Page 113 of Talk Wicked to Me

It made her happy that he had a wife who loved him. “Did my mom ever tell you why she started giving out cookies?”

“I was there when that came about. It was your idea, and you were as proud as a peacock.”

“What do you mean, my idea? I thought she had always done it.”

“Not as far as I know. Or at least not for me. That was all you, Emerson.”

“Do you remember how old I was?”

“You were a little thing. Maybe four or five. You used to come in to play with my dogs, Red and Blue. One day you came in with a cookie from the bakery around the corner. One of those white ones with sprinkles on top. I made a joke, saying I wished I had a cookie like that, and you offered me yours. I didn’t take it, of course, and the next day, you brought me a cookie you and your mother had made. You’d decorated it, and I’m not gonna lie. It was not pretty.”

Emerson laughed. “Well, I was just a little girl.”

“Little and proud to be giving it to me, and it was darn good. The dogs were begging for cookies, too, and you turned to your mother and said she needed to buy some dog food so you could make them cookies, too. After that you came in about once a week with different kinds of cookies for me and doggy biscuits for Red and Blue.”

“I don’t remember that, but I’m glad I know it now.”

“You used to say you were going to be everyone’s favorite baker, and your mother would say, favorite and poorest, because you refused to accept a penny for the cookies. I told your mother I could ask you not to make me any more cookies if it would help, and she looked me in the eyes and said, And dull that beautiful light in her eyes? No, thank you…”

By the time Emerson took the call from Gwen’s parents, her emotions were raw. She was glad to be facing a less emotional conversation with the handsome couple who commanded attention when they walked into a room.

For the briefest moment, when their faces appeared on the screen, Mr. Vasiliou’s gaze swept over Emerson, tension lines appearing at the sides of his mouth. Theodore Vasiliou looked every bit as Greek as his ancestors, with dark hair and eyes to match, olive skin, and strong features. His wife, Odette, sat beside him, her back pin straight. She was supremely self-possessed, with thinly manicured brows, perfectly coiffed thick dark hair like Gwen’s, and a coolness that bordered on aloof.

Emerson sat up a little taller, smoothing her hair. “Hi.”

“It’s nice to see you, Emerson,” he said. “You’re looking well.”

If he were anyone else, she might think he was being kind, given that she’d been crying on and off all afternoon. She knew her eyes and nose had to be red and puffy and her skin splotchy. But when it came to Mr. Vasiliou, she’d always felt barely seen, and she had a feeling that was what she was getting now. The cursory appraisal of a man who had taken on a broken teenage girl out of a sense of duty to his old friend.

“I don’t think I look very good right now, but thank you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Emerson. You look great,” Mrs. Vasiliou said.

Mr. Vasiliou put his hand on his wife’s arm, but his eyes never left Emerson as he said, “We’re not doing that today.”

Mrs. Vasiliou’s smile faded, and she put her hand over his.

“Emerson, we owe you an apology and an explanation,” he said evenly. “Odette and I know we aren’t the most loving people, and we have never been very good at parenting, but we tried our best to do right by you.”

She swallowed hard at his unexpected humility. “You were good to me.”

“There’s a difference between being good to someone and being good parents. Good parents give of themselves. Their time, their emotions. Your parents were good people and incredible parents. They lived and breathed for you from the moment your mother found out she was pregnant. It’s always been different for us. We were not planning on having a family, and when Odette got pregnant, we thought we had enough love to give to a child, even if our brand of love was different, and the timing was serendipitous, with your mother being pregnant, too. We assumed the feelings your parents spoke of, and the ability to show them, would come with time. But…”

“But we’re wired differently,” Mrs. Vasiliou said almost urgently. “We wanted to be the kind of parents your parents were. But it turns out that wanting is not enough. We feel love. We would give our lives for Gwen and you, but we’ve had to accept that we can’t create warm, fuzzy emotions from hearts that don’t know how to nurture it. Gwen has called us selfish many times, as you know, and she’s not wrong. Sometimes it’s easier to run away than to face your failures. But we tried to make up for it by hiring capable nannies, and when…” She pressed her lips together, blinking rapidly.

Emerson grabbed tissues. She didn’t know what to do with this information. She was sad for all of them, but mostly for Gwen’s parents.

“Your parents helped us learn how to be the best parents we could be, which was far from good enough,” Mr. Vasiliou said. “When they were…” His jaw clenched, and he looked up, closing his eyes for a beat, while his wife gracefully wiped her tears. When he looked at the camera again, his eyes were glassy. “When we lost them, we lost the best parts of ourselves, too. We were barely holding on to our ability to function, going to therapy instead of work and doing our best to make sure you and Gwen had the tools and the help to process your grief and move forward.”

“You did well by us,” Emerson said through her tears.

“When your friend Baxter called us, the things he said hit home,” Mr. Vasiliou said. “He made us realize that it was time to stop avoiding the hard conversations. Your parents would be thrilled that you’re with a young man who embodies all the things they valued and who will fight for your happiness. The thing is, Emerson,” he said with tears in his eyes, “if we could go back and find you another family to stay with—a family who was better equipped to help you—we wouldn’t have given you up. Because we may not be able to show love in the same ways your parents could, but we love you. You are, and have always been, an important part of our family. So, yes, we’re selfish, and we’re deeply sorry that we aren’t capable of more.”

Emerson grabbed more tissues, breathing shakily as she tried to soak up rivers of tears. “I wouldn’t have gone to another family. I needed you and Gwen, and you opened your home and your hearts to me without question. Warm and fuzzy doesn’t top that kind of love. I don’t think I knew that until this very moment, but it’s true, and I love you, too.” She wished Gwen had been on the call with them. She needed to hear what they’d said firsthand. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he said.

“Is that why you haven’t gone to see Gwen? Because you feel like you failed her in some way?”