CHAPTER 6
GRAHAM
It’s been four days since I’ve seen her. In person, anyway. I’m currently staring at a jerky graphic of her on my laptop screen—the best Emma-substitute technology has to offer. It’s not enough. Not even close.
“Don’t you have class tomorrow?” she asks, blinking into her webcam, staring at a correspondingly spasmodic image of me.
“I do.” The time difference between us doesn’t play into my favor. She’s the one who can afford to sleep in; I’m the one with eight o’clock classes. 10:03 p.m. in Sacramento is 1:03 a.m. in New York. “But if you were here, I wouldn’t be sleeping, either. So what’s the difference?” Aside from the fact that sitting in my bed, laptop tilted to watch your face as you speak, is so inferior to the feel of you in my hands, the taste of you on my tongue.
The fuzzy Emma image smiles, one hand nervously pushing her hair behind her ear. She glances away, towards her bedroom door, I imagine, and back to me. Leaning closer, her face fills my screen. “Oh?” Her voice lowers. “And what would we be doing, instead of sleeping, if I was there?”
I give her a somewhat tame version. Not exactly censored, but not enough to scare her, either. The light on her end is too dark to see if she blushes, but her lips part and her eyes widen slightly and she bites her lip adorably and listens like I’m telling her the best story ever.
I don’t know how far she went with Reid. Or with anyone before him, for that matter, though I surmised that there was no one before him, from how frustrated he often seemed. I know far too much about Reid Alexander and his seduction capabilities. Not wanting a full accounting of just how critically I screwed up by not taking her from him last fall, I have no plans to ask her about their involvement. It has no bearing on what I think of her. It has no bearing on us.
“I wish you were here,” she says finally, her lower lip jutting out so slightly I might be imagining it. I run my finger across it on the screen, which she can’t see me do.
“I will be, in a week.”
She groans. “Too long.”
I laugh softly. “I agree.”
A faint scratching comes from my closed bedroom door. “Go away, Noodles,” I call. Cara’s cat is usually asleep at the foot of her bed at 1:00 a.m., not wandering around the house scratching on random closed doors.
Then my doorknob turns, the door opening a sliver before a small face appears. “Daddy?”
“I have a visitor,” I say into the tiny camera at the top of my screen, pushing the laptop onto the bed and padding across the room. “Cara? What are you doing up?” I open the door and she latches onto me, impeded only by the stuffed rabbit clenched in one fist.
Grasping her under the arms, I lift her and settle her in my arms. She sniffles and buries her face in my neck. “Bad dream?” I ask, and she nods, sniffling a little harder.
“Can I sleep with you?” A hiccup follows this muffled request. Emma coughs lightly, the sound coming through the laptop speakers with a scratchy unevenness, and Cara’s head pops up. “Who’s that?”
“I’m talking to Emma,” I say. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
She turns her head back and forth mulishly, her dark eyes intent. “I want to talk to Emma, too.”
Great. Wrestling Cara back into her bed could take me half an hour. She’ll want to tell me her entire nightmare, and she’s quite the dramatic narrator. I fully suspect she adds details as she goes along, just to enhance the story. And then the request for water. The request for a kiss. The need to be accompanied to the bathroom. The checking for monsters in her closet, under her bed and behind her draperies. Another kiss.
I love my daughter, but crap, what timing.
I walk over and pick up the laptop with my free hand, turning it towards Cara and myself. “I might as well let you go,” I tell Emma. “This could take a little while.”
“Hi, Emma,” Cara says, posing for the camera, horrible nightmare forgotten. She’s used to conversing with me this way when I’m away from home and she’s with Brynn or Cassie. “This is Bunny.” She holds the rabbit in front of the webcam. I’m sure all Emma can see is a screen full of worn blue fur.
“Oh, well hello there, Bunny. Are you by any chance… a turtle?”
Cara giggles, snatching Bunny to her chest and replacing the stuffed toy with her own face. “Nooooo.”
“A giraffe, maybe?”
“Nooooo!”
“A doggie?”
“No, no, no!”
“Well, I’m stumped. What kind of animal has a name like that?”
“A bunny!” Cara is dissolving into a fit of laughter, and I can’t help laughing along. She turns to me and points to my bed. “Sit, Daddy.”
I sit with a sigh, torn between shock and elation at Emma’s ability to switch gears. Five minutes ago I was whispering rather wicked details of what I wanted to do to her, and if the look on her face was any indication, she was having no problem following along. And now she’s charming my daughter.
Cara begins to get sleepy quickly, slumping into my lap a short time later, curled around Bunny. It’s inching closer to 2 a.m. “I’m going to go put her back down and hope she stays down. Same time tomorrow?”
“Earlier tomorrow,” she promises. “Goodnight, Graham.”
