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That soured the air. I wanted to ask her why she kept referring to me not needing money. Okay, so I didn’t need it—I believe Valerie snidely referred to it as landing on my feet once before—but that didn’t mean I wanted to just give up and do nothing forever. That would be so boring.
And I wanted to ask her if she and Deja were okay, financially. Because it wasn’t like Holli to be so focused on money. My annoyance came second to my worry. But how did you ask your best friend if she was broke?
I didn’t want to come off as the lofty savior who could sweep in and fix everything for the poor, impoverished waif. Holli hated it when her parents did that. I just stared at her, like a deer gazing frozen into the headlights of an oncoming car, unable to do anything but let the moment hit me.
And that was when Emma arrived.
I heard her footsteps, her disgusted, likely exaggerated cough, and realized that the blue haze surrounding Holli and I had spilled into the hallway. “You have got to be joking!” she shrieked, and I scrambled for the remote, aware too late of the loud grunts and moans issuing from the speakers.
“It’s me!” I called out to her. “Just me and Holli, watching porn!”
Emma stepped in warily, as if her brain believed me, but her eyes were still scared. “And smoking all the marijuana in New York City, apparently.”
“Join us?” I patted the bed. “Room for one more.”
Her gaze flicked to the screen. “Perhaps another time.” She pointed to the tray. “Does Dad know about that?”
“Uh,” was all I could say, and I nodded, unsure how to proceed.
Holli piped up, “Who do you think gave it to us?”
“No, of course he did. That’s bloody perfect.” Emma pressed a hand to her temple. “Just keep it down, okay? I have to work in the morning.”
“Quiet as church mice,” I swore, holding up three fingers in a Girl Scout salute. When she’d left, and we’d heard her door close down the hall, Holli lit up, inhaled deeply, and said on an exhale, “Tell me you can’t get material out of that.”
I unmuted the television and lowered my voice. “I really, really like Emma. But I am going to be so glad once she’s married and living with Michael. Neil and I are never alone anymore.”
“Hey, you’re the one who hooked up with a single dad,” Holli reminded me.
“I know I did. I just thought that since she was in her mid-twenties…” I was glad the grunts of the dude on the screen would cover up our conversation. I’d never want to make Emma feel like I was pushing her away from her father. Neil lived for the time he spent with her, and I found myself missing her when she was gone for a few days. But we did have difficulties, living as a couple with another adult in the house.
“Why isn’t she staying with Michael?” Holli passed the joint to me.
I shook my head to decline it. “I’m good, thanks. It gets too hot when it’s little like that. But yeah, Michael has a roommate situation. Tere are like, four of them living in this loft. It would be a little too New Girl for her.”
“Whereas we were more Don’t Trust The B,” Holli supplied in a pinched voice.
“Exactly. And it’s not like Michael could live here.” The strangest feeling of dread crept over me. “Oh god. You know, they don’t have a house yet. I was expecting her to move out when they got married, but where are they going to go?”
Holli lifted her eyebrows and tilted her head, as if to say, “glad I’m not you.”
They didn’t have a place to live. Were they even looking? What if they didn’t find anything? “You don’t think they’d actually want to come live here with us?”
She shrugged and stubbed out the roach. “There’s more book material for you.”
* * * *
We’d been meeting our therapist, Dr. Ashley Kenner, at seven p.m. on Thursdays since November. It was a preemptive move we’d made when we’d realized that coming back to real life was going to be more difficult than anticipated. Her office was on West 59th street, near Columbus Circle.
Our first appointment after the holiday was also our first appointment after Neil had returned to work, so I wasn’t surprised when it seemed he would show up late. I was waiting in one of the stylish lime-green leather armchairs when he arrived. The waiting room was done up with stark white walls and spotlighted stills of ripe Bartlett pears. The floor was gray marble tile, with a huge white area rug. A receptionist sat at a very mod white metal desk at one side of the room. It was her, “Good evening, Mr. Elwood,” that made me look up from my magazine.
Just from the office, Neil looked tired, harried, and in a hurry—as he should have been, since he’d made it with just three minutes to spare. Still, seeing him was the best part of my day, and today was no exception.
“I’m so sorry, darling, I’ve done it again.” He hated being on time anywhere; he considered five minutes early late.
He hung his long black coat on the gleaming steel coat rack by the door, then came to where I sat. He wore a slate-blue suit of raw silk with a one-button jacket closed over a classic white shirt with an open collar. I could have sworn he’d left the house with a tie.
“Bad day then?” I asked, tugging on his collar when he bent down to kiss me.
