I instantly know his excuse his bullshit. It’s all backroads and neighborhoods between our houses and the local stores. There’s no where he could have hit enough traffic to make him almost an hour late. But I keep my mouth shut, still clinging to the hope that he can actually win my parents over.
“We just started eating,” Brendan tells him, motioning for him to have a seat.
“Thank you,” he beams. “This looks delicious.”
“Does your mom cook a lot?” my mom asks him innocently.
“All the time.” Emmett takes a big drink of water and clears his throat. “She’s German, so she likes to make a lot of dishes from her home. Recipes passed down through her family.”
“Oh! How lovely!” she chimes. “Authentic German cuisine. Huh.”
I peer up at him over my plate. He’s lying and I don’t know why. Sure, it might be a lot for them to take in if he was honest and told them their house was staffed with chefs, but they know who he is. They have to know how wealthy he is. And I’ve barely ever even seen his mom, much less known her to cook a meal for her family.
What bothers me the most is that I want to know why he feels the need to lie about these things. Is it out of some sort of pity? Does he think we’re so poor we can’t handle the idea of someone rich sitting at our dinner table?
“And how have all of you been holding up recently?” Brendan asks, subtly referring to Emmett’s father’s supposed suicide.
“Well,” Emmett answers curtly, shifting in his chair, “as well as could be expected.”
Lying again. We don’t even know where Bernadette is, but I didn’t expect him to actually come clean on that one.
The dinner trails off into small talk. Emmett does a great job of deflecting everything back to my parents, asking a million questions about their lives and their jobs. By the time they’ve answered one thing, he has another question ready to go. They love it, taking it as very polite and stimulating conversation. But I can see he’s only trying to keep from talking about himself.
Once we’ve finished eating, I offer to help with the dishes and suggest that Emmett and Brendan go find a movie for us to watch.
“Um, actually,” Emmett turns to me quietly. “I may need to go.”
“Go where?” I ask in a hushed tone. “I thought you and I were going to talk later tonight. We can’t spend a little time with my parents first?”
“Look, I came for dinner. What more do you want from me?” he hisses.
“Mom, actually…I’ll help you with those dishes later if that’s okay,” I stammer, quickly trying to come up with an excuse before the full extent of my anger becomes obvious. “Emmett just reminded me of a report we’re supposed to be working on together and we’re behind. We need to catch up on it. We’ll be up in my room!”
I yank Emmett away as she reluctantly agrees. I know the tension between us is probably painfully obvious. I pull him upstairs and slam my bedroom door shut.
“What the fuck, Emmett!” I belt the moment we’re alone. “My dad gets the nice, charming version of you, but they get the you that’s almost an hour late and lies about anything you actually say about yourself!?” He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “Don’t use your sister as an excuse again, either! You have no problem putting that aside when we’re making visits to your motel room. You could’ve given me and my parents a nice evening with you. Do you know how important this was to my mom?” I demand angrily. “She feels like she doesn’t know anything about my life. And she doesn’t…because of you and everything your fucked up friends and family have dragged me into since I got here.”
“Hey, your dad is just as messed up and would have dragged you in, too, whether we did or not,” he defends. “Need I remind you, you would have been his prisoner if I hadn’t taken you instead.”
“Oh, yes, I keep forgetting how you kidnapping me was some sick way of saving me,” I sneer. “And no, Emmett. You don’t need to remind me of any of that. I’m all too aware. Which is why tonight was important. I wanted you to see my real family. Not my stupid biological father. My mom and Brendan mean everything to me. And they wanted to know you.”
“I’m sorry, Ophelia,” he answers in frustration, “it’s just not a good time. Let’s just find Bernadette, and then we can try again. I’m just getting more and more worried, and I don’t know what to do. What if I never see her again?”
“Go to the fucking police, Emmett!” I snap, knowing he’ll refuse yet again. “We’re wasting time trying to figure this out on our own, and we’re no closer to having any answers now than we were when we started! Let’s just please, please go to the police. Or hire a private detective or something!”
“The detectives all know the cops,” he argues. “You know it’s too risky. The cops in this town are no good, and I have a feeling they’re out to get me. What if they try to pin the whole thing on me?”
“What if they’re not as against you as you think and have nothing to do with Bernadette’s disappearance? And by not going to them, you shoot yourself and her…and me in the foot by not reporting it. Do you have any idea how it would look if they found out we knew about this for so long and said nothing?”
“That’s on my mom,” he insists. “She’s the one who swore it was the worst possible idea. She made me promise not to.” I pace the room in silence, not knowing what else to possibly suggest. “I was thinking about talking to Vivian. Like you suggested. I did promise if nothing panned out with your dad that I would go to her and Lily.”
I can’t help but groan at the idea of confronting those two again, especially after what happened last time. “When?” I ask resentfully. I don’t want to do it, but I knew from the beginning they’d probably be our best lead.
“I was going to go tonight,” he mumbles nonchalantly.
It struck me as odd that he didn’t want to come to dinner at all when I first asked. Then he was late. Now he’s conveniently telling me he was thinking of meeting up with Vivian tonight. “Would you have gone to see her without telling me?” I ask through the lump in my throat.
“No, of course not,” he replies unconvincingly.
“Okay, well, I’ll get my things and come with you,” I announce, turning to grab my purse. “Let’s go.”
He stands and purses his lips, shuffling towards me awkwardly. “Actually…I think it’d be best if you didn’t come.”
I laugh out loud, but he’s dead serious. “What the hell do you mean I shouldn’t come with you? To go see Vivian!? Why…so I don’t step in to stop your fucked up foreplay like last time?”
Suddenly, I’m afraid that’s what the weird, kinky stuff at the hotel was about. Is that the kind of thing Vivian and he used to do? Lily seemed to think so. Did he miss it so much that he tried to get me to play along?
“No, it’s nothing like that. Don’t be ridiculous,” he insists. “Vivian acts different when you’re not around. She won’t be so confrontational if it’s just me. And maybe you could meet with Lily while I see Vivian.”
“You’re not hearing me, Emmett,” I say slowly and clearly to the point of insult. “I don’t want you to be alone with Vivian. Period. I don’t trust her. I just know something will happen.”
“You don’t have to trust her,” he says, growing angrier. “You just have to trust me. Don’t you?”
The words stings. Trust. How can I possibly trust Emmett after everything he has done to me? I am giving him a chance at redemption, but always with the lingering fear that at any moment, he will go back to the way he was before. Always with fear and hesitation. I keep the expectation of it happening in place to protect myself, but maybe that’s what will be our downfall. By not trusting and having faith in his ability not to mess this up, I’m manifesting his failure. My inability to trust him is what’s dooming both of us.
My lips part but nothing comes out. I can’t lie to him, but I don’t want to say the truth. I want to trust him, but I don’t. Not when it comes to Vivian. I know what our little violent encounters used to turn into when the tables were turned. And I can’t stop myself from wondering what would have happened at Lily’s if they had been alone.
“This isn’t just about us, Ophelia!” he shouts after I don’t reply. “This is about my family. You understand?”
“You said you loved me,” I remind him. “Doesn’t that make me like family? I’m sorry…I just can’t be okay with you running off alone with Vivian. I can’t. You don’t want me to be alone with Malcolm. It’s only fair.”
“Do you think Malcolm knows anything about my sister?” he asks in a sarcastic rage. “Cause if so…then by all means go do what you need to do.”
“Oh, how convenient…a sacrifice you know you won’t actually have to make,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes.