“You’re sure?”
“Hand me my crutches.”
Okay. She’s sure.
I climb out and walk around to her side, retrieve her crutches from the back seat, and open her door for her.
She swings down like she was born on crutches and heads to the front door.
I pop my trunk.
And five minutes later, when Emma finally answers Laney’s knock, I have one full human-size hamster ball blown up.
“Um, hi.” Em glances between us like she’s having regrets about opening the door. “What’s going on?”
“I love you and I miss you and I’m sorry, so I’m blowing up your hamster balls so we can fight it out,” I blurt.
She blinks at me, then at Laney, and then at the hamster balls.
“Are those the present Theo gave me for my wedding?” She says it so softly, I almost can’t hear her.
But I do.
And I nod. “I’m so sorry, Em. If it’ll make you feel better to pop them and throw them in my face, I don’t care. If you want to just shove me down the hill while I’m in this one, I don’t care. Whatever it takes. I miss you. And I’m worried about you. And I want to make it up to you, and I—”
“I’m not mad,” Em says, and her voice cracks. “I don’t want to—Sabrina. I’m mortified. The entire world saw that I’m an idiot who let myself be gaslit by a man who only loved me because it meant he won. And you would’ve warned me, but you knew I wouldn’t listen because I was an idiot. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve either of you. How can anyone love someone as stupid as I am?”
“Em—” Laney starts while Emma crumples to the ground.
“Oh, god, Em.” I abandon the hamster balls and charge up the rickety steps to the trailer. The generator is barely pumping out enough heat to keep this place warm, which tracks.
Theo hates the heat as much as Grey apparently hates the cold.
He wouldn’t have minded the temperature.
Emma, meanwhile, is practically turning blue under her massive quilt.
“Get back in the car,” I tell Laney. “Em, get shoes. We’re going to—to—”
I look at Laney. Her house? Busy neighborhood.
My house? Busy neighborhood.
“Theo’s house,” Laney confirms.
“I don’t understand why he doesn’t hate me,” Emma sobs. “I almost married a guy who made him go to jail.”
“Because he knows people make mistakes, sweetie.” I pull my friend into a hug. She’s at least half a foot taller than me when she’s standing up, but here on the ground, we’re on level hugging height. “And we love you and we’re worried about you and we want to be here for you and you are not stupid. You lead with your heart and that’s my favorite thing about you.”
“My heart—h-hurt you,” she gasps. “It p-picked wrong.”
“Your heart went where it thought it could do the most good,” Laney says.
Em sobs harder.
I stifle all of the frustration in my entire body that I can’t make this better for her and hug her even tighter. “Fuck those people who make assumptions about you because of that fucking video, Em. Fuck Addison for posting it. Fuck everyone who’s hurt you. Fuck them all. Let me fix it. Let us fix it. Please.”
“I put everyone else second when all they wanted was for me to see that I deserved better,” she sobs. “All you wanted was for me to wake up and realize I couldn’t fix him. I don’t deserve you.”
“Emma.” Laney thumps her crutches until she’s close enough to drop them and balance right to squat and wrap us both in a hug too. “Enough. You deserve both of us and so much more. Sabrina’s right. We’re getting you out of here and out of your head. First Theo’s house, and tonight, we’re going out.”
“Laney, no, I absolutely cannot—”
“Hide from all of the people in this town who adore you and are worried sick about you for one more day,” Laney interrupts.
“And if a single one of them says the word viral video, I’m spilling every secret I’m desperately trying to forget I know about them,” I tell her. “And then I’ll quit gossiping. Soon. I swear. I—”
“No, don’t change,” Emma says. “Too much has changed. Don’t you change too.”
“I’ve missed you.” And I’m about to cry too. I hate crying. Hate it. “I’m so sorry, Em.”
“No, I’m sorry.” Her tears are dripping in my hair, and I don’t care. “I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’ve been so embarrassed, and I’m faking everything being fine, and nothing is fine.”
“It will be,” Laney says.
“We’ll make it fine,” I agree.
“We’ll make it fine right now.”
“As soon as we get you warm.”
“You don’t hate me?” Emma whispers.
“Never,” Laney answers for both of us.
“I thought you hated me,” I tell her, and dammit, my voice cracks.
That does it.
Em starts sobbing all over again.
Because I’m an idiot.
But I’m an idiot who can fix this. “You really can shove me down the hill in a hamster ball if it would make you feel better, even if you’re not mad at me,” I say.
Em laughs through her tears. “Stop. I’m not pushing you down the hill in that hamster ball.”
“Theo would probably buy you a house if he got to watch,” Laney says.
Emma stops crying.
I look up at Laney.
She cracks a grin.
And then all three of us bust up laughing hysterically.
It’s not normal.
Not yet.
But it’s a solid start.
25
Grey
Sabrina isn’t at work today. She called in sick. But she’s not sick.
Not according to Shirlene, who stopped in for a cup of coffee and mentioned she’d seen Sabrina leaving House of Curry with a to-go bag big enough to feed six linebackers around lunchtime. Or according to Myrtle, who came in hoping for a lemon scone near the end of the day and was apparently offended enough that Sabrina hadn’t made them before calling in sick that she was willing to lean in and say she’s not sick, I heard she’s headed to Silver Horn tonight with Emma and Laney. Or according to Fiona, who came in for a sandwich, looked me up and down, and said no wonder she picked today for the mental health day she’s needed for months.
Like Sabrina doesn’t want to be near me after the number of times I’ve crashed her private times the past week.
Like I’m a damn stalker.
“You have such a problem,” Zen mutters to me multiple times throughout the day.
“Yeah, I can’t find a company to make my fiberglass bee,” I reply once.
Or another time, “My SCOBY went moldy. Definitely a problem.” Can’t make kombucha with moldy SCOBY. Must not have sanitized the jar properly.
Zen doesn’t believe that’s my problem.
I don’t believe that’s my problem.
But they don’t call me on it.
Out loud.
They are clearly telegraphing all day long that I know the solutions to my problems and it’s my own fault if I don’t implement the solutions.
I sleep like crap, and when I realize at three a.m. that the massive snow dump that people have been murmuring about all week has started, I pull myself out of bed.
Can’t sleep. Can’t sit still. Can’t hear Sabrina breathing through the wall.
I know she’s home.
I heard her toothbrush again.
I got a boner over it again.
Debated again with myself if I wanted to switch rooms with Zen, then decided I like torturing myself.
But now, I’m up. If we get as much snow as predicted, Zen says they’ve heard it’s likely that half of downtown will be closed. It’s the responsible business owner thing to do to get into the café and plan on managing coffee and basic food for the few customers we’ll have in case the rest of the crew can’t make it through the blizzard later.
I leave Zen the car and a note, strap on the spikes that I bought myself at the sports gear shop downtown yesterday, and hike downtown.
Where I realize I can make a pot of tea, but I’m basically useless when it comes to running a cappuccino machine. Good thing I know how to YouTube.
Bad thing though?
There’s something about teaching myself how to use a cappuccino machine that sparks a desire to test a few things.
Like I’m back in a lab.