Sara was waiting for me around the corner. “I’m coming over tonight. We're talking about this whole Analise situation.”
“Okay,” I sighed, knowing I needed it.
The day didn’t get any better when Analise plopped her fluffy ass down at our table for lunch. Sara eyed her in disbelief, like she’d trampled over all sorts of boundaries. Sara opened her mouth to say something but I shot her a pleading look and begged in a whisper, “Don’t.”
“You sure?” she confirmed incredulously. I nodded just as Evan sat down between me and Analise.
The awkward silence lingered until Analise broke it with, “This food looks better than Mrs. Timmins dinner last night, huh?” She let out a light laugh. “That was the strangest version of chicken I’ve ever seen. You should have seen it, Emma. I think it was grey. Right, Evan?”
I couldn’t move. I knew Evan was watching me, but I remained still.
“What dinner?” Sara instigated, staring at me, silently begging me to speak up.
“Oh one of those business dinner thingys,” Analise gushed with a nervous laugh, realizing she must have said something wrong.
“What did you think of it?” I asked, feigning curiosity with a strained smile.
Analise hesitated. Probably trying to decide if I was sincere or about to rip her head off. “It was actually pretty nice. Stuart and Vivian are so sweet, so they made it easy. And Evan can talk to anyone and he introduced me to a lot of people, so it wasn’t as bad as I feared it would be. We ended up having a really great time.”
I stood from the table and stormed out of the cafeteria. I’d barely made it to the hall when Evan caught up with me.
“It was just a stupid dinner for my father’s firm,” Evan explained in a rush.
“Yup.” I responded flatly and kept walking, not caring if he was next to me or not. I remained stoic on the outside, but my insides were squirming―I thought I was about to be sick.
“Em, stop,” he begged. “Please, just listen.”
I turned abruptly and provided him my full, cold and distant attention. He drew back when he saw the disconnect in my eyes.
“My mother wanted Laura to meet some potential clients affiliated with my father’s firm,” he explained calmly. “Analise just came along with her mother. It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
I turned and started walking again, choking on the fumes of anger that cut off all logic and rationalization to my head. I could only feel, not think―and I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I would regret anything I said.
“Besides, you hate those dinners,” Evan hollered after me.
I spun around. “So did you,” I bit back and rushed off, leaving him behind.
"Hey, Emma," Jill said from beside my locker as I forcefully pulled the books from the top shelf, grumbling to myself about how I couldn't believe Evan took Analise to a firm dinner. "How's Rachel?"
I whipped my head to the side. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to snap at her. To tell her to mind her own business. But I swallowed the anger and said, "Fine."
"We never told anyone about the drinking," she assured me. Her voice was low, careful not to be overheard. Her words struck me as odd. My eyes twitched, questioning. Her face filled with sympathy.
Then it hit me, Omigod. She thinks my mother's an alcoholic.
"Thanks," I replied quickly, needing to look away as the heat crept across my face.
"We shouldn't have done what we did," she continued. "Casey and me. I'm sorry about that."
"Yeah sure," I muttered, my stomach twisting in knots.
"If you ever need to talk," she offered consolingly, making me want to turn from her and run as fast as I could.
"Yup," I answered shortly. "See you in practice. I have to get to class."
"Oh yeah, sure," she replied uncomfortably, her cheeks slightly pink. I walked away with my head down, so people wouldn't notice how red I was.
I couldn't live in denial any longer, and it took Jill's word of solace to snap me out of it. Despite my mother's assurances that she was fine, she wasn't, and it was time I faced the truth. I wanted to believe her so much that I convinced myself that she only drank to excess when she was upset or sad―and that was okay. That was okay?! What was wrong with me?
"Hi, girls," my mother greeted cheerily from the kitchen when Sara and I arrived after practice.
