“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just book it and if you can come, great. If not, well, we’ll have a lot of catching up to do when I get back.”
After another few seconds of silence, I grow more concerned. “It’s okay, really, Emi. I’m disappointed but I understand. Listen, why don’t I come over?”
“No,” she says abruptly. “No, it’s late. I need to just go to bed. I’ve got a lot to do.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she answers. “I just need to go.”
“Okay, sweetie... but it’s really okay, alright?”
“Alright,” she says, her voice strained again. “Good night, Jack.”
“Good night, love,” I say to her, unsure. Something doesn’t seem right. And this proposal... I don’t want to wait. Maybe I should do it before I go. She would never expect that, and it may put her in a better mood. But it would just be rushed, and unmemorable. It has to be memorable.
And her birthday... shit. I don’t want to be away for her birthday. I’ll fly home for her birthday. I’ll propose that night. I have time to figure out the details. She won’t see it coming, whatever I decide to do.
Having spent most of the night tossing and turning, mind racing, I decide to get up at six and go for a jog. I just feel uneasy about our conversation. Something else seems wrong. I don’t mean to doubt her, don’t want to doubt her, but I’m not sure I believe her story. Why would she call in the middle of the night to tell me this? Why would her editor email her in the middle of the night? It doesn’t really make sense.
Throughout the day, I call Emi, leave her a few voicemails, but I can’t get in touch with her. As the day wears on, I get increasingly worried. Sure, the whole story could be true, and she could just be really busy. I have no reason to believe she’s lying to me. I don’t think she ever has.
I finally just decide to send her a text at ten o’clock, letting her know I’m coming over. She has never not returned my phone calls. Busy or not, it’s not like her.
“Okay,” she answers. I grab the keys and head over to her loft.
She answers after the second knock and leans on the edge of the open door as I walk in. She’s wearing plaid flannel sleep shorts and a v-neck t-shirt that sets off her tired green eyes that show evidence of recent tears. Her smile is sad.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately. She nods her head at me as her eyes well up. We both walk toward one another and end up in a tight embrace.
“I’m fine,” she says quietly. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional today. I think I’m just exhausted. I was up most of the night.”
“Working?”
“For the most part.”
“And the other part?”
“I’m just upset,” she says, following with a sniffle. When she steps back slightly, I take advantage of the distance to finally kiss her. When I pull away, her beautiful green eyes are hidden behind her tightly shut lids, two tears sliding down her cheeks.
“About this job?” I sweep my thumbs across her cheeks before she has a chance. She nods again. “Then screw it, Emi, just forget the work. Just come with me.”
“Jack,” she huffs as she walks into the empty guest room and looks out the side window. A few boxes and shopping bags are scattered along the wall. Her arms cross in front of her chest. “This is my livelihood.”
I move to stand behind her and wrap my arms around her, kissing her cheek. “I understand, Emi,” I whisper in her ear, “but if it’s making you this upset, it’s not worth it.”
“If I quit this job, I may have no work to come back to.” She turns around and looks up at me, holding onto my belt. “He’s my biggest client.”
I take her head in my hands and look at her intently. “You don’t have to work, you know,” I remind her.
She laughs briefly as she rolls her eyes at me. “I don’t want to be some kept woman. If that’s what you’re looking for–”
“You know that’s not what I’m looking for–”
“Well, then don’t say things like that.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t want to be beholden to you, Jack. I don’t need your money,” she mumbles as she pushes against my chest and walks out of the guest room, clearly annoyed with my suggestion. She picks up a glass of wine that had been sitting on the kitchen island and takes it into the living room with her. She sits down on the couch with her back to me. I move into the kitchen and look over the two open bottles of wine sitting out. One is empty, the other is about half full.
“I know you don’t need my money, Emi, but it’s here, and I want to share it with you. You know you would never owe me anything. Why be miserable when you don’t have to be?”
“Money can’t buy happiness,” she recites abruptly. “Isn’t that what they say?”
“I’m not trying to buy your happiness,” I mutter as I start toward her.
“Can you bring that bottle with you?” she asks. I grab it from the island and take it into the living room. She holds out her now-empty glass, her hand a little unsteady. I take the glass and pour a half-serving. Again, she rolls her eyes at me when I hand her back the smaller portion.
“Is this your happiness today?” I hold up the bottle to her before setting it on the coffee table behind me. She blinks twice, looking me in the eye, before drinking all that I just poured for her. She sets the glass down on a side table and spreads out across the couch, laying her head on the armrest. She diverts her attention to the far wall, away from me. “Emi, what is going on?”
“I’ve told you already. I just had a rough night.”
“Are you sure nothing else is wrong here?”
“I’m sure.”
“So this is all about your work?”
“Work... and not being able to...” she sighs heavily, her attention still focused elsewhere, “go with you to Europe.” Another tear escapes, but she swats this one away herself.