“Goodnight, Emma. See you soon.” She signs off and the screen goes black.
Ah, God. My life has become more complicated than I ever imagined it could be. I had no real idea what I was doing to myself when I decided to take on parenthood. To cope, I made adjustments I thought I could manage, like forgoing close romantic entanglements. At first, nothing could have been easier, because I was still in love with Zoe.
Once I was finally over her, I realized I’d also grown up, filled out. Girls on campus watched me with shameless curiosity and signaled uncomplicated desires, and my refusals to share any shred of personal information only amplified their interest. I didn’t particularly care if they liked my no-strings position or not. A few drew lines in the sand, and I simply walked away. I never lied to anyone. I never promised anything. I never wanted anything more from anyone.
Until Emma. The friendship we developed was unlike any relationship I’ve ever had. So easy, so companionable, but that physical pull was there, too, from the first moment first I saw her. I refused to believe I was falling for a 17-year-old girl, and I fought it, hard. The first time I kissed her uncovered feelings so compelling that they tumbled over into protectiveness. The resolve came naturally: I wouldn’t touch her—beyond what we’d already done—until she was a legal adult, until she specifically asked me to. For the first time since Zoe, my guard was down.
Which was exactly why that photo of Reid and Emma sliced right through me.
*** *** ***
Emma
The prom is a nightmare. While it’s not exactly Carrie, it’s no High School Musical III, either.
When Marcus called to tell me he still wanted me to accompany him to his prom, I swallowed back clichéd reassurances: It’s not you, it’s me. We can still be friends. I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Though I didn’t vocalize any of these, I did tell him I was sorry at least half a dozen times. My apparent guilt must have given him the mental go-ahead to transform into a total dick by the next weekend.
The downward spiral began when he arrived to pick me up. I’d told Dad and Chloe that we were going as friends, so I didn’t want them to make a big deal of it. Naturally, Chloe ignored that entreaty and had the camera charged and ready.
“I remember my prom,” she said, smiling dreamily into the distance as I thought, Oh, crap, here we go. “I was a total princess, all the way down to the glass slippers.” She put a hand to her mouth like she was about to reveal a secret. “Actually, those shoes were acrylic and uncomfortable as hell.”
“Ah,” I said, attempting to look sympathetic.
Chloe blinded us with multiple flashes as Marcus slid a corsage onto my wrist in the entryway. She led us out back and posed us in front of the pool landscaping that made Dad walk around for days with his jaw clenched, mute and furious, after he got the bill for all the upgrades she’d authorized.
Snapping photos like she had aspirations as a high-fashion photographer, Chloe was oblivious to the ice-cold wall between her subjects. “Marcus, put your arms around her. Like that, but with your hands meeting in the middle. Oh! Yes! Just like that!”
I let her get off a few of shots before breaking from the false embrace. “Okay, I think that’s enough pictures. You know, Marcus might actually like to go to his prom as part of this experience…” I hoped Marcus and I would share a knowing look about Chloe—not uncommon for us—so we could begin to salvage the night somewhat before it was entirely wrecked. But he stood, one hand in the trousers of his tux, flicking a fingernail and looking bored, and my sense of foreboding mushroomed.
Marcus’s arts-heavy prep school is relatively small, with a modest graduating class. Judging by the response his arrival generates, he’s clearly one of the in-crowd. The venue is the tented rooftop terrace of the Citizen Hotel—the city’s oldest skyscraper. Though the view is only a very familiar Sacramento, it’s breathtaking from this height. Distance alters everything.
Introducing me to his group of friends by way of, “This is Emma,” and a turn of his wrist in my general direction, he doesn’t introduce any of them to me. Unbelievably, no one steps forward, either. I’m stuck knowing no one’s name—except those discovered by eavesdropping on neighboring conversations—so there’s nothing to do but stand next to Marcus, my dress and his tux accoutrements so perfectly matched that it leaves no doubt we’re here together. Trapped at the receiving end of stares and whispers in a crowd of people where I don’t know a single person beyond my a*shole of a date, I consider calling a taxi, or Dad, to come pick me up.
I can’t shake the conviction that I’m getting what I deserve for leading Marcus on, as convincingly as Emily objected to that conclusion. “Marcus doesn’t own you,” she said after I told her what had happened with Graham in New York, and the resulting altercation with Marcus. “I don’t see a ring on your finger, not that you’d ever want one from that pompous ass.”
“I thought you liked him?” I said.
“Psshh,” she said, glancing at me as she made a right turn. We were on the way to get our annual almost-summer pedicures. “I tolerated him. Derek and I didn’t think he was for you.”
I sputtered before answering, “You and Derek discussed—?”
“Hells yeah.” She was, as usual, unapologetic. “We hoped it would fade out before you ended up in New York with him leeching onto you. Derek thinks he just wanted you for your film and theatre connections. With the bonus of your smokin’ little bod, of course.”
