Emma

 

Emma’s eyes flew open and she took a step back from Will. “No, actually my name’s Emma.” She scathed. “Is it really that hard to remember the name of the girls you invite to your apartment? Or was she just the last skank you brought here?”

“Guilty,” chirped a shrill voice, sending chills down Emma’s spine. She turned to see none other than Liz Vanderveer standing just outside the elevator, smirking like the Grinch who stole Christmas.

“Hey Emmy, so good to see you,” Liz crooned, a saccharine smile plastered across her flawless red lips.

“Hey Lizzy,” Emma replied, equally fake.

Liz didn’t even give her a second glance. Instead she zeroed in on Will. “Will, darling, I’m so glad I finally caught you. Did you forget I was coming over?”

Will just stood speechless in the elevator until the doors began to close. Emma reached out to stop them, pushing past him into the hall. Suddenly, it seemed entirely too crowded with Liz standing between them. Intimate images of Liz and Will popped in Emma’s mind like flashbulbs, bringing back all the pain and embarrassment she thought she’d left behind. Liz flashed a grin like she knew exactly what Emma was thinking, and looped her arm through Will’s as if marking her territory.

Liz gazed up at Will, blinking her dark doe eyes. “Don’t worry, I used my key,” she said, proffering a shiny brass key that obviously belonged to Will’s apartment. “And I spoke to your mother earlier. She said they’ve been delayed and won’t be back until Christmas Eve. But don’t worry, I told her I’d stick around and keep you company.”

Emma felt her stomach lurch. She needed to get the hell away from Liz before she said something she’d regret.

“Come on,” Liz purred, tugging on Will’s arm. “I ordered in from, Jean-Georges. It should be here any minute.”

Emma didn’t even try to hide her snort of disgust and she stomped down the hall. Will hadn’t changed at all.

He called after her. “Emma, wait.”

“For what, Will? Looks like your apartment isn’t so lonely after all.”

Then she disappeared into her father’s apartment, slamming the door in his face.

 

* * *

 

The trouble with not having her own room after having her heart stomped on was that there wasn’t anywhere Emma could go to breakdown. And that’s exactly what she was on the verge of. All she wanted was a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and a bedroom to hide in. She decided to text Kensie. Maybe she could just hideout at her best friend’s house and binge cheesy Christmas movies until this nightmare of a holiday was over.

Emma retrieved her phone from where she’d left it charging in the kitchen. She unplugged it and tapped out a text to Kensie.

 

 

Emma let out a tiny sob and squeezed her eyes shut. Of course Kensie was in France. She went skiing in the French Alps with her family every year over winter break. If Emma hadn’t been such an absentee friend she would’ve remembered that. Maybe this was what she deserved? Emma had lost touch with everyone from New York, even her best friend. It had been stupid to think she could just come back and pick up where she left off.

 

 

Emma turned her phone off and slipped it into her pocket, deciding to scour the freezer. Pregnant people liked ice cream didn’t they? Ice cream was the only thing that could salvage Emma’s wreck of a day. She didn’t have her best friend or a room to hide it, but if she could just find some damn ice cream . . . But when she searched the freezer’s contents and came up empty, Emma’s mood only worsened. “No, of course that was too much to ask,” she muttered to herself. “Why would the home wrecker keep ice cream on hand?” she groaned, her head still half in the freezer.

“What’s a home wrecker?” asked a squeaky voice.

Emma slammed the freezer shut to see Colin and his giant retriever standing in the kitchen. “Oh, hey. I didn’t see you there.”

He grinned. “I saw you. What’s a home wrecker?”

Shit, this kid wasn’t gonna let it go. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“I’m seven and Mom says I’m old for my age,” Colin snapped back.

“Yeah, old enough to watch Game of Thrones, apparently,” Emma muttered to herself, trying to push past Hodor who was eyeing her with distrust.

A huge smile lit Colin’s face. “Game of Thrones is my favorite show in the whole world! How did you know that?”

Emma shrugged. “Your dog’s name is Hodor.”

“His full name is Hodor Targaryen,” Colin replied proudly.

Emma cocked her head to the side. As a huge fan of the show, she couldn’t let that go. “Um, you know Hodor’s not a Targaryen, right?”

“Actually,” Colin objected. “Hodor’s origin is unknown and I prefer to think that he was adopted by House Stark at the request of Ned’s sister, Lyanna, who secretly wed a Targaryen.”

“Wow,” Emma said, equally impressed and worried by Colin’s beyond obsessive knowledge of a show that was entirely too violent for a seven-year-old. “And Tara’s cool with you watching such a graphic show?” Emma asked.

“You’re saying her name wrong. It’s pronounced Tar-ah, just like Tar-garyen,” Colin corrected. “And yes. Mom lets me do whatever I want.”

Emma rolled her eyes. She hated spoiled kids almost as much as she hated the way everyone pronounced Tar-ah’s name. It was like they were trying to make her sound classy and mysterious, but she would always be the home wrecking tramp from South Carolina that broke up her parents and ruined Emma’s world.

“Whatever,” Emma muttered, stomping past Colin and Hodor. All she wanted was to be alone, but since she didn’t have a room to hide out in, she settled for plunking herself on the uncomfortable white couch. Her plan was to drown her sorrows in a mind-numbing Netflix binge. That was if she could find the damn television remote.

Emma searched the blank surfaces of the ridiculously modern glass furniture to no avail, and to make matters worse, Colin couldn’t take a hint. He followed her around the living room so closely he was practically her shadow.

“Wanna come play in my room?” he asked. “I can teach you how to speak Dothraki.”

“No. I want to watch TV.”

“Cool. I like TV.” Colin parked himself on the couch and Hodor curled up at his feet. “Penelope, television on.”

Emma jumped when the television came to life. “How’d you do that?”

“It’s a smart house,” Colin replied. “You just tell Penelope what you want her to do.”

If only Penelope could make annoying seven-year-olds disappear, Emma thought bitterly.

“Whatcha wanna watch?” Colin asked. “Dad gets all the channels.”

Emma stilled. “What did you say?” Did this brat actually call her father, Dad?

“We have all the channels,” Colin said loud and slow. “Just tell Penelope what you want to watch.”

“What I want,” Emma scathed. “Is to watch TV alone.”

“Oh.” Colin looked crestfallen as he slid off the couch. “I’ll be in my room.”

Emma almost felt bad as she watched him mope down the hall. But as he disappeared into the bedroom that should’ve been hers, her guilt evaporated. It wasn’t her job to babysit Colin. He could call her father whatever he wanted, but that didn’t make Colin her brother. Where the hell was her father, anyway? 

Emma had been home for almost an hour and there was no sign of him or home wrecker. Did they really leave Colin home alone? Sure he was witty for a seven-year-old, but he was still just a kid. Her parents would’ve never left her alone at that age.

Two thoughts swept over Emma and both made her heart sink. Either her father and Tara had just assumed Emma would babysit Colin, or they forgot about the little boy as easily as they’d forgotten about Emma. Whatever the answer, Emma was back to feeling guilty for how she’d treated Colin. He was bratty and annoying, but none of this was his fault. And sadly, Emma wasn’t sure how to make it up to him. It’s not like she could be expected to know how to be a sister overnight.

She let out a groan and wrapped herself in the white blanket she’d found on the back of the couch. Cyber Penelope turned on a cheesy Christmas movie at Emma’s command, and she fell into a restless sleep as she wondered how the hell her life had gotten so screwed up.