Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
They don’t know we’re married, but Emersyn is freaking the fuck out on the inside. I can see it on her face.
“Merry Christmas. Thank you so much for having me,” she says with a shaky and timid voice.
Aaron and my dad take the gifts from our arms.
“You have such a lovely home.” Emersyn slips off her lightweight coat.
I take it from her before she even gets it all the way off.
“Thank you,” she whispers, glancing back at me.
I wink, hoping it will ease her mind. A “just relax” wink. But her wide eyes don’t convey my wink is doing anything to put her at ease.
She blushes.
The wink might have been the wrong move.
“We’re so glad you’re joining us,” my mom says as she pulls Emersyn in for a hug.
Emersyn’s fingers dig into my mom’s back, like she’s holding on for life … like she needs a hug.
“You okay?” Mom asks as she pulls away from Emersyn and holds her at arm’s length.
Emersyn nods and quickly wipes the corners of her eyes. “Yeah. Sorry, Cecilia. I get a little sappy on holidays. That’s all. I love your earrings, by the way.”
My mom touches said earrings and grins. “Thank you,” she replies, almost with a bit of surprise. “Come in, honey. Let’s get you a drink.” Mom takes Emersyn’s hand and guides her out of the parquet floor entry to a grand living room furnished with vintage sofas and chairs, wood tables with intricately carved legs, floral porcelain lamps, fringed area rugs—and a ginormous Christmas tree. From the size of Emersyn’s bugged out eyes, I’d say it’s the biggest tree she has ever seen.
Mom loves her tree adorned with hundreds of ornaments and lights weighting its beautiful pine branches. Aaron likes to give her crap about the room resembling a swanky department store at Christmastime.
As I grab drinks, I hear Emersyn complimenting my dad’s ugly Christmas sweater and Aaron’s nothing-special striped socks. She’s giving everyone a little bounce in their step.
“Here you go.” I hand her a glass mug. “It’s my mom’s famous slow cooker hot buttered rum.”
Emersyn eyes me for a few seconds, probably because she’s managed to put an unstoppable grin on my face in a matter of minutes since our arrival. She takes the drink from me and brings it close to her lips, inhaling the fragrant spices. “Mmm …”
We sit together on the sofa, not at opposite ends like at home. She keeps a death grip on her mug while scraping her teeth along her lower lip over and over. The gloss is nearly gone.
“Zach told us you’re going to Hawaii next month for a new job. Congratulations.” My dad takes a seat next to my mom on the opposing sofa, and Aaron plunks into a high back chair adjacent to us.
“Zach.” Emersyn’s eyes narrow at me. “I don’t have the job yet.”
I smirk and shrug. “You will.”
Her head inches side to side as she returns her attention to my parents. “If I get the job, then yes … I’m going to Hawaii next month. But thank you, William. I hope congratulations are in order.”
I’m happy for her. Suzanne would be too. I’m also a little sad. Emersyn’s been a distraction.
A distraction from my grief.
A distraction from the silent void in my house.
A distraction from the crippling realization that my life is, in some ways, starting over again.
“To Emersyn, for finding a great new job.” Dad holds up his glass mug in a toast before taking a drink.
“To Emersyn.” Everyone else holds up their mugs.
“Thank you. I hope,” she murmurs, her hand a little shaky as she raises her mug.
My parents shift the conversation to Aaron, questioning him about his recent change in jobs from an EMT to working with a horse trainer. “Aaron has half a medical degree and two years of an architecture degree … and ADHD.” Cecilia eyes Aaron playfully. “The way he talks sometimes … I suspect he’s looking into designing new humans.”
Everyone laughs, even Aaron, who shrugs like she’s not wrong.
After they exhaust all questions pointed at Aaron, Mom suggests we move to the dining room for dinner, letting me off the hook for now. It’s possible they still think I’m doing nothing but mourning the loss of Suzanne when I’m not working, so who wants to bring up that subject?
Tonight … sitting around a beautifully decorated dining room table, savoring good food, sipping homemade drinks, engaging in laughter and conversing about lighter topics like who knows the history of Georgia better … I yearn for a sense of normalcy and peace again. I want to go a full day without feeling guilty about Suzanne.
Did I save her from more pain?
Did I cut her life short?
Do I need to tell someone so they can give me permission to truly let her go?
Will it ever stop eating me alive?