The Real Thing (18 page)

He smiles and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“I can do that.”

His body starts to relax, and soon he’s swaying with me to the sound of the ocean. And in that moment, I see his point.

Scary things can be beautiful.

Eric Matua posted on Emilia Johnson’s timeline

3 hours ago

You. Me. Couch. Tonight.

Emilia Johnson likes this

I’m just changing the oxygen tank for Mrs. Buckley when I get a page from Liv at the front desk.

Eric, you have a visitor.

Mrs. Buckley doesn’t move as I adjust her breathing tube. She’s one of the quiet ones. Her granddaughter comes in about three times a week and they just sit together. It’s weird, because some of our most vibrant residents with lots of family get maybe a visit a month if they’re lucky. Mrs. Buckley gets three a week, but doesn’t say a word.

I tuck the tube around her ears and make sure it’s out of the way before I wheel her to the rec room.

“TV or book?” I ask, waiting for her one movement of the day. She nods slightly toward the television, and I pat her shoulder so she knows I saw and wheel her to the screen.

“Eric, did you get my page?”
Liv asks through the small walkie I have clipped to the back of my scrubs. As soon as I pop the brakes on Mrs. Buckley’s chair I hold it to my mouth.

“Yeah, be up in a minute.”

It has to be Em. I haven’t made many friends since I moved back, and Mom isn’t planning a visit till my birthday in July. And if it is Em, I need a minute.

I duck into the hallway bathroom and reach for my medication, which I’ve decided to keep on me. Last night I couldn’t breathe. I could barely think. There’s no way I can do my job if that happens again, so I crank the faucet on, pop in a pill, and drink from my palm to wash it down.

It sucks that I need a damn drug to touch my girlfriend.

After a couple of those weird breathing exercises, I leave the bathroom and weave my way around the residents in the hallway. My heart’s pumping, because I know I’m going to have to eventually explain what happened last night, and I don’t think a few minutes at work is going to cut it. Tonight. I’ll talk to her tonight.

I push open the door to the front lobby, and instead of my sexy-as-hell girlfriend, it’s a six-foot-four, three-hundred-pound Samoan—who really needs to shave that damn soup strainer—that I haven’t seen in a year.

My older brother takes three steps, pulls me into a bear hug, and slaps my back.

“Son of a bitch,” I say, swatting him back. “What are you doing here?”

“Son of a beesh!” squeaks a voice from behind my massive brother. I laugh and let go of Tolani, crouching down to my three-year-old nephew, Isaac, who I never would’ve seen if he didn’t just repeat my obscenity.

“You realize the wife is gonna blame me once he brings that phrase home,” Tolani says as Isaac hides behind his leg. Damn, that kid’s gotten tall since I last saw him.

I straighten back up. “He’s talking.”

“All the time, usually.” He turns to his son. “You remember Uncle Esekielu?”

Isaac shakes his head and pushes against Tolani’s leg. My brother laughs and bends down. “I know. He looks different now. He used to be real fat.”

“Yeah, like your dad,” I say, punching Tolani in the shoulder. Isaac cracks a smile. “So, seriously, what are you doing here?”

“Ah, visiting Ma.” He pauses to scratch his chin and looks behind me at Liv, who’s currently on the phone. “And I was wondering about your appointment. Thought I’d steal you for lunch.”

“Hell, yeah. My break’s in about fifteen.”

“Hell, yeah!” Isaac says, and Tolani growls.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

“Sorry.” I laugh, taking a step toward the employee offices. “Let me go tell the boss.”

He slaps my back one more time before I head the way I came. I wonder if he knew how much I needed him.

I meet up with my brother at a Chili’s, and Isaac and I play tic-tac-toe on his menu while we wait for our drinks. He doesn’t like to play X’s and O’s, but I’s and M’s—his initials. He also won’t let me touch the green crayon because that’s the color of boogers and that’s gross. The logic in kids’ brains …

“Where’s Candace?” I ask Tolani when our food arrives. Isaac grabs the orange crayon from my fingers and tells me not to play with it while I eat.

“Stayed home with the little Matua. I think she was happy for the break from this one.” Tolani nods toward Isaac, who’s jamming the crayon into his mashed potatoes. Little hypocrite.