“Don’t worry about that, we can go any time. It’s certainly not worth crying over.”
“I know you’ll resent me for it,” she says quietly as she closes her eyes. I sit down next to her on the edge of the couch, taking her hand in mine.
“What the... Emi, when have I ever resented you? For anything? Ever?” I push an errant strand of hair behind her ear.
She shakes her head before answering softly. “You will, this.” She finally opens her eyes to meet mine. She stares and nods her head slightly.
“No, Poppet, I won’t. This is... kind of crazy, Emi. I’m going there on business anyway.” Her lips part as she inhales, as if getting ready to speak. After a second, she closes her mouth again and smiles warmly. “Sure, it would have been nice for you to go with me, but it’s one trip. Three weeks. There will be many others.”
“I know,” she says as she sits up a little and squeezes my hand, repositioning to give me a little more room on the sofa. She takes a deep breath and swallows.
“If you want, we can make arrangements for something else now... maybe give you something to look forward to...”
“Okay,” she breathes.
“Where would you like to go? Anywhere in the world?”
“Honestly... I just want to be with you,” she says quietly. “It’s not that you’re going on a trip without me. It’s that we’ll be apart all that time. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
“Well, what if you finish early? I could fly you out when you do.”
“I doubt that will happen,” she says.
“But if it does, I will.” She shrugs and smiles again. “We’ll have a few days to ourselves in a foreign country... we can do whatever you like. You could plan the days.”
“It wouldn’t matter, as long as you were still with me.”
“Of course I’ll still be with you... what are you afraid will happen?” I laugh.
“I’m afraid you’ll leave me,” she says shyly, looki
ng down at our hands in our laps.
“Leave... like Nate... left?” I ask cautiously, wondering if she’s envisioning the worst.
“No,” she says. “Leave... like you would choose to leave me.”
“Hey,” I tell her softly, picking up her chin, not at all understanding where this is coming from. “I’m not going to leave you.”
“Why would you leave me?”
“I just said–”
“No, I mean... what sort of thing would drive you to leave me?”
“Nothing,” I tell her as worry begins to seep in. “Is something more going on here?”
“No,” she laughs. “Just hypothetically. I just think about these things sometimes.”
“I apologize, but that seems like a waste of your time, to worry about things like that. I can’t imagine a single thing that would make me want to leave you, Emi, not a one. We could work through anything.” My mind wanders, gauging different scenarios.
“But there has to be something,” she urges me.
“This is a pointless conversation to have in a hypothetical sense. If you’ve done something, Emi, then lets talk about it.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Well, have I?” I ask, wondering where this is heading.
“No,” she assures me. “I’m just wondering.”
“Well, I’ll just go with the obvious three. Lying, cheating, stealing... those things would be hard to overcome... but I can’t say I would definitively leave you for any reason. I’m a fair person, Emi, and I would want to hear you out.”
“Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“For answering honestly.”
“You said you haven’t done anything... are you planning to do something?”
“No, Jack,” she insists. “I would never plan to hurt you, in any way. I love you, you know that. You do know that, right?”
“Of course I do. And you know I love you,” I tell her with conviction. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”
“Me, neither,” she says as her voice wavers and her eyes begin to water once more.
“You don’t have to,” I tell her, my eyes confirming every bit of my devotion to her. “I am here to stay, no matter what. Now, no more tears over this, Emi,” I smile as I try to comfort her. She nods and wipes her eyes as a sigh escapes her lips. “Do you need to work some more tonight, or do you think you could get some rest?”
“I think I can take the night off,” she says. “I just need to sleep.”
“Can I tuck you in?” I ask as I run my finger down her leg, watching the goosebumps break out under her pale skin.
“You won’t stay?”
“Would you like me to?”
She nods. “I have a headache, though.”
“Is that code?”
“No,” she laughs. “I really do.”
“Too much happiness?” I say, standing up and picking up the wine bottle and glass, motioning it toward her.
“Maybe a little too much happiness. But, hey, that’s what you do to me. You make me happy.”
“I don’t ever want to drive you to drink. Just talk to me next time. I’m a pretty understanding guy.” I put the glass in the dishwasher and put a stopper in the bottle before setting it back in her wine rack.
“I hope so,” she says as she stands up and walks toward her bed.
After undressing to my boxers and undershirt, I grab some aspirin and water and take it to her. She turns off the lamp after taking the medicine and curls into my side, giving me a kiss before settling her head on my chest.
“I love you,” she whispers, sliding her arm up the front of my shirt and clutching tightly to my side.
“You too, Emi,” I say softly back, kissing the top of her head.
By the time my phone vibrates softly against the pillow in the morning to wake me up, Emi finally seems to be sleeping soundly, her body curled around a pillow. She had slept very restlessly throughout the night, tossing and turning more than she ever had before. I dress quietly, careful not to wake her, and leave a note on her nightstand for when she wakes up.
