I flop back onto the bed and pull the covers over my head as Emerson futzes with something across the room. I hear the click of a lighter, the crinkling of the bag, and finally Emerson saying, “OK. Open your eyes.”
Pulling the covers down ever-so-slightly, I feel my heart melt into a puddle of goo in my chest. Emerson is walking toward me with a little makeshift breakfast in bed. There’s my coffee, some creamers, and a blueberry muffin with a couple candles in the shape of a 1 and 8. He places the tray in my lap with great ceremony, humming the Happy Birthday song.
“Go on. Make a wish before it gets all waxy,” he instructs me.
I glance up at him, wondering what on earth else I can wish for now that he’s barreled into my life.
I wish that this all works out...I think to myself. Somehow. I blow out the candles, and Emerson sits down next to me on the bed, his own coffee and muffin hand.
“What did you wish for?” he asks.
“I’ll tell you...if it ever comes true,” I smile.
“Fair enough,” he says. “Happy birthday, Abby.”
“Thank you,” I say, peeling the wrapper off my muffin. “Adulthood is off to a pretty great start, don’t you think?”
The day only gets better from there. After I treat myself to a long, hot bath and get dressed for the afternoon, Emerson and I head down to the beach for a long walk. We take our time, talking all the while about our pasts, our ideas, our notions about the future. Emerson’s planning on going to college, eventually. But probably not this year. I’ll be starting school in the fall, of course, but we don’t talk too much about that part—the never-seeing-each-other again part. Maybe we can find some way around the distance, if this whole thing doesn’t go up in flames. But we’ll be step-siblings tomorrow, so maybe it will be better to stay away after all.
We don’t talk about that too much, either.
There’s a little town center with shops and cafes down the shore a little ways, and Emerson lets me take my time window shopping. I’m not much for designers or labels, but I love vintage and handmade things. There’s one store in particular that I go nuts for—a local artist’s shop that’s chock full of gorgeous, eclectic jewelry and handicrafts. I fall in love with one piece especially—a slender silver ring the bears a single pearl. It’s so elegant, so simple...and unfortunately out of my price range. But still, a girl can dream.
We spend the day wandering around the sleepy beach town, grabbing ice cream and coffee later on, sitting on the sand together, daring to dunk our toes in the still-icy water. I field a few texts from Riley, who claims “I told you so” right when I let her in on the real nature of my and Emerson’s beach escape.
“Remember protection,” she texts me, “And call IMMEDIATELY AFTER THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”
“I promise to call you the second I get off,” I reply, “Maybe even during, if you’re lucky.”
“Do not play with my emotions, lady,” Riley warns me.
Though I’m more than excited for the night to finally arrive, I do feel a slight nervousness starting to trip me up. I haven’t really been with a guy since what happened with Tucker all those years ago. Even though my memories of that night with him are hazy, I start to worry about flashbacks, or even just bad vibes. Obviously, Emerson is nothing like Tucker, and tonight will be nothing like the night of my assault. But still, I can’t help but be a tiny bit anxious.
Tonight’s dinner is even more delectable than the last. Emerson takes me to a little Italian place in town with the best pesto I’ve tasted...maybe ever. After we’ve polished off the last bites of birthday tiramisu, it’s time at last to head back to our room. As if sensing the hush of anticipation, Emerson cranks up the tunes on the way to the motel. The Postal Service serenades us all the way back, and I hurry to throw on some Iron and Wine from my laptop the second we’re back in the room. Awkward silences aren’t so terrible when Sam Beam croons over them, it turns out. Emerson and I both shuck off our outer layers, and he moves to open up a second bottle of champagne.
“Thanks,” I tell him, accepting a cup of champagne and taking a generous swig. “Just let me freshen up a little, I’ll be right out.”
“Take your time,” he tells me, his eyes lingering on his face. He can tell something is a little off, but is nice enough not to say anything outright.
I duck into the bathroom, drinking down the rest of my champagne and studying myself in the mirror.
“You can do this,” I whisper, coaching myself through my nerves, “You’ve wanted this for years. Since before anything even happened with Tucker. Emerson is amazing, and he cares about you, and...and...”
“Everything OK in there?” Emerson asks at the door.
“Yep!” I reply, my voice an octave higher than it usually is, “Totally fine!”
“Abby,” he says, in a voice that tells me he knows the truth, “Do you want to talk?”
Sighing, I turn and gently pull open the bathroom door. “Come on in,” I say, trying to play off my embarrassment as I turn and sit on the edge of the tub.
“So. What’s going on up there?” he asks, glancing up at my head. “Tell me.”
“I’m just...It’s...” I stammer, blushing as I try to string the words together. “We’ve been talking about this all week. You know. The thing we decided to do today...”
“Oh, I know all about the thing,” Emerson smiles.
“And I still really want...the thing to happen,” I stumble ahead, “But I’m sort of out of practice. I’ve only ever done this once before, and that wasn’t such a great experience. And I know it won’t always be like that, but you actually know what you’re doing, and—”
“Hey, hey,” Emerson says, wrapping an arm around me. “It’s OK, Abby. I understand completely. You don’t have to keep anything from me, you know that.”
“I guess I do,” I say quietly.
“Look,” Emerson says, taking my face in his hand, “I’m crazy about you, Abby. And I always will be. Now, because this world is a shitty, unfair place, we don’t have always. Because tomorrow, our parents are swooping in to fuck everything up. We only have tonight. But I would rather miss out entirely on having you than force you into anything you don’t want to do. OK? I want you to want this as much as I do. And if any part of you isn’t interested, or is uncomfortable, then we don’t have to do anything. Just tell me what you want.”