Embracing Emma (Companion to Brisé) (32 page)

I kiss them goodnight shortly after. They are tired from their flight, and my mom promises to be here early to prepare breakfast and open gifts. Christmas this year is different, but I still have my family with me.

As promised, bright and early meant crack of dawn for my parents. I woke to pots and pans banging, “Little Drummer Boy” blaring, and enough chatter to wake the dead.

“Morning,” I manage, yawning.

“Merry Christmas,” Mom shouts. Good Lord, I can’t deal.

Dad takes pity on me, tugging me to the couch to cuddle. “Want breakfast or presents first?”

“Presents, of course.” My mom shuts down the oven and joins us. We huddle in a circle around the tree. I hand them their little presents, trinkets I picked up here and there to make them laugh or let them know I was thinking of them. I open scarfs, boots, and gift cards. We all seem a bit off this year.

I give them the box holding my acceptance letter. My mom tears into it, my dad staring over her shoulder. “Oh, Emma.” She holds it to her chest. “We’re so proud of you.”

“Baby girl, number three ranked school for your major.” I shake my head, soaking in the pride rolling off them.

“I’m excited.”

“I’m happy for you. It means another year you’ll be gone. Thousands of miles from home. Don’t go getting a job that far away, too.” He’s half kidding.

The big present propped against the wall draws my eye. I watch my mom cross to it, lugging it back to me. “This is from James and Brett.”

My hands tremble; my fingers have a hard time tearing the brown paper. It’s a Kim Anderson photo; this has turned into a theme. This one is sorrowful. A lone boy, holding flowers, it’s aptly named
Missing You
. I stand and excuse myself to the bathroom. My emotions sting my nose, tears held in. I splash cold water on my face. I know this is their message to me.

Both my parents are silent, watching me as I exit. “Has he seen them?”

“Yes. Last week. William’s getting in fights, drinking; he’s off the rails. According to James, he broke down, says he doesn’t know if William has any fight in him. He’s lost.” I nod and want to change the subject, but she has other plans. “Emma, we support you, but I feel we are enabling you. Providing a place for you to escape, all expenses paid, I’m afraid we aren’t teaching you anything.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. I can use my trust and not your money if that makes it better.” The anger is rising. I’m their daughter. I’m their concern, not him.

“Hold on.” My dad interjects. “We aren’t saying that, we’ll continue to pay for school and living expenses, we just don’t want you avoiding things because of your pride.”

“This has nothing to do with pride.” It has nothing to do with superiority . . . and everything to do with wounds. Open, gaping, flesh-tearing wounds. Ones caused by his words, his actions.

“Okay. I didn’t mean to upset you. I know how much time I lost, and I don’t want the same for you.”

“We’re two different people, Mom.”

“Point taken.” She rises and goes back to the kitchen to finish breakfast. Silence fills the tiny room. So much is unspoken but too many things have been said all at the same time.

The rest of the trip passed uneventfully. They asked me to come home during summer; I lied and said I’d think about it. I’ve already looked into moving to Seattle and starting summer session. I’ll break that news later. For now, I want to remain here, cloaked in obscurity.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

William

I reach for the bottle as I drop the mail. It slides off the counter, causing me to stoop to pick it up. My body aches from the punishment it’s enduring. Another night spent in jail, another lecture from the sheriff. Another visit from my parents. None of it makes a difference. Nothing will. The one thing I’d make an effort for is gone.

I’ll eventually have to get a job. My money won’t last forever.

Bill.

Bill.

Advertisement.

Bill.

I toss them in piles until a letter addressed to me at my old address is visible. It’s been forwarded here, and it’s three months old based on the postmark. Belize. International.

I rip it open, curiosity getting the best of me. I wrote off for my official birth certificate from Honduras, so I have no idea what this is.

I scan it. I scour it. I read it three times. The bottle drops from my hand and clatters to the floor shattering. I just said nothing would matter again. Nothing could make me change the course my life is heading.

I lied.

Y
our sister,

Elise.

That changes everything.

That gives me purpose.

I have a sister. I shake a photo from the envelope, and I don’t recognize her. She’s young…maybe eighteen. I read her letter again, see if I can retain any information.

Dearest William,

I know this will be a shock to you. I wasn’t sure if you knew I existed, although Papa assures me you don’t. He says you know nothing of your past or your heritage.

I’m your sister. Half-sister. Papa defected to Belize and met my Mama. They’ve been married for many years, and I just learned of you. Papa is on his deathbed, and his confessions are staggering.

I don’t know what else to say, but if you are interested in having a sister, please call. I’ve enclosed my number.

Your sister,

Elise

011+501+678+9872

The bottle that tempted me is forgotten. The urge to drink and fight obliterated. The need to feel a connection, learn about my past, and know my sister . . . overwhelming.

