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“I can’t pay my bills on talent,” I remind her with a laugh.
“Indeed,” she scoffs, then takes Emma’s hand. “But now he brings me a work of art like you, and can a mother complain? No. My son is happy, lit up like a Christmas tree in June. Imagine!”
We eat, we walk down to the beach and let the wind carry away our troubles, we collect some seashells and walk a little further until tiredness takes over Mom. Then it’s back to the house to let her rest, and Emma and I retire to the porch and watch the sunset with a glass of wine.
All in all, it feels like a pretty great day and Emma’s smile was unwavering.
But now, in the calmness of the evening with an orange sun clinging to the horizon with all its strength, she seems sad. The corners of her mouth dip slightly, and there’s a faraway sadness in her eyes.
“Emma?”
“Mm?” She glances at me and while her smile widens, it seems forced.
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re sad. I can tell. Was this too much?” It wouldn’t be the first time that I’d misread things and provided a bad solution.
“Oh no, no. Today was amazing. Kind of breathtaking actually in the strangest of ways. It’s just…I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
“If it’s affecting you, it’s not stupid.” Leaning forward in my chair, I set my glass down and give Emma my full attention. “Talk to me.”
A light breeze pulls slightly at her short hair, sending the purple strands of her streak skimming over the top of her head. Her eyes sparkle with the hint of tears, and she chews on her lower lip before she speaks.
“It’s just…your mom. She’s kind of amazing. She’s warm and funny and she just accepted me without a second thought. The way she just included me and showed interest in me and everything. It was just…”
The glistening in her eyes worsens, turning her lashes into diamonds as she stares out at the horizon. My mother has always been a gentle soul to people she likes and has always prided herself in her judgment of character. If she hadn’t liked Emma, today would have been very different.
“In just a few hours, she gave me more love and support than I think I’ve ever had in my life. I could never get that from my own parents, y’know? It just got me thinking what my life would have been like if I’d been raised by someone like that. Someone full of love that supported me rather than judged me—” She cuts herself off as a sudden sob bubbles up, and she presses one hand to her chest. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying!”
Sliding closer, I drape one arm around her shoulders and pull Emma into a tight hug.
“This is so pathetic,” Emma weeps. “One afternoon and suddenly I’m a mess!” Her laugh is hollow, and initially, she tries to escape my hug. That only lasts for a few seconds before she’s crying against my shoulder. Her body shakes and her breath escapes in gasps. One hand curls into my shirt and pulls so hard that the fabric against the back of my neck strains.
I know little about how she was raised, and given how my relationship with her father was always one of mutual respect rather than firm friendship like Asher’s, I never saw him in the fatherly role.
I can take a guess though.
“It’s not pathetic,” I assure her softly, rumbling soothing sounds around my chest. “You’re going through a lot of shit right now, and anyone would want to seek comfort from their family. Instead, yours has cast you out with more judgment than you deserve. On top of that, there are exams and everything with your apartment, your car, the cabin…”
I pause and draw Emma into my lap. She curls in, burying her face against my neck. I hold her as the sadness takes over her and she cries herself hoarse against me.
“You deserve all of the love and support. I hope you understand that.” Given the power of her upset, I begin to rock back and forth in an attempt to soothe her. “I can’t speak for your shitty parents, but I can speak for myself, and confidently for Asher and Finn. We care about you deeply, and we are here for you. We’ve all fallen so insanely hard for you and supporting you comes as easily as breathing.”
“How can you say that?” Emma lifts her head, sniffling. “All it takes is one phone call from my dad, or from whoever stole those pictures and your lives are over. Your jobs are dust. I’m not worth that. I’m not worth—” Her throat closes, and she can’t continue. Instead, she whimpers.
“Emma.” I press my lips to her forehead, lingering there for a long moment. “We’ve all lived long enough to know that what we feel for you is more important than our jobs. We’ve lived. We have money, savings. Jobs come and go, but you?”
I cup her face and bring her head up, locking eyes with her.
“You, my dear, are a one-in-a-billion chance encounter, and none of us are willing to give you up. Do you understand?”
Tears pour down her cheeks and she nods wordlessly.
“We care about you, for you. Nothing else. Just you. And my mother can see that too so don’t you worry about anything, okay? You deserve us and we are here for you.”
Emma weeps harder and cries herself to the point of exhaustion. When I take her inside, Mom is one step ahead of me, and the guest room is already set up for us. I take Emma to bed, assuring her constantly that she’s worth our choices and reminding her that these are our choices to make.
