Page 74 of Summertime Friends

Liam: I would never do anything to hurt you.

Good joke, you should be a comedian.

I’m furious.

I don’t even care that he’s texting me on her behalf. That is the type of guy he is. Liam is thoughtful to a fault and protects those he cares about. It’s one of the things I loved about him. I don’t care about the idea of him caring about Natalie, either.Don’t lie to yourself, Emerson, you do.But I’m not furious about him caring for her.

I’m furious that he has had my number this entire time.

Three years.

I haven’t heard from him for three years, and he texts me now?

No drunk texts. No apology. No groveling. No communication for three years.

Even I had accidentally drunk-texted him a few times in the couple months after.

His ability to go cold turkey on our relationship was unbelievable. Remarkable actually!

I’m trying to tame my temper, but it’s roaring inside me like a lion. I made up reason after reason why Liam never contacted me, especially in those first few months. He deleted my number or losthis phone and my number with it. Or hell, he even blocked me because he was that upset about what happened that he couldn’t bear to have anything in his life that correlated with me.

But he had my number. He stillhasmy number.

This. Whole. Damn. Time.

One call—even a text! That’s all it would have taken. I needed him to reach out first; I desperately needed it. Needed him to confirm and calm every idea that coursed through me after that damn day.

“Hey Emerson. Margot wants to see you in her office.” Blake dips her head into the archway of my glass office. I look up at her, the interruption startling. “Everything okay?”

“Yup. Struggling with location ideas for an upcoming shoot for the new kombucha brand.”

“What about the rooftop pool at The Hoxton Hotel,” she immediately says. “Ben and I went two weekends ago. Immaculate views and their daybeds are this pool-ish teal blue, almost the same color as their new summer flavor.”

“That’s perfect, Blake. I’ll call them after this meeting. Thanks.”

“Have you tried their drinks yet?” Blake asks.

“No.”

I click the side button on my phone. My screen goes dark, and I put it in my top desk drawer. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, re-grounding myself, and push my anger aside.

“I was surprised at how much I enjoyed them. Not normally a kombucha girly; it’s too vinegary for me, but their strawberry kiwi flavor tastes like these juice boxes we’d get as kids. I’ll bring you one tomorrow!”

Heading out of my office, I walk right past Blake. I’m a few strides ahead of her, my pace quick. When Margot wants to see you, that means you don’t dilly-dally. It means you get there now.

Trying to catch up with me, Blake calls out, “You know if this doesn’t ever work out for you, you could be a full-time photographer.”

She’s finally in step with me when my head whips in her direction, remiss by her comment.

If this doesn’t work out.Is Blake serious?

She keeps going, “Your photos are incredible. Ben and I couldn’t get over them. I’ve barely gotten any work done recently because I’ve been staring at them. You’re extremely talented. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who can capture love like you can.”

What a roundabout way to give someone a backhanded compliment.

Hearing her say I know how to capture love when I can’t in my own life feels too ironic.

Well, I did once, but I was too oblivious to it until it was far too late when it became the weapon that took me down.

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