“So, why visit Mom? I thought it was so you could show off your baby.”

He takes a big bite of his mushroom burger and talks around it. “She’s been complaining about the AC, so I thought I’d take a look.”

“And she didn’t call me? I’m closer.”

He snorts. “Yeah, we both know why she didn’t call you.”

Hey. “I fixed the one in the condo.”

His food finally goes down his throat. “Yeah … how is that place? Haven’t been there in a few years.”

“Still looks like a grandma lives there.” With the exception of Em’s laundry on nearly every surface. I picked up what I thought was a bunch of yellow strings hanging off the back of the couch. Turns out it was her bikini top. Then I wondered where the hell I was when she wore it.

Tolani takes a sip from his drink and runs his tongue over his teeth. “Even still, I bet it’s nice living alone. I never got to experience that luxury.”

Right … I didn’t tell the family about Em staying with me because A) Mom would flip and start planning the wedding, and B)
Mom would flip and start planning the wedding.

Back when Em and I were around each other day in and day out, Mom’d drop hints about colleges that had both a good football team and massage classes. She’d invite Em to family parties and to celebrate holidays with us, and at one point she mashed both our names together, so if we wanted to name any future children, we had a good Samoan and Floridian name. I think Em found it funny, but I found it embarrassing as hell.

Now that we’re actually together, I should give the family a heads up before they come crashing in in July.

“Well … uh …” I clear my throat and flick an onion off my plate. “I’m not exactly living alone.”

“You got a roommate?” Tolani picks up a fry and squishes it between his teeth. “
Why
? It’s not like you’re paying rent.”

I run a hand over my head and shrug. “Em needed a place to stay.”

He chokes, then starts banging on his chest. Isaac leans over and tugs on his sleeve. “Dad, I have to go to the bafroom.”

Tolani holds his finger up to his son, then takes another sip of his Coke. “Em … as in Emilia?”

Of course he says it like it’s a big deal. “Yeah.”

“Dad …”

“Just a minute, Isaac.” Tolani studies my face for a moment, and I’m wondering
What the hell?
Just when I’m about to kick him under the table, he shakes his head at me with a smile. “Is she the girl?”

“What?”

He reaches for his burger again, the barbeque sauce dripping from the bun. “Come on, bro. The one you said caused the panic attack a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah … and no.” I shrug. “She was giving me a massage and I flipped.”

“Did Doc give you Xanax?”

My stomach drops. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Tolani shakes his head and takes another bite of his food. “Living with Em … that’s got to be fun for you. You must be in some sort of friend-zone torture with her as a roommate.”

Maybe it was like that for a week. But not anymore.

My lips turn up. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

His eyebrow raises, and Isaac tugs on his sleeve again.

“Bafroom!”

“In a minute, bud.” Tolani leans forward, tapping his fingers on his unused utensils. He’s studying my expression again and this time I do kick him. “Wow.” He drops his voice and covers his mouth from Isaac’s view. “Are you screwing her?”

I snap my teeth together. “Shut the hell up.”

“Hey,” he says, and jerks his head toward Isaac. It’s been too long since I was around kids. I forget to filter. But right now, I don’t give a shit.

“Look, Em and I aren’t just messing around. It’s, well … you know …” She’s much more to me than that, and since my brother witnessed my friendship with her, he should be able to figure it out.

“That’s not what I meant.” He swipes at his face with his napkin, then scrunches it in his hand. “I meant, have you been able to?”

I feel a weight on my chest, and I force myself to stuff a large portion of my lunch in my mouth to keep it busy. Of all the people in the world, my brother would understand the effects my anxiety would have on a physical relationship. Though it feels a little weird talking about it in front of his kid. Like there’s some kind of code word for it.

“Not yet.”

He nods. “But you guys are …” His eyebrow lifts, and he checks to make sure Isaac isn’t listening. Don’t think he is. He’s too preoccupied tearing Tolani’s sleeve off.

“Yeah. I’m working on it. It’s …” Getting easier? Harder? I actually don’t know.

The booth creaks as he settles back. He takes the last bite of his burger and says, “It’s about time is what it is.”

I loosen up, shaking my head at my food. “I’ve only been back in the States for a couple weeks.”

“You never had to leave.”

