“I’m trying to, but you guys make it hard.”
Carter laughed but the lights in the room flickered, signaling everyone to return to their seats. He just grinned at me and leaned back in his seat as the waiters came around serving the first course. A speaker got up on stage and began to talk about the great social benefits of a strong public education system, and soon I completely spaced out.
That was how the next hour went. Mom and Carter sat there pretending to listen, though I knew Carter was on his phone most of the time, and I just picked at the food that they kept placing in front of us. I kept thinking back to earlier in the night when Mom and Carter were pretending to be married, Mom hanging off of his arm, and it all just made me so grossed out. I was making out with Carter too recently for it to be anything but totally crazy and weird to see the two of them acting like they were really married. Back at the mansion, I barely ever saw them together, which was fine. I knew in the abstract that they were married, but there was no real proof of it right in front of me.
Watching them together in front of the cameras as bizarre. It really hammered home that these two were married, Carter was my stepfather, and nothing was changing that.
After the first speaker, there was a short break, and then the next speaker went on. This time she spoke about the charter school system, and I got the sense that nobody really had any clue what this charity was supposed to be about, including the people that organized the event.
The whole thing was a sham. A gross, media-obsessed sham. After the second speaker was finished, I abruptly stood up. “Bathroom,” I mumbled to my mom and quickly walked away.
I found a side exit and left the main ballroom. The hallway was mercifully empty, and I finally felt like I could actually breathe as I walked slowly toward an exit sign. I pushed through a pair of double doors and found a stairwell.
I had a choice, up or down. I chose up for no reason other than I wanted to take my time. I climbed the steps, heading up and up, until I finally came to one last door. I pushed it open, went up another short flight of stairs, and emerged out onto the roof.
The night was comfortable and bright as I stepped out. There was nobody else around, and I had a surprisingly good view of the bay. The evening lights spread all around the coastline and it looked absolutely gorgeous. For a second, I thought that the view was almost worth this awful and boring trip.
I walked out further until I got to the edge of the building then slowly, carefully, sat down. I felt my heart beating fast as I let my legs dangle over the edge, a small balcony maybe one story down below me. I didn’t know why I sat there, I knew it was crazy and reckless, but for whatever reason I couldn’t stop myself. I just had to sit down, dangle my feet over the edge, feel that craziness for myself.
I kicked my legs a little bit, heart whipping up as the wind whipped up around me. I could taste the cold metallic zest of the ocean waves and I could hear the traffic down below me. Briefly, I wondered if someone might think I was a jumper, but figured nobody could see me anyway.
I sat there watching for I couldn’t say how long. Ten minutes maybe, but probably more like twenty.
“Emily.”
I gripped the edge, suddenly dizzy.
“Emily,” he said again. “What are you doing?”
Slowly, I looked over my shoulder. Carter was standing a few feet back, holding two glasses of champagne, his head cocked to one side.
“Sitting,” I said.
“You’re on the edge of a pretty tall building.”
“I know that.”
“How do you plan on getting up?”
I considered that question. “I hadn’t thought about it,” I admitted.
“Obviously.” He set the two glasses down. “Let me help you.”
“No,” I said. “I got it.”
“Emily—“ he warned, but I was already turning, trying to get up.
I felt my balance slip, but he was there in an instant. He took my arm and pulled me toward him as I stood, and together we stumbled onto the roof together.
“Shit,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“My hero,” I whispered. “You’ve been showing up a lot for me lately.”
He held me pressed against him and I could feel his breath. “Don’t do something like that again. It was too risky.”
“I thought you liked risks.”
He frowned. “Only the calculated kind.”
“I was calculating. I calculated that I wanted to sit on the edge and look at the city.”
“Emily—“
“Stop,” I said. “You’re not my father.”
The joke hung in the air between us for a second before we both laughed together, smiling. He let me go, or at least loosened his grip on my hips, but I didn’t step away. Instead, I pressed my hands against his chest, looking up into his eyes.