Hope you finally got some rest. Would love to take you to dinner if you’re up for it. I love you.
I’m disappointed when she calls me later in the day to tell me she really needs to catch up on her work since she took the night before off. I had wanted to see her once more before I left, but she insists that her work needs to take priority tonight. What’s more disappointing than not seeing her, though, is that she doesn’t even seem very upset by it. Her voice is distant, even as she reaffirms her feelings for me.
CHAPTER 5
Pick up the phone, Emi...
“Hey, it’s Emi. Leave a message.”
“Em... I know you said you’d be really busy, but come on... it’s been three days since I last talked to you. We’ve never gone this long without talking. I miss you. It’s bad enough I can’t see you... but to not hear your voice, either... I’m going through withdrawal. Please call me... I’m starting to worry.”
Even the conversation on Wednesday had been strange. She’d been distant ever since I left. We’d spoken three times while I was in Paris. She still wasn’t feeling well the night I got in... and the other two times, she said she was too busy to talk. The phone call on Wednesday only lasted five minutes. She sounded upset and said she needed to get off the phone to work. She said she’d call the next day, but never did.
I would have called Chris to go check on her, but she was still sending me text messages every now and then, updating me on her work progress, asking me how I was doing. I appreciate that she’s thinking of me, but I want nothing more than to talk to her.
As I settle into the hotel room in Rome, I try to distract myself with a little television. It’s pointless. I can’t stop thinking about her. At the beginning of last week, all I wanted to do was nail down plans for the proposal. I’m still planning on flying home to surprise her on her birthday. I want to propose... but I can’t even talk to her long enough to figure out what her plans are at this point.
Her phone call wakes me up.
“Emi,” I say, relieved.
“Hey,” she says with little enthusiasm.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Fine,” she says, but she still sounds so different. There’s no life in her voice.
“You don’t seem fine.”
“I’m just busy, Jack,” she says, annoyed.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” I can no longer mask the frustration I’m feeling with her. The tension builds through the silence. Sensing she’s not going to be the first to talk, I continue. “How’s the project going?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“Do you think you’ll be finished early enough to come out for that last weekend?”
“I doubt it,” she says.
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” she says curtly.
“Emi, what is wrong?”
“I told you, I’m busy. I’m stressed, okay?”
“Something else is clearly going on,” I suggest. “I don’t know what it is, but I really wish you’d enlighten me. You’re obviously angry with me. I’d like a chance to apologize for whatever it is.”
“It’s nothing,” she says, her tone softening. She swallows audibly. “You didn’t do anything. This is just hard.”
“What, being apart?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, I feel the same way... but that doesn’t make me want to fight with you across the Atlantic.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” she says.
“I miss you.”
“You’ll be home in two and a half weeks.”
“And I can’t wait to see you.” She doesn’t respond. “Do you miss me?” I’m honestly not sure she does.
“Of course,” she answers. More silence.
“So, do you have any plans for your birthday next week?” I ask, wishing I had been less direct. I don’t want her to h
ave any idea that I’m coming home.
“Yeah, we’re having a party or something.”
“That’s great,” I say. “Who’s throwing it?”
“Teresa,” she says.
“At her place? Or yours?”
“Mine,” she responds.
“Oh, okay. Well that sounds like fun. I hope you have the project done by then so you can relax and have a little time for yourself.”
“Me, too.”
“I really wish I could be there.”
“Me, too.” Her tone isn’t very convincing. I sigh in defeat.
“I really wish I was there right now, Em. I feel so disconnected from you. I don’t feel like we’re communicating very well.”
“Well, I’m just distracted by work,” she explains.
“I hope that’s all,” I tell her. I can’t stand the silence any more. “Listen, Em, I’ve got to get ready for my meetings. Will you call me tomorrow?”
“If I get home from my brainstorming session at a reasonable hour, I will. If nothing else, I’ll text you.”
“I hope you’ll call... I love you, Emi.”
“You, too,” she says, spiritless. I feel my heart break a little.
When she doesn’t call the next day, just sends some generic text message, I decide to focus all my efforts on work. That’s why I’m here, anyway. I can’t continue to worry about her when I’m halfway across the world. I do decide to call Chris, though, and ask him to check in with her to make sure she really is okay.
“Hey, Chris, how’s it going?”
“Fine, man, where are you?”
“In Rome.”
“I bet Emi is so jealous,” he says.
“I don’t think she is, Chris,” I begin. “Something’s wrong with her, I think. She says she’s really busy, but I just get the feeling something’s up.”
“I thought you didn’t want me interfering with your relationship... sounds like you’re wanting me to get involved.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t genuinely worried about her... and if I wasn’t an ocean away.”
“Alright, man, okay. What would you like me to do?”
“I don’t know, just call her and make sure she’s okay... and what do you know about this birthday party next week?”