Yeah, I did. I needed the change of scenery. I thought it helped, yet I just downed a Xanax an hour ago, so maybe it was a huge waste of time.

“Well, tell Mom about your roommate before we’re here for your birthday.” He chuckles around a fry he sticks in his mouth. “Better prepare your girlfriend for what’s coming, too.”

I flick an onion at him. “Yeah, I know.”

“Daddy?”

Tolani sighs, squeezing himself from the booth. “All right, buddy, let’s go.”

Isaac gives my brother a big smile and jams another crayon into the potatoes. “That’s okay. I went.”

“You what?” he says, leaning over and examining his son’s pants. A low growl rumbles from their side of the table.

“Ah, shit.”

It takes everything in me not to call him out on the language.

Emilia Johnson

about a minute ago

OMG, this book is killing me!!!

6 people like this

“Curse you!” I scream at my Kindle, wiping the flood of tears from my eyes. I love and hate the ending of this book so hard. I think I’m going to get a major hangover. I’m already scrolling back to read the parts where my Max is alive and well, not saying his last good-byes. Gah!

“I love you, Max. Don’t get on that airplane!” I shout it at my screen, as if it’ll change the words written there. But he gets on that plane and he … oh, I need a minute.

I set the Kindle down and drag my pitiful ass to the kitchen. Food. I need comfort food. Why is there no chocolate in this place?

The fridge holds nothing of comfort, so I move on to the cupboards, still sniffing as I pull them open and come up empty-handed—oh! Chocolate chips! Hallelujah! I’m sobbing and smiling all at the same time as I clip the corner of the bag open with the kitchen shears, snag the peanut butter from the shelf, and slip a spoon into my mouth.

That was, like, the best and worst book ever.

I’m careful not to spill any chocolate as I flop myself onto the couch cushions. Time to get everything ready for some screwing around on the Internet until Eric gets home. The peanut butter rests by my left butt cheek while I settle the chocolate chips by my right. The spoon goes into the peanut butter, laptop on lap, then the spoon goes into the chocolate chips. Thank heavens I have a bottle of Gatorade on the side table, because I’m not moving for at least an hour—not even for a drink.

I go to Goodreads and rate the book, leave a status update of a GIF with a girl sobbing uncontrollably, then hop to Twitter and type
Dear chocolate, learn how to multiply yourself so I never run out of you.

Facebook next, and I type a long status update about the love/hate relationship I have with unhappy endings, which always leans more to the love side because it’s a
book.
Then I do a “feeling emotional” tag on it, partly because it’s true, and partly because I like the emoticon that goes with it.

Two seconds after I post, I already have a “like,” which makes me roll my eyes because no way did they read that long status already.

I scroll through my feed, clicking on Amazon links for my next read and also on some Buzzfeeds, because they make me laugh. Rachel’s IM bubble
bloops.

Rachel: How’s the undercarriage? ;)

Mia: :p SUPER smooth … and soft. It’s hard to imagine I had any hair there in the first place.

Rachel: I was talking about the pain, but good to know! LOL.

Mia: *blushes* whoops. Yeah, pain is gone. It actually wasn’t that bad even that night.

Rachel: So … what did BF think of it? Totally worth the effort?

I hover over the keyboard, not exactly sure how to respond. I’m still embarrassed about what happened … or
didn’t
happen.

Mia: :)

That’s vague enough, and doesn’t throw Eric under the bus either. I quickly type in a subject change so she doesn’t prod.

Mia: Question … how late do I have to work on the Fourth of July?

Rachel: Like 9-ish. We shut down before it gets dark.

Mia: Oh good. :)

Rachel: But we still get bonuses for working the holiday, so WAHOO!

Mia: Even better! I need more chocolate in this place.

Rachel: LOL, yeah, I saw. I Twitter stalk you.

Mia: Creepy. *plays Syfy channel music*

Rachel: I HAVE to stalk you on the Internet if I’m ever going to get a hold of you.

Mia: Good point. Stalk away.

Another IM bubble pops up, and I take the pause in conversation to eat another spoonful of chocolate-chip-covered peanut butter.

Scott: Hey, what book was that?

Mia: From my status update?

I quickly get the Amazon link and paste it in.

Scott: Thanks. I think I’m in the mood for a tragedy.