Page 87 of The Emerson Effect
She says that last bit with a wink, leaving me wondering if she was joking or actually serious. She ushers me inside and offers me a drink before I can respond, so I think it was a joke. You know, because this marriage is a farce, and I won’t be around long enough to get comfortable with calling her “Mom.”
The kitchen smells divine, the spicy scents telling me Cadence and Kennedy are making Mexican food for dinner. As Kennedy grates a small block of yellow cheese, she asks me about our quickie Vegas wedding. Emerson holds nothing back as he regales them with the tale of an overbearing bridal party mixed with tequila and champagne. Kennedy guffaws at hisdescription of the morning-after freak-out while Cadence smiles warmly at her son, then at me.
“Like it was meant to be,” she says softly, then shakes off the emotion. “Emerson, show Twila the rest of the house while your sister and I finish up here. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he says, then takes my drink, sets it on the counter, and weaves his fingers through mine before pulling me down a short hall and into a small bedroom. “This is my room.”
A neatly made bed in one corner, a dresser topped with a small television, and a nightstand make up the furniture in the room. The walls are covered with posters of professional wrestlers, and I notice a blush on Emerson’s cheeks as I peruse them.
“WWEfan?” I ask like it’s not completely obvious.
“Yeah, yeah. Shut it,” he says with a chuckle. “I was obsessed. Look at this.”
He opens the closet door, and instead of clothes, there are championship belts hanging from the rod. They’re all plastic and look cheaply made but are displayed with obvious reverence and affection.
“You are never allowed to use this against me,” he says as he closes the closet door.
“I promise nothing,” I say as solemnly as I can manage, then squeal when he rushes me, tackling me to the bed and tickling my sides.
When he finally stops, he settles against my side with a quiet sigh of contentment. His fingers toy with the ends of my hair, and I fight to suppress the shiver that threatens to quake through me.
“So,” I start, then clear my throat. “They know this…thing isn’t real, right?”
“They know,” he says softly. “They’re just hoping something will change, and we’ll end up together. They want me to be happy.”
Any relief I should be feeling that I don’t have to lie to Cadence and Kennedy is swallowed whole by guilt. They want him to be happy. With me. And they know the truth. That I’m using him to make money. He’s using me, too, of course, but that point is moot.He’stheir family, and they’re obviously very close. How can they be okay with my presence in his life, much less hope that we’ll somehow miraculously end up together?
Don’t they want more for him? Something that starts naturally and is real?
“I need to use the restroom,” I choke out.
“Of course,” Emerson says, rolling off the bed and helping me to my feet.
He shows me where it is, and I tell him I’ll meet him in the kitchen when I’m done. Locking the door behind me, I lean back against it and take a few deep breaths. I need to get my emotions under control so I don’t start crying in front of Emerson and his family.
And I need my best friend.
I decide to text Joey so there’s no chance of this conversation being overheard. Flipping down the toilet lid, I sit on it as I type out a message.
Me:Help! 911! This is not a drill. I need bestie advice, stat.
Joey:What’s wrong? Tell me everything.
Me:I’m hiding in the bathroom at Emerson’s mom’s house.
Joey:Why are you hiding? Were they mean to you? Do I need to send Raven up to give them a good verbal beatdown?
Me:No, it’s worse, Jo. They are so NICE. They’re treating me like I’m really part of their family. Like I’m really Emerson’s wife.
Joey:You ARE really his wife, T.
Me:You know what I mean. I don’t know how to handle this. I’m freaking out.
Joey:Stay calm. Just be yourself. And have fun. They know it’s not real, right?
Me:They know. It’s me who keeps forgetting.
Joey:What do you mean?
