Part 11 (1/2)
The room broke out into a chorus of ”Happy Birthday,” her grandmother blus.h.i.+ng prettily, hands clasped at her chest. She blew out the candles to loud applause and cut the first piece before leaving Sam to hand out the rest. Eve started toward her daughter, and Emily eyed the door.
”I don't think so,” she muttered, grabbing her by the arm. ”I think you and I need to have a little chat.”
Emily fought the urge to whine ”Mom!” like a teenager, instead allowing herself to be led to a quiet corner.
They sat at a table, Emily slouched rebelliously in her seat and decidedly not looking at Sam. And not noticing how he looked really good in that blue s.h.i.+rt. Or how his face lit up when he laughed, creating those little crinkles around his eyes. Or how she could see a little more of his tattoo, thick black lines edging out from under his sleeve and emphasizing his corded forearm.
Not. Noticing. At. All.
Her gift flared, reaching for him, and she fought it down again. Eve studied her for a moment, and Emily braced herself for a lecture on manners, or slouching . . . or ogling handsome men in blue s.h.i.+rts.
Instead, Eve smiled softly. ”Did I ever tell you how many times your father proposed to me?”
Emily sat up, unable to respond for a few seconds. ”No. I never knew he proposed at all.”
Eve winced. ”That's my fault, I suppose. Talking about your father only made me miss him more. I should have told you, though. You deserved to know him, if only through my memories.”
Emily didn't know how to respond to that, so she said nothing.
”Seven times,” Eve said. ”The first time when we were sixteen. The last, about three months before he left.” She blinked through a sheen of tears. ”I said yes that time.”
Emily gasped. ”What?”
Eve nodded. ”I'd turned him down so many times. Don't get me wrong, I loved him. I loved him deeply . . . desperately. But I always knew. Deep down I knew it wouldn't be forever.
”You were two years old and just starting to show signs of your gift, and he came home with a ring. He got down on one knee and he asked and he was just so . . . earnest and true.” Her eyes glazed, a soft, wistful smile on her face. ”I loved him so much. We loved each other so much, that in that moment I thought it would be enough.”
Emily's jaw tightened. ”But it wasn't. It never was.”
”No. No, it wasn't.”
”So why did you fight me then?” Emily asked, a touch of bitterness in her tone. ”When I wanted to leave, why did you try to talk me out of it?”
Eve reached out to touch her arm. ”Because you were turning your back on who you are. You were turning your back on love.”
”But love is a lie!” Emily snapped, fighting to keep her voice down. ”It doesn't conquer all. It's not a many-splendored thing. It isn't patient or kind-”
”Stop.” Her mother's voice was soft, but firm. ”Stop for a second and just listen to me.”
She reached out to take her hand and Emily flinched, pulling back out of habit.
”Let me touch you,” Eve said, almost pleading. ”I need you to see the truth in what I'm going to tell you.”
Emily swallowed, her hand sliding across the table as she braced herself against the onslaught of emotion. Her mother's cool fingers wrapped around hers and-slowly-she let her wall down, opening herself to her mother's feelings.
”When your father left, it almost destroyed me,” Eve said, meeting her gaze. ”For a long time it hurt to even think of him. It still does sometimes.”
Emily felt her mother's anguish, the empty s.p.a.ce where her father should have been, and her own heart broke in response. Then, gradually the feeling changed, grew warm and soft.
”It was hard, but I had you and you were so . . . perfect.” She smiled and squeezed Emily's hand. ”Over time, I was able to remember more of the good times. You know what I learned?”
”What?” The word was barely a whisper. Emily felt overwhelmed by the rush of love-of joy-emanating from her mother.
Eve leaned forward, green eyes so like her own, pleading with Emily to understand. ”It was worth it. I have no regrets, Em. Sure, sometimes I wish things could have been different. Robert wasn't perfect. I have no illusions about that. He was weak, and for a long time that made me so angry.
”But love doesn't need perfection to flourish, Em. I loved him anyway. And I wouldn't give up one moment I had with him. Not one.” She looked across the room, and Emily followed her gaze to where her grandmother stood chatting with a young couple.
”Your grandma would say the same thing, you know,” she said. ”She and grandpa had twenty years together before his heart attack. Do you think she for one second regrets any of those years, just because she eventually lost him? Do you think, if she could go back, knowing the pain of losing him, that she'd decide it wasn't worth it?”
Eve squeezed her fingers once more before releasing her hand. Her emotions flitted away, little by little, until Emily was left with only her own confused feelings. Left with the doubt that comes from learning you'd based all of your major life decisions on a misconception.
Her mother, of course, knew what she was thinking. Allowed her to sit in silence while the party swirled around her as she tried to get a grasp on what all of it meant. Finally leaned forward and touched her cheek, sending another wave of love her way.
”Don't run away from this, Em,” she said, and Emily's eyes automatically flashed toward Sam.
He smiled widely at a little girl as he handed her a piece of cake, and her stomach flipped wildly.
”I'm scared,” she whispered.
”I know,” Eve said, just as quietly. ”And maybe it will all fall apart. Maybe it won't work out.” At Emily's stunned gaze, she added, ”Or maybe it will. Maybe you'll be together and happy forever. Do you want to risk missing out on the best thing in your life because you're afraid?
”Now,” she said, tapping the table lightly. ”I need a drink, and maybe some of that cake.” She glanced significantly across the room. ”It does look good, doesn't it?” She winked and got up from the table. ”You might want to grab it before it's gone.”
Emily knew she wasn't really talking about cake.
She watched her mother cross the room to take a piece of cake from Sam before joining her grandmother. They laughed, and Emily smiled at the sight. Then, she felt his eyes on her . . . felt her gift flare up in response. Out of habit, she fought it back down, re-building her wall. Yet, she stood up. She straightened her skirt. And slowly, she made her way across the room to him, meeting his gaze the whole way.
He offered her a tentative smile and a plate. ”Cake?”
”Thanks.” She took the plate, fiddling with the fork, but not taking a bite. ”I'm sorry . . . about before-”
”I wasn't trying to go behind your back.”
”I know.”
”Although my baked goods have been known to win the hearts of many a protective parent.” He smiled, and she realized he was going to let her off the hook.
”Many?”
He shrugged. ”What can I say? I'm that good.”
”And so modest.”
”It's part of my charm.”
She hummed slightly, turning her attention to the cake and running the tines of the fork through the frosting. ”You got my message? About Jessica?”
”Yes. I was devastated.”
She looked back up to find him grinning widely. ”You really didn't give me much to work with, you know? You could have put forth a little effort.”