Two by Two(86)

Her coy shrug told me otherwise.

"I know I've said that I'm glad you've come into my life … "

When I stopped, she raised her eyes to look at me. "But?"

I decided to tell the truth. "I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship."

For a moment she said nothing. "All right," she murmured finally, with the faintest echo of regret.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because I've been calling too much. Maybe leading you to think that I  was ready when I know I'm not. I'm still an emotional wreck at times. I  still think about Vivian way too much. Not that I want her back, because  I've realized that I don't. But she's still front and center, in a way  that's not healthy. And you've been so generous-listening to me when I'm  down, offering endless emotional support. And best of all, making me  laugh … "

When I trailed off, I could feel her eyes inspecting me. "Have I ever  complained that you call too much? Or that your confidences are a  burden?"

I shook my head, feeling as if some epiphany were trying to surface in  my chaotic brain, like an air bubble rising through water. "No," I said,  "you haven't."

"You're describing a scenario in which you haven't offered me anything  in return. But you have." The reddish tints in her dark hair glinted in  the firelight as she pushed it away from her face. Leaning toward me,  she said, "I like hearing from you, whether you're in a good mood or  not. I like knowing that I can talk to you about anything, that you'll  understand because we once shared a history. I like feeling that you  know the real me, faults and all."

"You don't have any faults," I said. "None that I can see, anyway."

She gave a snort of disbelief. "Are you kidding? No one's perfect, Russ.  I like to think I've learned some lessons over the past decade, and  maybe, I'm more patient than I used to be. But I'm far from perfect."

The waitress delivered our wine, and in the silence that followed, our  thoughts seemed to take a more serious turn. Emily took a sip of wine,  and when she turned toward me again, I thought I saw a flash of  vulnerability cross her face.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I know I'm probably putting a damper on the evening."

"Not at all," she said. "It means so much that you're honest with me,  Russ. I think that's what I like most about you. You're not afraid to  tell me things-that you're hurting, that you're afraid of failure, that  you're not ready for a relationship. You don't realize how hard it is  for some people to say such things. David never could. I never knew what  he was really feeling-half the time, I don't think he even did. But  with you, it's different. You're so open. I always admired that about  you, and it hasn't changed." She paused, as if uncertain whether to go  on. "I really like you, Russ. You're good for me."

"That's the thing, Emily. I don't just like you …  I think I'm in love with you."

My words seem to electrify her. "You think?"

"No," I said with growing certainty. "I am in love with you. It feels  strange to say that when I know I'm not really ready to take further  steps, but that's how I feel." For a moment I stared into the fire,  trying to summon my courage. "I'm not the kind of guy you should love.  You can do a lot better than me. Maybe in time … "         

     



 

Saying the words hurt more than I anticipated and I broke off, feeling a knot forming in my throat.

In the silence, Emily stared at me. Then she reached over and laid her  open hand on my leg, beckoning for me to take it. I did, feeling a flood  of warmth and encouragement as her fingers intertwined with my own.

"Did you think that I might be in love with you, too?"

"You don't have to say that."

"I'm not just saying it, Russ. I know what love feels like. Maybe I've  always loved you-God knows I loved you once with every fiber of my  being. I don't think that kind of feeling just goes away-it leaves its  mark on you." She held my gaze, her voice gentle. "I'm okay with waiting  until you're ready. Because I like what we have now. I like that you've  become one of my closest friends. And I know how much you care for me.  Do you remember what I said about friendship? ‘It's about someone who  walks into your life, says I'm here for you, and then proves it.'"

I nodded.

"You might not believe it, but you've been doing that for me. I don't  know if I'm ready for a relationship either. What I do know is that I  want you in my life, and that the thought of losing you-again-would  break my heart."

"Where does that leave us, then?"

"How about we just sit by the fire, you and me, and enjoy tonight. We  can be friends tonight and tomorrow and for as long as you'd like. And  you keep calling and we keep talking and having coffee when the kids are  at art. And like everybody in the world, we'll just take things one day  at a time."

I stared at her, marveling at her wisdom, and how simple she made it all seem.

"I love you, Emily."

"I love you, too, Russ." She gave my hand a squeeze. "It's going to be fine," she said earnestly. "Trust me."





Later that night, I lay awake in bed. Emily and I had lingered for  another hour by the fire, letting the meaning of everything that had  been said sink in. When I dropped her off at home, I felt the urge to  kiss her, but was afraid of upsetting our newfound balance.

Emily sensed my hesitation and simply leaned in for a hug. We held each  other for a long time beneath her porch light, and the intimacy of that  moment struck me as more real and more meaningful than anything else she  could have done.

"Call me tomorrow, okay?" she whispered, releasing me, but not before raising a tender hand to my face.

"I will."

And with that, she turned and went inside.





The last two weeks of November were some of the happiest in my recent  memory. My anniversary passed without incident; neither Vivian nor I  mentioned it when she FaceTimed with London, and it wasn't until after  the call had ended that I even remembered it at all. At work, I was  proving to be hugely productive on behalf of my new clients. London  returned from Atlanta on Sunday night, and though she'd had a good time,  she slipped back into her routine without a fuss. I spoke to Emily  every day, and worked out a deal with Claude to buy her painting, which I  then mounted in the family room. I saw Marge, Liz, and my parents the  following weekend, the day after Marge and Liz had met with the  fertility specialist. While we were all seated in the family room  together, they told my parents about their plans.

"It's about time!" my mom cried, jumping up to hug them both.

"You'll be good parents," my dad added. He sounded as gruff as always  before he embraced Marge and Liz in turn. With hugs from my dad as rare  as solar eclipses, I know they were touched.

Through Taglieri, I learned that Vivian wanted London in Atlanta for the  Thanksgiving weekend. Actually, she wanted London beginning on  Wednesday evening, through Sunday. I wasn't happy about that, but again,  the every-other-weekend pattern just happened to nail every holiday.  Vivian arrived on Wednesday to pick up London in the limo and whisk her  off to the jet again. As I watched them pull away, I thought about how  quiet the house would be without my daughter for the next four days.

The house was quiet that weekend. Because no one, not even me, was there at all.

Instead, that was the weekend when once more, my world began to collapse around me.

But this time, it was even worse.





How did it happen?

Like it always seems to happen: seemingly without warning.

But, of course, in retrospect there had been warnings all along.

It was Saturday morning, November twenty-eighth, two days after  Thanksgiving. I'd spent the previous evening with Emily, dining out and  visiting the Charlotte Comedy Zone. Once again, I was tempted to kiss  her at the end of the evening, but settled instead for another long and  glorious hug, one that confirmed my desire to keep her in my life for a  long, long time. My feelings for her were already displacing thoughts of  Vivian in a way that I hadn't anticipated, and that I hoped would  continue. I felt undeniably lighter and more positive about the future  than I had in months, if not years.         

     



 

The call came in on early Saturday morning. It wasn't yet six a.m. when  the house phone began to ring, and the sound itself was ominous. My cell  phone was on airplane mode, and no one would call the house at that  hour unless something terrible had happened. I knew even before I picked  up the phone that it was my mother on the other end, and I knew that  she was calling to tell me that my father was in the hospital. He'd had a  heart attack. Or something worse. I knew she would be frantic, probably  in tears.

But it wasn't my mom on the other end of the line.

It was Liz, calling about my sister.