“Earlier tomorrow,” she promises. “Goodnight, Graham.”
“Goodnight, Emma. See you soon.” She signs off and the screen goes black.
Ah, God. My life has become more complicated than I ever imagined it could be. I had no real idea what I was doing to myself when I decided to take on parenthood. To cope, I made adjustments I thought I could manage, like forgoing close romantic entanglements. At first, nothing could have been easier, because I was still in love with Zoe.
Once I was finally over her, I realized I’d also grown up, filled out. Girls on campus watched me with shameless curiosity and signaled uncomplicated desires, and my refusals to share any shred of personal information only amplified their interest. I didn’t particularly care if they liked my no-strings position or not. A few drew lines in the sand, and I simply walked away. I never lied to anyone. I never promised anything. I never wanted anything more from anyone.
Until Emma. The friendship we developed was unlike any relationship I’ve ever had. So easy, so companionable, but that physical pull was there, too, from the first moment first I saw her. I refused to believe I was falling for a 17-year-old girl, and I fought it, hard. The first time I kissed her uncovered feelings so compelling that they tumbled over into protectiveness. The resolve came naturally: I wouldn’t touch her—beyond what we’d already done—until she was a legal adult, until she specifically asked me to. For the first time since Zoe, my guard was down.
Which was exactly why that photo of Reid and Emma sliced right through me.
*** *** ***
Emma
The prom is a nightmare. While it’s not exactly Carrie, it’s no High School Musical III, either.
When Marcus called to tell me he still wanted me to accompany him to his prom, I swallowed back clichéd reassurances: It’s not you, it’s me. We can still be friends. I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Though I didn’t vocalize any of these, I did tell him I was sorry at least half a dozen times. My apparent guilt must have given him the mental go-ahead to transform into a total dick by the next weekend.
The downward spiral began when he arrived to pick me up. I’d told Dad and Chloe that we were going as friends, so I didn’t want them to make a big deal of it. Naturally, Chloe ignored that entreaty and had the camera charged and ready.
“I remember my prom,” she said, smiling dreamily into the distance as I thought, Oh, crap, here we go. “I was a total princess, all the way down to the glass slippers.” She put a hand to her mouth like she was about to reveal a secret. “Actually, those shoes were acrylic and uncomfortable as hell.”
“Ah,” I said, attempting to look sympathetic.
Chloe blinded us with multiple flashes as Marcus slid a corsage onto my wrist in the entryway. She led us out back and posed us in front of the pool landscaping that made Dad walk around for days with his jaw clenched, mute and furious, after he got the bill for all the upgrades she’d authorized.
Snapping photos like she had aspirations as a high-fashion photographer, Chloe was oblivious to the ice-cold wall between her subjects. “Marcus, put your arms around her. Like that, but with your hands meeting in the middle. Oh! Yes! Just like that!”
I let her get off a few of shots before breaking from the false embrace. “Okay, I think that’s enough pictures. You know, Marcus might actually like to go to his prom as part of this experience…” I hoped Marcus and I would share a knowing look about Chloe—not uncommon for us—so we could begin to salvage the night somewhat before it was entirely wrecked. But he stood, one hand in the trousers of his tux, flicking a fingernail and looking bored, and my sense of foreboding mushroomed.
Marcus’s arts-heavy prep school is relatively small, with a modest graduating class. Judging by the response his arrival generates, he’s clearly one of the in-crowd. The venue is the tented rooftop terrace of the Citizen Hotel—the city’s oldest skyscraper. Though the view is only a very familiar Sacramento, it’s breathtaking from this height. Distance alters everything.
Introducing me to his group of friends by way of, “This is Emma,” and a turn of his wrist in my general direction, he doesn’t introduce any of them to me. Unbelievably, no one steps forward, either. I’m stuck knowing no one’s name—except those discovered by eavesdropping on neighboring conversations—so there’s nothing to do but stand next to Marcus, my dress and his tux accoutrements so perfectly matched that it leaves no doubt we’re here together. Trapped at the receiving end of stares and whispers in a crowd of people where I don’t know a single person beyond my ass**le of a date, I consider calling a taxi, or Dad, to come pick me up.
I can’t shake the conviction that I’m getting what I deserve for leading Marcus on, as convincingly as Emily objected to that conclusion. “Marcus doesn’t own you,” she said after I told her what had happened with Graham in New York, and the resulting altercation with Marcus. “I don’t see a ring on your finger, not that you’d ever want one from that pompous ass.”
“I thought you liked him?” I said.
“Psshh,” she said, glancing at me as she made a right turn. We were on the way to get our annual almost-summer pedicures. “I tolerated him. Derek and I didn’t think he was for you.”
I sputtered before answering, “You and Derek discussed—?”
“Hells yeah.” She was, as usual, unapologetic. “We hoped it would fade out before you ended up in New York with him leeching onto you. Derek thinks he just wanted you for your film and theatre connections. With the bonus of your smokin’ little bod, of course.”