I’d barely managed to grab a Sprite out of the fridge when the doorbell rang. My stomach flipped. I had been so worried about Emma I’d forgotten how excited I was to see Rachel again. And how nervous. She better not have realized she wasn’t into doofy lacrosse players in the last twenty-four hours. . . .
I padded down the hallway to let her in, focusing on keeping my face calm. Be cool, Bonham. Channel Carter. I pulled open the door.
“Hey . . .”
But it wasn’t Rachel.
It was Emma.
This wasn’t right.
No, no, no, this absolutely could not happen.
“Hey, Kyle.” She looked up at me, eyes wide and lower lip trembling slightly, then quickly looked away, into the corner, almost like she was embarrassed, or scared. I forced my jaw closed.
“Hey, Emma,” I started, searching for words. How could I get her out of here? Like, now? “Sorry I had to bail on tonight, but I have a thing later . . . with Ollie.” The lie tasted bad on my tongue, but I forced myself not to make a face. She smiled sadly.
“Totally, I’m sorry, I just was driving by, and I saw your car in the driveway, and I couldn’t help it. I’m so . . .” She frowned deeply, shaking her head like she was embarrassed of herself. “I don’t want to keep you, I’ll just . . . go.” Her voice broke a little.
“No, it’s okay,” I said automatically. Flipping idiot, what is wrong with you? But I could see the tears in her eyes. “I’ll text to let him know I’ll be late.”
“Oh, thanks, Kyle,” Emma said, voice almost embarrassingly grateful. I forced a smile. She needed me more than Rachel did right now, that much was obvious. And they couldn’t run into each other, not when Emma was like this. It would be Anderson’s party all over again. Besides, Rachel would be fine, of course she would. Rachel was so sure of herself, she probably wouldn’t even care. Emma was the one who needed people to prop her up. The fact that she came over when things were so weird between us, even after I’d said no, just showed how bad this must have been for her. Not that I could blame her. I wouldn’t have wanted to go through this with Jessie Florenzano either.
There was no reason Rachel even had to know that Emma was the reason I was rain-checking.
That thought made me feel even dirtier, so I typed out the text as quickly as possible, hit send, and dropped the phone into my pocket before I could be tempted to wait on her response.
Emma walked down the hall to the kitchen, perching on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
“You want something to drink?” I headed over to the fridge. If this was happening, I might as well try to be nice.
“Sure, do you have a—”
I put a Diet Coke in front of her, grinning a little. She smiled back.
“Thanks.”
“So, uh . . .” It was weird to feel this awkward around Emma. She was still Emma, obviously, the same girl I’d gone to dances with, and made out with in her musty-smelling basement, and whispered secrets to, lying in the backyard at Erin Rothstein’s house, staring at the stars. But something had changed. I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t know how to be . . . normal. “Your dad, huh?”
“Yeah.” She smiled bitterly. “I knew this was coming, but I guess I thought he’d give me a longer engagement to get used to the idea. They started dating what, like, a year ago? It would be like you and me getting married.”
I gave an awkward laugh. “I guess so.” Emma rushed on.
“She’s barely older than me. And, like, why doesn’t she have any of her own friends in her wedding?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nodded. My role right now: sympathetic human wall to vent to.
“They could have waited until I was at college. Then I wouldn’t have to care what he did, or who he was lining up for his next divorce.” Emma took a big gulp of Diet Coke, sputtering a little, like a bubble had caught in her throat. Her cheeks were bright red with leftover rage. No dimple, though.
Dude, thinking about Rachel right now: not helping.
Emma turned to me, eyes narrowed like she was looking for something, then shook her head and looked at the gray granite speckles of the countertop.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t even be bugging you with this stuff, I just didn’t know who else to talk to.” Her eyes got a little filmy again.
“No, I don’t mind,” I said automatically. Please don’t actually start crying. This would be even harder if she started crying.
“Really?” She looked up at me. My heart squeezed a little. Suddenly I knew, like, deep down knew, that I didn’t want this anymore. Didn’t want to deal with the games, and the anger coming out of nowhere, and the drama. I’d been telling myself that earlier, but I think I’d still doubted it, just a little.
Not anymore. Emma and I really were over. Like, over-over.
Knowing it for sure didn’t feel liberating, though, it just felt like a loss. A big empty space opening up in a part of me that used to be filled with Emma.
So I lied. Again.
“Really.”
“Thanks, Kyle.” She smiled softly. “You’ve always been so good to me.”