Only in Dreams(15)

“Now, you have our cell phone numbers, in case you need us,” Emmie reminds me as if I were a clueless teenager.

“I’ll be fine, I told you,” I insist.

“I’m serious, if you need anything at all, just call one of us, but like I said, in the middle of the day during the week it’s rare we get a lot of foot traffic, so I’m sure you won’t even have to do anything,” Emmie continues, clearly unsure about leaving the gallery completely in my hands for the afternoon.

“It’s thirty minutes to the pediatrician and then thirty back, we should be home within a couple hours,” Colin adds.

“Go!” I exclaim. “I’ve got this.”

“All right, all right, we’re going,” Emmie says, lifting a hand defensively.

I watch out the kitchen window as Colin and Emmie pack Olivia, and the massive amount of objects it takes to care for her, into their Prius. It amazes me how much they have fallen into the family role. Even when Colin and Emmie met, I knew they would be a perfect pair, but if you would have told me five years later they would be married with a baby, I’m not sure I would have believed you.

The idea of commitment terrified Emmie, after such a tragic ending to her first marriage. Who could blame her? Colin was so patient, though. I’ve always thought of him like a big brother, but for him to treat her with so much understanding through their relationship only made me love him all the more. Eventually it became natural for her to let him love her. It was like an acceptance settled over her, she finally seemed to realize Colin wasn’t going to turn into something else. He was being who he really was with her, and he was in it for the long haul.

I think the end of Christian’s and my relationship was more of the shock for everyone. For the first year Emmie and Colin expected us to figure things out and find our way back to each other. Once I moved in with Henry, those assumptions seemed to fade away, slowly though. There was a time even I thought Christian was my soul mate, but we eventually all have to grow up and realize that when we’re young we can mold things into fairytales they’re not. We romanticize situations, making more of something that doesn’t exist.

Walking to the stove, I remove the screaming teakettle and pour the boiling water over the tea bag at the bottom of my mug. Just as I set the pot onto one of the cool burners, the bell in the front of the gallery rings, signally that the door has opened. Yeah, this place is dead on weekdays; I didn’t even have time for my tea to steep. Staring at the mug, as I carefully carry the hot beverage out to the front counter and set it down, looking up to greet the customer, which I know I have no clue how to really do, but how hard can it be? It’s not a customer looking back at me, though; it’s Christian.

“What are you doing here?” The words escape my mouth before I can even process what I’m saying.

“Nice to see you, too,” Christian laughs, both arms wrapped around a large package.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” I begin, stopping myself to take a deep breath before continuing. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were a customer.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I do come bearing gifts,” he replies.

My face contorts and twists into a look of puzzlement.

“Well, I hope it’s a gift. I really have no idea what’s inside, but it’s addressed to you. I was picking up a delivery this morning, and they asked me to drop this off to the shop.”

Shaking my head, I smile, realizing he was bringing some of the design stuff Henry shipped down to me. “It’s for work,” I explain, moving out from around the counter and crossing the concrete floors to take the package from him. As I reach out and place my hands on the box, his skin brushes against me as he pulls away. I drop the box as I recoil from the brief interaction.

“Are you all right?” Christian asks, dipping low to pick up the package from the ground. Much to my dismay, I bend down at the same time to retrieve the dropped goods, causing our heads to smack into one another’s.

We both stumble back, clutching our heads in pain. I grab a hold of the counter to steady myself. I realize Christian is wailing with laughter.

“I’m glad you find my pain so hilarious,” I snarl.

Christian quickly approaches, scooping up the discarded package, placing it on the counter. “I’m laughing because I see you are just as graceful as you used to be.”

“Hey!” I gasp, then laugh, realizing he’s right. “How is it I can walk down a runway in four-inch heels, but damn it, anything else, and somehow I manage to hurt myself?”