"Hi, Rachel," Sara returned, setting her bag near the bottom of the stairs and walking into the kitchen. I followed after her, suddenly afraid to face my mother. It was like I was seeing her for the first time―noticing the wine glass next to her on the counter as she cut vegetables. The sight of it made my chest hurt.
She picked up the glass and took a sip. "Are you staying for dinner?"
"I may not be staying long," Sara told her. "I gave Emma a ride home, and we're just going to talk for awhile before I go."
"Oh, okay," my mother responded. "Jonathan went to pick up a new battery for your car."
"Great," I answered numbly. "Well, we'll be upstairs."
"Um, Sara," my mother called as we were about to leave the kitchen. "It's my birthday on Saturday, and I'm having a few friends over. I thought it would be nice if you came over too, you know, for Emma. I think we're just going to play poker and listen to music."
"Sure, that sounds great," Sara agreed.
"Really?" my mother's eyes lit up. "I'm happy you'll be there. I really want it to be fun."
"It will be," Sara assured her. "If you want me to bring anything, or do anything to help, let me know."
"I will," my mother beamed. It became evident to me just how important this party was to her, and with everything going on the last few days, we hadn't really talked much about it. Despite everything, all I really wanted was for her to be happy.
"I think Evan has a poker table we could borrow,” I added.
"That would be amazing," she glowed. "Thanks."
"Sure," I replied with a small smile before following Sara up the stairs. As I entered my room, I texted, Wait til after her birthday. And dont worry about me.
I unzipped my jacket and tossed it on the chair at my desk while Sara shut the door and settled on my bed. My phone beeped, and Jonathan responded with, Okay. But I do, cant help it. My cheeks filled with heat, and I stuffed the phone in my jacket pocket.
“Okay. So, you have to say something to him,” Sara began before I could even sit down. “You have to tell him that he can’t hang out with her anymore.”
I started to worry about what potential disasters awaited us at my mother's party. How Sara and Evan would react at the sight of it. Maybe she'd just get giddy drunk, like she sometimes did, and talk too loud, spewing semi-embarrassing comments. I could live with that.
"Emma!"
"Uh, what?" I redirected my focus.
"The invasion of Analise," Sara stressed. "What's going on with you? Have you heard a single word I've said?"
"Yes," I replied. "I need to set boundaries."
"No," she corrected sternly, "Evan needs to set boundaries. He can't have an obsessed girl doting after him all over the place and expect you to be the loving girlfriend who's pretending nothing's happening."
"Right," I agreed without the gusto Sara was looking for. She gawked at me disapprovingly.
“But what if I'm overreacting?” I asked quietly, lying on my bed next to her.
“Overreacting? Um… the whole school is talking about them. They went to a party together last Friday. She’s over at his house all of the time, and he drives her to school. They look more like a―”
"Okay," I interrupted, not needing the detailed visual. "I get it. I'll talk to him."
"Why do I feel like I'm talking you into this?" she questioned in concern. "Do you not remember being blindsided at lunch today? I saw the look on your face when she brought up the dinner."
Just the mention of it made me clench my teeth. "Yes. I'll talk to him."
“Okay. I have to go. My mom's waiting on me for din
ner. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sara said, grabbing her things and opening the door.
Evan appeared at the top of the stairs. Sara stopped short. "Uh, hi, Evan."
"Hi, Sara," he returned. She scooted past him and flashed me a bared teeth, good luck look as she disappeared down the stairs.
Evan remained outside of my room, hesitating at the sight of me.
“Hi,” he said lowly, shutting the door behind him.
“Hi,” I returned, barely audible. I sat against the headboard, pulling a pillow onto my lap.
Evan sat down on the end of my bed―the strain between us suffocated me.
“I should have invited you to the dinner,” Evan began. “I guess I know how much you hate them… but I should have given you the choice.”
“It’s not just the dinner,” I returned, letting out a distraught breath. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her, and I… I don’t like it. It’s that simple.”
“Em, I don’t see her like that, I swear. She’s like a little sister to me.” He silently pled for me to believe him.