I almost spit berry smoothie onto her dashboard. “God, Em. I feel so cheap.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just glad we didn’t have to resort to breaking you guys up.” She parked the Sentra and yanked up the brake.
“You mean you and Derek would have—”
“How many times in this conversation must I say hells yeah? Wouldn’t have been that hard, either. You weren’t all that attached to him, thankfully. You’d just better hope we like this Graham guy.”
I leveled a look at her. “No. Graham is off-limits. I don’t care if the two of you hate him.”
She smiled and pinched my arm. “Now that’s more like it.”
When I come back to earth, I’m still at Marcus’s prom, being pointedly ignored by every person here. Then my focus lands on the other side of the huge indoor/outdoor space. One of the photographers snapping shots of prom-goers appears to be aiming his camera in my direction exclusively. I think paparazzi? before giving myself a mental shake, feeling silly.
Still, I glance around surreptitiously, looking for the other photographers, who are progressing through the crowd, setting up shots of small knots of people talking and laughing, snapping candid shots of couples dancing and teachers chaperoning. Sliding my eyes back to the first photographer, I notice two things. One, his camera is badass in comparison to what the other two are utilizing. And two, he’s still aiming every single shot in my direction.
I have an uneasy feeling about this.
***
Emily spent ten minutes scolding me about my recent dumbass decisions: first, trying to placate Marcus by going to his prom, and second, breaking my own rule about checking gossip sites. She’s right, of course. I can’t unsee the photos of me—alternating between miserable and pissed—standing beside Marcus, being snubbed by everyone at that dance. I can’t unread the stories claiming that it was my choice to isolate myself, or the bonus rumors that I’m cheating on Reid Alexander.
My best friend stomps back and forth across my room while Derek and I look on silently. Finally, she stops and glares at the laptop screen. “What a bunch of jealous pricks!” Emily will never be accused of beating around the bush.
“Marcus’s friends or the gossip sites?” I’m not sure which infuriates her more.
“All of them.” She’s so angry she’s growling.
“Calm down, baby,” Derek says, tugging on her hand as she paces by him.
“I will not calm down!” Stopping suddenly, she slides onto his lap. “Derek, please do me a favor.” She nuzzles the side of his closely-shorn blond head and his eyes close.
“Anything.”
“Please beat the shit out of Marcus.”
“Except that.”
Sitting straight up, she folds her arms over her chest and glares at him. “What the hell good is having a muscly boyfriend if he won’t beat people up for you?”
I’m glad the text from Reid comes after they’ve gone.
Reid: You went to prom with some other guy? I’m hurt.
Me: Very funny
Reid: Our little act is a success. I’ve already been contacted for comment.
Me: Crap
Reid: It would help if we go out to dinner and look happy
Me: I don’t think that’s a good idea
Reid: Sure it is. One happy outing in the face of those stories will put an end to them.
Me: You know I’m 400 miles from los angeles, right?
Reid: I’m visiting a friend in san fran tomorrow. Drive in, stay over. We’ll go somewhere cool.
Me: I’m not meeting you in san francisco, reid
Reid: Fine, i’ll come to you
***
Graham is as supportive as Emily, though far less violence-craving.
“I should have just backed out of prom,” I sigh into my webcam, scrubbing my hands over my face. “Marcus wasn’t going to be happy no matter what I did, and now the whole world thinks I’m a stuck-up bitch who wouldn’t lower herself to speak to regular folks.”
“I’m sure no one believes a word of that.” His voice is so warm and soothing that I almost believe him.
“People do believe it! And you know the most annoying part? Before now, I was a middle-class nonentity to most of the people from his school. Marcus and I have run into classmates of his several times, and every time I felt exactly like I do when Chloe eyeballs whatever I’m wearing and gears up to mock my entire sense of fashion—or lack of it.”
He smiles reassuringly. “I happen to like your fashion sense.”
I barely hear him. “And what about the rumors that I’m cheating on Reid with Marcus? I’m not dating Reid, but the studio wants everyone to think I am… so of course I’m a cheater if I go out with anyone else. What will that mean when you’re here? We’ll have to sneak around. If we’re caught, I’ll look like the biggest slut in Hollywood.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Emma, love, you’ve got a long way to go to win that crown.”
I smile goofily at my screen. “You called me love.”
He smirks, chin tucked low, staring at his screen through his lashes. “You okay with that?”
“Yeah.” I stare into his beautiful warm eyes and wish for the hundredth time in two days that he was standing in front of me. “Are you okay with me meeting Reid for dinner?”
He nods and says, “As okay as I can be.” Which seems cryptic, but I don’t push him. I can’t expect him to be thrilled about it.