me .

“As long as she’ll still have me.” I turn to her, hitting my knee to hers.

Her mom chimes in, like the ray of fucking sunshine she is. “So, you’re dating. Exclusively?” The doubt gets stronger with each syllable.

Emilie doesn’t move. She is frozen.

“Yeah.” I try not to sound weird but it’s fucking hard because this conversation is bonkers. “I’ve always had my eye on her, to be honest.”

“Tell us about your first date,” Eliza jumps in, trying to pin us against a wall. I know Emilie mentioned this as a possibility, but I thought she was exaggerating.

“Eliza. What are you doing?” Emilie chides, eyeing her sister with what I’d call comfortable distaste.

“Oh, I love this story. Let me tell it.” I put my hand on Emilie’s knee and give it a squeeze, before leaning forward, my forearms on my knees. “I knew from Tripp and Willow how obsessed Emilie is with this bakery. It’s a couple blocks from her place and she always orders the same latte and gets a croissant. I heard her mention to Willow, one time when we were all out somewhere, that she wished she knew how to make croissants. So, I called the bakery and asked if they’d do an after-hours event, just her and I.” I pause to steal a look at Emilie, and she’s trying not to look surprised. I lean back to tell the rest of the story, so I can look from Emilie to her family.

“When I told her our date would have leftovers, she agreed. They taught us how to make croissant dough, and they gave her the recipe for the latte she’s obsessed with.”

“Croissants take more than one day to make,” Eliza sneers, speculating that I’m not telling the truth.

“We learned that. We picked them up when they were ready a few days later.” Before I can get the end of my sentence out, Emilie wraps her arm around my arm closest to her and lays her head on my shoulder—just for a few seconds .

Eliza and Mitch watch the two of us, like they’re waiting for us to slip up.

“Best croissants I’ve had to date,” Emilie croons, her chin on my shoulder.

“Did you hear that Mitch got a promotion?” Elaine says to what I’m assuming is Emilie. The change in subject is jarring. Like, they won’t let her take up even the smallest amount of space, even though it was a question someone else asked.

My brows furrow and irritation hits me like a wave. Emilie squeezes my arm. I look to her and she shakes her head in the smallest ‘no.’

“No, I didn’t. Why don’t you tell us about it, Mitch?” She enunciates every letter in his name like it’s a dare.

Mitch launches into a boring rendition of his new responsibilities. Her parents laugh and ask follow-up questions. Eliza leans into him and smiles like the dutiful fiancé. He looks at me a few times, I think to see if I’m still listening, which I am—unfortunately. Emilie wears the fakest of smiles, one she’s probably practiced for years.

The difference in how they speak to Eliza and Emilie is absolute bullshit. The long awaited sunshine versus the persistent thunderstorm. It’s like Eliza can do no wrong, but Emilie can do nothing right.

My skin itches with each minute that passes. We’re finally almost done with dinner; Eliza and Mitch have been going on and on about the wedding and I’ve been staring at my plate, trying to count the ridges on the edge.

“Emilie, where’d you get that dress? ”

“Oh, it’s a designer that Keegan is working with. Isn’t it fun?” Emilie’s eyes brighten when she looks down at it, and then to her mom. The fabric, flowy and light pink, is the perfect shade to match her light complexion and hair. It bunches in at her waist, showing off her figure, and isn’t too short—it hits about mid-thigh.

“I do like the color. I feel like you should’ve sized up though, yes?” Elaine smiles through the backhanded compliment.

I set my fork on my plate and reach over to Emilie, placing a hand on her knee. Who says shit like that? Let alone a mom talking to one of her kids.

“I love EJ in this dress. It’s one of my favorites.” I look at Emilie, not her poor excuse of a family. She beams when I use the nickname I learned about in the car. Everyone crinkles their brows when I say “EJ.”

It’s the smallest act of defiance, a subtle “fuck you” for the people who are supposed to treat her with kindness and respect. Instead, they make things difficult.

“Like I said, the color is spectacular.” Elaine tries to smooth me over but it doesn’t work.

I make it a point to dramatically look at my watch. “I didn’t know it was so late. Emilie and I actually have to get going. I’ve got something at the Cosmos facility tonight.”

Emilie doesn’t look surprised when I stand up from the table. Instead, she looks relieved as she grabs her purse. Biting my tongue with these people, who are supposed to love and support Emilie, is fucking hard.

“If you ever want to come to a Cosmos game, let EJ know and I’ll take care of it.” It’s not that I ever want to spend more time with these people, but my mom taught me to be kind to people even when they don’t deserve it.

Emilie smirks when I call her EJ for the second time tonight .

“Count me in!” Mitch screams. To be fair, he doesn’t seem that bad, until you remember the whole him marrying his ex’s little sister thing. It says a lot that he’s my favorite of the bunch.

After some lukewarm goodbyes, I hold Emilie’s hand as we walk to the car.

“That actually could’ve been worse,” she says, eyes fixed on the sidewalk in front of us. “I mean, I know it wasn’t great, but I’ve definitely had worse interactions with them.” Her words fall out of her mouth, quick and a little breathless. Maybe this is for her benefit, like she’s trying to convince herself?

Before I open the car door, I stop and turn toward her.

“What’s the matter?” Concern etches her soft cheeks and golden eyes.

I scoff. “Are you okay?”

“That actually wasn’t that bad. I mean—” She starts down a path which probably ends at some sort of excuse or reasoning. But before she gets too far, I quickly pull her to me. My arms wrap around her mid-back and squeeze. I breathe her in, vanilla, when I tip down and put my head on her shoulder.

When she hugs me back, I feel her exhale. She leans in, holds onto me, and my heart cracks a little.

“You deserve better than that. Whatever the fuck that was.”

I feel her take a breath, her front flush to mine.

“Thank you.”

When she doesn’t let go, I keep holding on, trying to make up for all the times she’s been cast aside, not valued.

Who knows if there’s enough time to make up for all those other ones, but damn it, I’m going to try.