Only in Dreams(24)
“Huh?” Emmie grunts in confusion.
“Why didn’t you tell me he’d stopped drinking? He seems to really have his shit together.” I wince, the curse word slipping past my lips again.
But this time Emmie doesn’t seem upset, as she is focusing on my question. “Why would I have told you?”
“Because it’s Christian,” I answer quickly, slightly annoyed she would think I wouldn't care.
“You were moving in with Henry when Christian came back.”
“So …” I still don’t understand her reasoning.
“The best way for a new relationship to work is to leave old ones in the past.” Emmie’s words feel sharp, and my defenses go up.
“I still care for him. I can’t believe you’d think I wouldn’t want to know. I’m a little hurt.”
“Are you sure that’s why you’re upset?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, pushing my mug away and fixing my eyes on Emmie’s face.
“Why are you flipping out on me?” Emmie asks, increasing the pace at which she is bouncing Olivia on her knee.
“I’m not flipping out,” I correct her, making sure my tone was in check. “I just don’t get why you would think I wouldn’t want to know that Christian got his life back on track. We were together since we were kids. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
“Look, Ashton haunted my relationship with Colin for the longest time. I just didn’t want you to have the same baggage with Henry,” Emmie explains, her voice shaking. Even though the conversation is clearly upsetting her, I am too angry to care.
“Christian wasn’t my husband, and he wasn’t a bastard who killed himself!” I snarl, without thinking my words through.
“No, but he was someone you still loved when you broke up. And just because I wanted to leave Ashton when he killed himself, didn’t mean I didn’t still love him when he—” She stops herself. “Forget it. I guess I should have told you.”
“I don’t have feelings for Christian.” I’m not sure if I’m telling Emmie or myself.
“Good.”
“I love Henry, and we’re going to get married,” I add.
“I’m glad.”
Suddenly, my phone begins to vibrate in the pocket of my robe. Pulling it out, I see Henry’s face smiling at me. “See,” I say, flashing her the phone. “I love him so much, I’m going to tell him about my evening, and he won’t even care.”
Pushing away from the table, I wish I could rewind and redo the entire end of our conversation. Even though I know I looked like a complete and raving lunatic, I just keep going. Walking up the stairs, I swipe the bar on my phone, clearing my throat. “Hello baby.”
“There she is,” Henry says softly. “God, I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“Have you gotten work done?” Henry asks, and the complete show makeover immediately returns to my mind. I tell him everything, describing each sketch in great detail. He loves the concept, confirming the insane idea that I will have to start over.
We talk for at least an hour, discussing plans for the wedding, as well as all the things I’m missing in New York. His grandmother apparently isn’t happy with us. Not surprisingly, she wanted to be much more involved in the planning, and with me in Texas it is making it next to impossible for her. Toward the end of the call a silence lingers between us, neither wanting to hang up with the other one.
“So anything else going on down there?” he asks me.
A lump grows in my throat. I need to tell him. Christian is only a friend, and by keeping it from Henry I’m making it into something else. I am making it into something wrong and something that has me snapping at my friends.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”
“Uh-oh.” Henry laughs.
“What?”
“You’re making me nervous. You’re not breaking up with me are you?”
“Yup, you’ve got me. I secretly wanted to come to Texas and manipulated you into sending me here, so I could break up with you over the phone. Excellent plan, huh?”
“I knew it!” he exclaims. “But that’s okay.”
“What?” I gasp.
“I was manipulating you at the same time. I wanted you to go to Texas so I could hit on all your model friends while you were gone.”
I start laughing so hard I have to clutch my side.
“What?” he moans. “Is it that hard to believe I could be a player.”
“Yes,” I answer. “And I know you hate my friends.”