Page 23 of Reclaim

Tipping my head at her with gratitude, I wink and walk away, wishing we met in a different life. Because the one thing I need from her is never going to happen.

8

Emerson

My apartment door opens, and a carefree Taylah waltzes in. I peek over my Kindle and watch her slide her black rimmed sunglasses to the top of her head, trying to keep her wind blown copper hair out of her face. Without saying a word, she hangs her body purse on the back of my door, grabs her Kindle, and curls up on the other end of my couch.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, hiding my face behind my e-reader.

“I think what you meant to say was, ‘Hey Taylah, How are you doing? It’s so nice of you to visit me instead of having breakfast with your mum.’”

“You mean you told your mum we had plans so you could avoid breakfast with her?”

Taylah and her mother have one of the healthiest but still dysfunctional relationships I’ve ever seen. Growing up with only her mum, they argue about everything, but support each other implicity.

“Tomayto, Tomatoh.”

“Well, you know the drill,” I say, pointing at her Kindle. “It’s Sunday morning and reading time. No talking.”

“Can we do something different today?”

“Absolutely not.” I shut her down instantly, reluctant to do anything but lay on my couch for the next eight hours.

“Yes.”

“You know, barging in on me wasn’t what I had in mind when I gave you the spare key to my apartment, right?”

“It wasn’t?”

“I recall words like ‘only use for emergencies’ being mentioned.”

“This is an emergency,” she cries dramatically.

I can’t help but laugh at her theatrics, even though I know she’s hurt by my choice to avoid everything and anything.

“I tried to pretend I didn’t notice or don’t care, but you’ve made me resort to speaking to Joe for information, and I need to know what the hell is going on?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I promise. “You won’t need to speak to him again.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Huh?” I act distracted by the words I’m reading, but Taylah quickly picks up on my diversion tactics and sneakily grabs my Kindle out of my hands. She raises it over head. “I’m holding this hostage till you spill.”

“There’s honestly nothing to tell.”

“Em, what is it?” Everybody has always called me Em, but now when she says it, I think and hear Jagger. I don’t want to think of him. “Honestly, it’s stupid. I just want to let myself wallow in it before I pack it up and move on.”

“Is this about your client? Jagger?” she asks with trepidation.

“He got out last week; he’s no longer my client.”

“Is that what you’re upset about?”

“No. Yes. Ugh.” Grabbing the cushion from beside me, I cover my face and groan into it.

Pulling it away from me, Taylah’s patience is wearing thin. “What is it?”

Sighing loudly, I decide to spill the beans. It’s going to sound ridiculous, may as well just bite the bullet. “It’s stupid Tay, I’m turning something into nothing.”

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