Emilia
The entire blurry drive home all Emi had been able to think about were the sleeping pills in the bathroom cabinet. She’d taken one occasionally on some of her worst nights. Today the thought of taking a handful to help wash away the unbearable pain had been almost too tempting. She sat on her bed now, hours after she’d gotten home, completely exhausted from the crying.
“It’s over, okay?” she whispered as she stared at her empty bottle of water. “You made it. You didn’t even touch the wine this time. You’re stronger because of this. Accept that as a good thing. Progress.”
The only reason she’d even dragged herself out of bed and into the kitchen was because her body was begging for more fluids. She was halfway there when she heard the first ping on her phone and she ignored it. She’d check it when she got back to her room.
Even though she didn’t feel the least bit hungry, she forced herself to eat. The whole day she’d been so tense and busy with the catering stuff she hadn’t eaten anything. Sydney had done enough to her already. She wasn’t going to let him make her sick too.
After heating up half a bagel and smothering some peanut butter on it, she grabbed a banana and a couple of bottled waters from the fridge and headed back to her room. Halfway there she heard her phone ringing and figured it was one of her brothers, or maybe even Livi, calling to see how the party had gone. In no hurry to tell them about it, she didn’t rush to try and answer. It stopped ringing just as she entered her room.
To her surprise, it was a number with a weird area code she didn’t recognize. Dropping the phone on her bed, she didn’t think anything of it. Then she froze as her heart rate sped up. She set her food and waters down on the bed and picked up the phone again and stared at the number. It was an Arizona area code. Remembering her phone pinging earlier, she tapped the small unread text she had from the same number and read it.
Emi, is it possible for us to talk? There’s something very important I need to discuss with you, and I don’t care how upset this may make my pigheaded son. It’s imperative that I tell you about it.
The text was as intriguing as it was disheartening. Whatever it was Frances wanted to discuss with her, Sydney didn’t want her to. Yet Emi’s heart was already fluttering with that same obstinate hope. Emi thought back to how pleased Frances was with their union way back. Was it possible Frances was just being a meddling mother trying to get her way in her son’s love life? As flattering as that was, it was the last thing Emi’s heart needed, tenuous but dangerous optimism.
Emi stood there staring at the text debating on how she should respond. If she should respond at all. Then her phone pinged again. Frances’s second text popped up right below her previous one.
I’m outside your home. I know you were upset when you left. You might be asleep now. But I’ll give it a few minutes before I leave. You can call me later. I just hoped to do this in person. If you’re reading this, I do hope you’ll give me a few minutes of your time.
Beyond curious now, Emi texted she’d be opening the security gate for her then rushed to slip on her flip-flops and threw a sweatshirt over her head. One glance in the mirror and she knew Frances would know just how upset seeing Sydney had made her because her face was one puffy mess. But there was no sense in trying to clean herself up. Already she could feel the stupid lump in her throat gearing up for another inevitable cry.
She walked down the back stairs to where Frances would be driving up into the large circular driveway. Frances was already there and out of her car, leaning against the passenger door. To Emi’s surprise, she looked upset herself. Her eyes were red and a bit puffy too.
“Is something wrong?” Emi asked, slowing down as she walked toward Frances, who didn’t move away from the car.
Frances nodded, alarming Emi further. “Sydney hasn’t been honest with you, Emi. He hadn’t been with me either. He knew I’d tell you and now here I am. I just wish I’d known sooner.”
“You mean about Cristina?” Emi asked, hating how powerless she was to keep her stupid lip from quivering. “He was honest,” she said, her voice already straining. “He was brutally honest.”
“No.” His mother shook her head. “He’s not in love with her, Emi. He loves you.”
Emi crossed her arms in front of her. The disappointment she was feeling was almost too unbearable to take, but the anger that swept over her now drowned out the pain a little. So Sydney hadn’t told his mommy the ugly truth.
“He’s been with her over a year now, Frances,” she said, trying not to sound too bitter, but his mother needed to accept this too. “He told me he’s in love with her. That he didn’t love me anymore.” She swatted the tears away even as Frances continued to shake her head with that same pained expression. “He wore that fucking fedora for her today. He hates hats, but she loves them.”
Why she was so hung up on that she didn’t know, but she was. Strangely, that softened Frances’s expression. “Is that what you think?”
“I know it, Frances,” she said, swatting more tears away, glad that her siblings weren’t here. They might be rude to his mother even though she didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t her fault her son turned out to be such a coldhearted asshole. She was just being as hopeful as Emi had been for too long.
“Oh, honey, that hat has nothing to do with her. I don’t even think he knew she was going to be there.”
Emi scoffed humorlessly, glad for the rage she was suddenly feeling. She needed it now more than ever. “They walked in together!”
“Okay, I don’t know anything about that,” Frances said quickly. “But, please, listen to me. I thought you knew about everything that’s been going on—that your break up was completely unrelated. It broke my heart today when he told me that you didn’t know. That he didn’t want you to—”
“I do know,” Emi cried out. “I know about it all and this has to stop now. It’s over, Frances. He doesn’t want me.” The words took her breath away, and she struggled to get the rest out. “I need to accept that and move on. You do too.”
“No,” Frances said, touching Emi’s arm gently. “He does love you.”
“Stop it!” Emi said, recoiling away from Frances’s hand. “This isn’t helping me. I know you think it is, but—”
“That hat he wore,” Frances said, her voice a little louder, “was to cover the scar.”
Emi stared at her, not understanding, as her chest heaved, and she tried in vain to compose herself. “Scar?”
“He had a procedure done last week,” Frances continued, her expression back to that pained one she wore earlier. “Last year he was diagnosed with a benign growth in his brain like the one that took his father’s life. He told me about it immediately, but he never told me it was why he broke up with you.”
Emi’s mouth fell open as she brought her hand over her mouth, barely able to catch her breath.
“He didn’t tell me he never told you until today. He didn’t want you to suffer the fate I did—the same fate Cristina did—to have to lose a husband at such a young age and possibly leave you with a family to care for all by yourself. He knew your love for him wouldn’t let you just walk away from him, so he took matters into his own hands, and now he’s even more convinced he did the right thing.”
Shaking her head, Emi was almost afraid to ask. “Why?”
“The procedure he had done was because the growth is now a tumor. They went in last week to check if it’s possible to remove it in its entirety or if it’s too risky.”
“And what did they find?”
“It’s removable, but there’s a risk, one he’s going to take. Today, when I begged him to tell you—that it wasn’t fair to you because I know you’d want to be there for him—he was adamant about it. He doesn’t know I’m here, Emi.” Frances took a long trembling breath. “His surgery is in a few days. It was why he came today. He wanted to see you one last time in case . . .”