I dial without realizing. I listen to it connect with anticipation. I hear her voice with jubilation. I talk to her with familiarity.

Two strangers merge.

Brother and sister forge a bond.

She’s coming to visit. Her life there up in the air; she informs me our Papa passed last week and she want’s a change of scenery. The news of his death is a blip to me; he isn’t my father, just my DNA donor. My fathers are ten minutes away, believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself.

Her personality is stifled, but I think it’s because her English is a second language. She wants to attend college, be a nurse, and help others. She has many opportunities at home, but she wants to explore and said moving here wasn’t unheard of.

I rush to share my news with Dad and Pops, hoping they’ll accept her as easily as I have.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Emma

A year.

365 days.

525,600 minutes.

31,536,000 seconds.

All have passed since that night. James has healed. I’ve moved . . . twice. Yet, my heart still hasn’t mended. My mind still drifts to him. My dreams are still infiltrated by our future. Time doesn’t heal all wounds . . . some are etched in time; burned so deeply inside there’s no escaping them.

This summer was full of change. I moved across the country, started my Masters, and realized I don’t necessarily fit in with the culture. Seattle is beautiful, artsy, laid-back, full of life. New York is all hustle and bustle, and Seattle is taking in all the sights, exploring, finding that sweet spot that inspires you. I’ve picked tons of places I want to bring my parents; I’ve explored so much of this town, yet I don’t feel like a faceless stranger. A small smile, gentle suggestion, friendly comment . . . those are second nature here.

Holly went home this summer and begged every day for me to visit. I couldn’t. Not yet. She didn’t return to New York, her heart is with Andy, and she gave it the ole ‘college try.’ It was easy to make my parents stay quiet regarding Will, but Holly . . . no such luck. I’m staring at this gum wall wondering if there is enough here to seal her lips . . . permanently.

“Holly, I’m studying. Can I call you back?”

“Nope, because you won’t. You, Emma Nichols, have turned into a liar.”

Not a liar, a serial avoider . . . I’ll own that. “If you’d stop talking about all the things I’m missing, I’d want to talk to you.”

“Ouch. You wound me. Kidding, I’m not that soft.” She’s a hot fucking mess. “If you miss it so much, come home. You have a break before fall session.”

“I can’t. It’s a long flight, I need to prep because I’ll have a full course load.”

“Do you believe yourself? I’m just wondering because I don’t. You don’t want to run into him, but does that mean you’re never coming home?” Maybe. I’d considered that possibility, and while it hurts thinking I won’t return to my home turf, it hurts a lot less than it would seeing him move on from me or in the state he was in this past year.

“Never say never.”

“Okay, Biebs.” I can picture her rolling her eyes. “He’s better. He hasn’t been arrested since I’ve been home.” I can’t believe that’s a comparison tool we are using to measure how far he’s come. The boy I fell in love with wouldn’t have ever been mentioned in a sentence with ‘jail time.’

“You realize how fucked that sounds? He’s better because he stopped doing time? He’s straightening his life out because he didn’t spend the night in the pokey? C’mon, Holly, you’re better than that.”

“Just like you’re stronger than this. That night was bullshit Emma, and you know it.”

“You weren’t there.” My hackles raise.

“No, but if what you told me is true, it was bullshit. You can’t punish the person who didn’t do the crime. When did you become so non-forgiving? What did you used to say about stupid and mistakes?”

“Mistakes can be fixed.”

“Right, you’ve both made some. I know he said some awful things, but you backed him in a corner with your allegations. Role reversal. How’d you feel?”

“I don’t know because that wouldn’t be me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” I’m confident.

“And why did you keep your mouth shut about what they were saying for years?” She knocked the wind out of my sails. Why did I stay mute? Why didn’t I tell someone? I have no answers, nothing that would validate me. “I’ll leave you to mull it over. Let me know when I can pick you up from the airport.”

There will be no airport because I won’t be going home. I threw some sanctimonious crap at him that night; he snapped. I can’t fault him.

The blamer becomes the accused.

The righteous becomes the unfair.

The ethical becomes the immoral.

The sins I cast on him rest fully on my shoulders. I can’t go home and face him.

I’m running.

I’m hiding.

I’m ashamed.

Chapter Forty

William

A year ago my life spiraled. Today, I’m meeting my sister. I went from hot under the collar, uncontrollable, and disturbed to the man I longed to be.

Working nights bartending leaves my days free to go to class. I miss playing football. I miss the brotherhood, but I’m needed here. I learned to mend relationships; my parents and I are closer than ever. Honesty is freeing; perfection and the goal to be that are stifling and unrealistic.