Chapter Five - Emma
Upstairs, my muffin gets soggy with my tears, but I finish it anyway. If only it were that easy to finish these thoughts. Why do I find Luke so appealing, even with his base animalistic instincts and cocky attitude? This thing is all clearly just a joke to him. I can’t stay here.
I take out my laptop and start scanning Kijiji for a cheap, viable option of another place to stay. Unsurprisingly, the cheapest ads are also the ones without any pictures: addresses that are far from the city and with dubious spelling in the ads themselves. Maybe I really should just go to stay with Gillian for the time being; anything would be better than this.
I’m still crying, but packing some of my shoes back up makes me feel better. Yes, this nightmare will be over in a few days. I won’t stay here longer than that. I promise myself. I can’t.
I have to go to the bathroom, but I can’t stand the thought of running into Luke again. So, I pace around my room until I hear the front door open and then close. Eagerly racing down the stairs, I make a beeline to the bathroom.
“Hi.”
At the sound of a child’s voice, I freeze. Across the living room, at the front door, is a little boy who has Luke’s same dark eyes.
“Hi,” I say.
“Where’s Dad?” he asks.
“I don’t kn-” I say just as I hear, “So, you came back, Emma?”
Luckily, the hallway is dark, so the little boy can only say, “Dad?”
Half-visible and still with only that infuriating towel tied around his waist, Luke freezes. “Shit.” With a downwards glance, he flicks me a desperate look. “Parker – my son. Can you – for a second?”
I nod and he dashes into his room.
“Hi Parker,” I say, walking up to the little boy.
“Your dad’s busy right now, but if you want, I can get you something to eat or we can put your backpack in your room, if you like.”
The little boy nods his dark brown head. Then, cracking a gap-toothed smile, he decides: “Eat, please.”
“Ok,” I say, walking into the kitchen. “What would you like?”
Parker wastes no time in declaring, “Chocolate!”
“Ok,” I say, and get to rifling through cupboards. I open and close half-filled cupboard after cupboard. I go through crackers, cereals and even the fridge before I crouch down so that I’m face to face with the eagerly waiting little boy.
“Where does your dad keep the chocolate?” I ask him and his face breaks into a sunny grin.
“The washing machine!”
I scan his face, but he only nods and repeats “The washing machine!”
“Are you sure?”
Taking my hand, he pulls me down the hallway towards a room I haven’t gone in yet. It is, sure enough, the laundry room. Jabbing his finger out at the broad white washing machine, he simply says, “There.”
So, humoring the cute little boy, I open the machine lid to find a huge pile of Caramilk bars.
I stare at the pile of twenty or so chocolate bars for a moment, starting to laugh. Parker joins me.
“Dad puts them there because I’m too little to reach them.”
I stare at the little boy’s devious face steadily.
“So, your dad doesn’t want you having these?”
Holding my gaze, Parker declares “I’m hungry.”
So, next thing I know, I’m pulling out one of them, then holding a finger to my lips. A bright smile breaks over Parker’s face. Back in the kitchen, I unfurl the wrapping from the bar and hand Parker a whole row of chocolate squares, taking a row for myself as well. After what Luke’s subjected me to since I got here, taking his chocolate is the least I should do. As we devour the delicious squares, the creak of the bathroom door sounds further down the hallway. Hastily I slip the chocolate bar into my jean pocket.
It only takes Luke a few seconds to get in the kitchen and glance at us before he sighs. “You got him a Caramilk, didn’t you?”
“No!” Parker and I protest out of our chocolatey lips before the three of us burst out laughing. Flopping on the chair between us, Luke shakes his head and ruffles Parker’s hair.
“This little boy is the cleverest, sneakiest devil in town, I’m telling you.”
I hand Luke the chocolate bar without meeting his eye. As he takes it, our fingers brush against each other.
“Thanks, Emma. I can take it from here.”
Nodding, I waste no time in rising and hurrying the hell out of there. As I walk out, however, I pause at the door and look back. Luke’s back is to me. Now that he thinks I’m gone, he’s wrapped little Parker in his arms, boy’s small form pressed tight to his chest. It’s strange, I think as I continue walking away down the hallway to my room, the image returning to my mind, seeing Luke like that. The same Luke who had been sexually and maliciously teasing me. You would’ve sworn that they weren’t the same person at all.
Back in my room, the first thing I see is my hastily half-packed bag. Suddenly, leaving doesn’t seem so urgent. After all, Luke had seemed so different back there in the kitchen. Maybe he just needs to get more used to me. Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot. At any rate, I’ll give him another chance and stay for a couple more days. It’s not like Gillian’s room is going to go anywhere.
I spend the rest of the day in and out of my room. I go for a walk in the neighborhood. It’s actually a really nice place with a little path leading to a forest and everything. Walking around, it makes me wonder if Luke would like it here. Not the perverted, taunting Luke I encountered last night and early this morning, but the kind, gentle man I saw around Parker. Maybe I’ll suggest it to him later.
When I get home, however, the place is empty, leaving me to have some heated-up ravioli myself. A quick check of my phone shows that Dad’s left me another message: Everything still good there? I stare at it for a minute before putting it away. Dad’s never been a worrisome person, so he must know something about Luke that I don’t . . . Or that we hooked up so long ago.
It’s stupid, but, even years later, I would sometimes imagine what would’ve happened if I hadn’t stopped Luke. If I hadn’t stormed away just as things started heating up. Who knows? Maybe things would’ve ended up differently. Maybe I would still be here, living and laughing with him, but as something entirely different . . .
At once, I stand up, shove my bowl in the sink, and rush upstairs. Back in my room, curled under my covers in my bed, I still don’t feel safe. No, there’s no escaping this feeling – this ridiculous self-destructive joke of a feeling. Because it is ridiculous and self-destructive. No good could possibly come from it. I saw Luke – I know he has two girls on the go already. Probably more. If, after all these years, he hasn’t found a girl he likes, what makes me think that it would be any different with me?
I snuggle deeper under the covers, staring into the blue sheet above me – as if that would give me any answers. Why do I find Luke so infuriatingly attractive? Even more so now that I’ve seen his softer side. Why can’t I get it through my thick head that getting involved with him will only lead to heartache at best?
Finally, I throw the covers off my head, put my hair into a ponytail and return downstairs.
If binge-watching TV doesn’t make me feel better, then nothing will. However, when I stride into the living room, I find Luke already parked on the couch, watching a couple of rabbits hopping together.
“That’s not BBC Planet Earth, is it?” I ask as he flicks the channel.
“No, I―” He flicks back. “Maybe.”
Laughing, I flop on the opposite end of the couch.
“Parker’s in bed,” he says stiffly.
I rise.
“Oh, ok. Should I leave?”
When he glances at me, his tense face softens. “No, I . . . not unless you want to.”
“Ok,” I say, wavering.
Should I leave? On the TV screen are a pair of giraffes, their long gangly necks wobbling as they gallop across arid plains. My favorite animals. If that isn’t a sign, then I don’t know what is.
I sit down.