“You may feel that way about her, but Evan, she has a thing for you. You have to know that.”
“I know,” he sighed. “It’s not what I meant to happen. I just wanted to make her feel welcome, being new and everything. I know how hard it can be.”
His words drifted through me and swelled my heart. I knew he meant it, because that’s exactly who he was. “Evan, you’re the most thoughtful person I’ve ever known, and I love you for that. But you need to set boundaries with her.”
“I will,” he agreed, moving closer. “So, did you just say that you still love me?” He teased, continuing to scoot along the bed until he was next to me.
“Yes,” I battled to hide my grin. “Some sunshiny sprite is not―”
“Emma!” Evan balked in surprise.
“Sorry,” I smirked. “She's nice. I just…”
I was interrupted by the warmth of his mouth pressed against mine. And suddenly she wasn’t important anymore. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him toward me, sinking down along my headboard so that I was lying on my back as he pulled the pillow off of my lap.
Evan continued to find my lips, trailing his mouth along my neck and sliding his hand across my stomach to the small of my back, positioning himself over me. I relaxed my knees as he lowered himself onto me, my legs wrapping around him.
Our breathing quickened as our kisses became more frantic. I ran my hands along the tight, lean muscles of his back, gripping the end of his shirt, sliding it up.
My door squeaked open. “Your car’s…”
Evan rolled over quickly to sit. I pushed up, smoothing the back of my hair, staring at Jonathan’s wide eyes and open mouth.
“Sorry, should’ve knocked,” he rushed in a single breath and shut the door.
“Uh, boundaries?” Evan stressed from beside me.
“Yeah,” I breathed, staring at the door.
24. Happy Birthday
"Should I be worried?" I asked under my breath as my mother danced around the kitchen, pulling bowls onto the counter―dumping bags of chips and spooning containers of dip into them.
"Honestly?" Jonathan asked from beside me, watching the same spectacle.
"Of course," I stressed.
"Probably." His honesty made my stomach churn.
"That's what I thought," I breathed in defeat.
"Hi," Sara greeted joyfully as she opened the front door. I turned toward her, covering the worry with a smile.
"Hi," I responded.
"Sara!" my mother exclaimed, brushing past me to give Sara a hug.
"Happy Birthday, Rachel," Sara offered, hugging her in return while eyeing me in shock over her shoulder. I shrugged in response.
"I brought you something," Sara told her upon being released. She opened her bag and pulled out a neatly wrapped package about the size of a deck of cards.
"You're so sweet." My mother opened it without hesitation and removed a necklace from the box. She held the delicate silver chain in front of her. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Sara returned, taking off her jacket.
"Sara, you must know how to cook," my mother insisted, fastening the chain around her neck.
"Not really," Sara confessed. "My mother's tried to encourage it, but it hasn't taken yet."
"What's with you guys?" my mother shook her head. She returned to the kitchen where she proceeded to pull ingredients out of the refrigerator. "I'm going to have to give Anna a hard time about this. What are you going to do when you go to college?"
A knock followed at the door. Jonathan went to open it as Sara and I took the bowls of chips into the living room. Jared entered carrying a bottle of wine with a bow around it. I stopped short at the sight of it.
"Well, hello," my mother greeted with a smile.
"Rachel, this is Jared," Sara introduced, slipping her arm through his.
"Happy birthday," he stated, presenting the bottle to my mother.
"My favorite," she gushed, taking the bottle from him. "Thank you."
"Where's Evan?" I asked, scanning the driveway. When I didn't see any sign of him, I shut the door.
"He drove separately," Jared explained, following after my mother and Sara toward the kitchen. "He should be here any second."
I remained in the foyer, hoping Evan would arrive soon―and not wanting to go anywhere near the kitchen in fear that I'd be recruited to cook something.
"Are you friends with Evan?" my mother questioned, laying tortillas on a griddle.
