Page 86 of The Emerson Effect
She blushes and looks down as she murmurs, “You’re not so bad, yourself.”
And suddenly, I feel like I won the God damn lottery.
FORTY-NINE
Twila
It’s been an amazing couple of days getting to know Emerson’s friends and exploring his favorite haunts, but today is the day I’ve been equally looking forward to and dreading. We’re having dinner with his mom and sister. In his childhood home.
And I’m nervous as hell.
What if they don’t like me? I mean, Emerson told them the truth, that this relationship is a sham and our marriage is a bout of temporary insanity, but I still want them tolikeme. To not see me as some opportunistic viper using their son and brother as a cash cow. A cash cow I’ll crumple up and toss away the second he’s no longer of use to me.
Of course, none of that is true. This whole thing washisidea, and I just came along for the ride. And, oh yeah, I haven’t told Emerson this, but I’ve kind of fallen head over heels for him, and it’s going to break me when this thing inevitably comes to an end.
I breathe deep to pull myself together as I add the finishing touches to my makeup. It’s on point, as is my hair, which I left hanging down my back in fat, beachy waves. I’m wearing a sundress in the perfect shade of coral that makes my eyes look more green than blue, its hem brushing the tops of my knees and the back a series of crisscrossing straps that allow my hair to tickle my skin.
Taking another cleansing breath, I flip off the light and leave the bathroom. Emerson is sitting on the edge of his bed, scrolling on his phone as he waits. He closes whatever app he was looking at and looks up at me as he stands. Time stops as his eyes widen. His gaze rakes me from head to toe and back up again, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, the words brimming with reverence and awe.
“So are you,” I whisper back, admiring the way his white t-shirt and dark jeans hug him in all the best ways.
His smile is as bright as the sun, and he laughs joyfully when we reach the bottom of the stairs to a symphony of shouts and wolf-whistles from his roommates. Their silly antics calm my nerves for a few minutes, but the second we’re in the car and on our way, they threaten to return with a vengeance.
“Tell me about your mom and sister,” I say.
“Mom is great,” he says, and though I’m not looking at him, I can hear the smile in his voice. “She is devoted to Kennedy and me. She’s our mom, our dad, and our biggest cheerleader all rolled into one. Even when Dad was around, he wasn’t reallythere, if you know what I mean. He was in the house, but not present. He thought supporting us financially was his only job, and when he left, he quit doing even that.”
“She sounds amazing,” I say, choosing to focus on the good, rather than his father’s shortcomings.
“She is,” he says. “She got a part-time job when he left, only working the hours Kennedy was in school so she could be there for her as much as she was before. Money was tight as hell, so I helped as much as I could. Mom refused to take anything from me, at first, so I snooped until I found her checkbook and stole a deposit slip so I could transfer the money directly into her account.”
“And Kennedy? What’s she like?” I croak out, changing the subject before I do something ridiculous like crying at his pure, sweet selflessness.
“She’s a firecracker,” he says, smiling again. “Well-adjusted and brave, despite having a deadbeat dad. I don’t know, maybe she’s that way because of him. Because she needed to be. But either way, you’re going to love her. She’s a lot like you.”
I bite my tongue as the words, “I’d love her more if she were like you,” threaten to pop out of my mouth. I can’t say them. I shouldn’t even think them.
I can’t be in love with my husband.
And yet…
I push the thoughts away and force a smile to my lips. I listen as Emerson rambles on about his mom and sister, describing their dynamic and how much pure, untainted love abides between the three of them. It becomes obvious that his dad’s abandonment didn’t leave them a broken family. It made them whole.
The house is a modest white one-story on a quiet street with welcoming yellow and blue flowers planted along the driveway. Queen palms tower over the roof from the backyard, and an oscillating sprinkler creates bright rainbows as it slowly sends a fan of water back and forth across the green lawn.
It looks like ahome, and I love it instantly.
The front door swings open, and two women step out onto the porch as Emerson helps me from the car. The younger oneshouts and rockets toward us, leaping at the last second like she has zero doubt her big brother will catch her. He does, of course, and laughs as he swings her around before setting her on her feet.
“Kennedy, this is Twila,” he says with a giant grin. “Twila, this little harridan is my sister, Kennedy.”
I’m prepared to shake her hand or maybe even receive a light hug, but I’m shocked as she lunges for me, wraps me up tight, and sighs like she’s been waiting to do this for years. It’s a greeting from a stranger that should feel uncomfortable, but Kennedy’s embrace is undeniable proof that she’s an open and caring young woman, ready to accept me with her whole heart. That knowledge warms me in ways I’ve never felt.
When she releases me, and we walk up the steps to the porch, I get an identical hug from their mom, and that’s when I know, for sure. This strong, brave woman showered her children with love and taught them to hold nothing back when showing their affection.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Twila,” she says as she releases me. “And please, call me Cadence. At least until you’re ready to call meMom.”