"He's my brother," Jared explained, standing in the kitchen doorway.
"I would have never guessed that," my mother replied, eyeing his broader frame and blond hair, flipped out around his ears. "You look as much alike as Emily and I." She let out a laugh, making Jared smile. "So you must know how to cook."
"Not at all," Jared confessed, glancing at Sara―obviously not sure what to make of my mother. "My brother and I are pretty opposite in just about everything. Is there anything else I can do to help?"
"Do you know how to make margaritas?"
"That I can help with," Jared replied, continuing into the kitchen.
"Great," I muttered under my breath.
The door opened with a knock, and Evan entered with the poker table.
"Let me help you with that," Jonathan offered, appearing from the living room to take the table. Evan followed him with folding chairs in each hand.
"Finally!" my mother exclaimed. "Evan, please come help me cook these quesadillas. You and I appear to be to be the only ones who have any talent in the kitchen."
"Jared has talent," Sara defended. "It's just not in the kitchen, that's all."
"Oh, so what room are we talking about?" my mother smirked. "The bedroom?"
"We did not just go there," Jared blurted in disbelief, looking from my mother to Sara. Sara started laughing, and I stared, wide-eyed, in shock at my mother's inappropriate candor―wondering if she'd already started drinking.
Evan returned to the kitchen after hanging up his jacket. "Uh, okay. So, what do you want me to do?" he asked, having no idea what he'd just walked in on.
"Flip them when they're ready," she instructed, handing Evan the spatula. "Want a drink?"
"I think I might need one," Jared interjected. My mother pulled two glasses from the cabinet, filled them with ice and held them out for Jared to fill with the margarita blend he’d created.
She handed one glass over and held up hers with a smirk, "To being talented."
Jared raised his eyebrows in shock and clinked against her glass.
"Hey, I want in on this," Sara insisted, filling another glass to tap with theirs. I tried to keep from having heart failure as I watched my mother quickly drain half of her glass. I realized I had to prepare myself. This was about to happen.
"You okay?" Jonathan asked, passing me as he carried in more folding chairs from the porch and set them around the poker t
able.
"Not until tomorrow morning," I muttered, deciding to follow him to help set up the chairs.
"Emily, would you put on some music?" my mother hollered from the kitchen, although there was no need to yell since I could hear every word they were saying.
"Sure," I replied. I flipped through the CD collection, not finding anything I would deem party-worthy.
"Here," Jonathan offered, handing me his iPod. "There's a playlist on there for Rachel's party."
"Thanks," I accepted, plugging the iPod into the wire attached to the stereo. I scrolled to the Rachel's Party playlist. My mother hollered in excitement from the kitchen when the first song came on.
"Perfect, Emily," she praised.
I was about to explain that it wasn't my selection, when Jonathan stopped me. "Just let her think it was you."
"Okay," I shrugged, not understanding why it mattered.
About half an hour later, the door opened and six people let themselves in, carrying brown bags filled with alcohol and snacks.
"Is this where the party is?" a guy with a tightly trimmed beard asked peeking in the kitchen. He opened his arms when my mother squealed in excitement and rushed toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck while kissing him on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Rach," he offered, kissing her cheek in return. She hugged each person, directing them to hang up their coats and instructing them to place their beers in the cooler on the porch. She was so excited. I tried to let the worry go and be happy for her. This was her birthday after all.
"We brought the other poker table and chairs," one of the guys announced, popping open a can of beer after returning from the porch.
We had to introduce ourselves since my mother was too pre-occupied pouring margaritas for the two women she'd dragged into the kitchen.
"Wow, Emily," a woman named Sharon noted upon meeting me. "I can't believe how much you've grown up."
"Thanks," I responded, studying the woman who obviously knew me. Her voice was crackly from too many years of smoking, and her face was etched with lines from a life that didn't care for her. She wore her curly black hair long over her shoulders. Her dark eyes were heavily lined in black and layered with mascara.