Between the Lines
“Night, Dad.”
Me: I’m sorry. I was selfish, but i didn’t mean to be. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe me. To make you forgive me. I miss you so much.
As I hit send, I tell myself that a sliver of bravery is better than a load of cowardice. It will hurt less to have her ignore a text than it will if I call and she doesn’t answer and I get her voicemail, or worse, if she answers and tells me that she meant everything she said.
I survive an agonizing five minutes, during which I rock in the middle of my bed, my arms around my knees, staring at the phone in my hand as though I can’t trust sound alone to tell me if she texts back. When it rings, I startle and drop it onto the bed, then grab it up. “Hello?”
Her voice is so soft I can barely hear her. So unlike Emily. “I’m sorry, too,” she says, and we both start crying and talking at the same time. “I didn’t mean it—”
“Emily I’m so sorry—”
And then we’re laughing and crying, and she says, “Let me start. First, don’t ever let me do this again, even if you have to send Chloe over to bitch-slap some sense into me.”
“I could never.”
“Yeah, well, seriously. Second, for a long time I’ve congratulated myself on what a great friend I am—with you being on television, then getting this movie and getting famous, and me not being a bit jealous. Then all of a sudden you’re having this fantasy romance while I’m scared to death that I’m about to have the worst case of pathetic unrequited love ever with a guy who works at the freaking Abercrombie. So it turns out that I’m a horrible friend—” she hiccups.
“Emily, no you’re not, I am—” I object, but she plows on as though I haven’t spoken.
“—and your fantasy romance has gone to the shitter and it’s clearly all my fault for deserting you when you needed me!” Now she’s bawling, and I butt in while I can.
“Emily, I’m okay, and you’re not a horrible friend, you’re the best friend ever.”
“Psshh!”
Before she can object more, I say, “Honest, I’m okay. I’ve been more upset thinking I was losing you than anything else going on. I’m sorry for making you feel like I always got your attention when you never got mine, for making you feel like I didn’t care about your problems.”
“Em, that’s not even true. I was just jealous. Forget what I said.”
“No. You needed me, and I was obsessing over Reid and Graham, and I should have been listening to what you needed, instead of expecting you to always be the one listening. When I lost you, I didn’t care much about anything else.”
She sighs. “Even if I felt ignored, I knew better. You’ve never not been there for me. Jesus Christ, I just used a double negative. Clearly I’m traumatized! Please, just forgive me.”
“If you forgive me.”
“Fine. I forgive you. Happy?”
“Yeah,” I sniffle.
“Okay. Now what in holy hell is going on down there? Mom is off her freaking noodle—she called your father and ripped him a new one. She even used a couple of actual curse words! Not any really good ones, but still.”
“I guess that explains that…”
“What?”
“He called earlier… do you think he only did it because she told him—?”
“I don’t think so. At first, yeah, she was all over him, but then they started talking, and from her answers, he was asking the right questions. I think he had no idea how badly he was doing. Until, you know, she told him, in that way that only Mom can do.”
“Oh.”
“Now. What’s going on with this baby bump crap.”
“Emily, I’m not—”
“Oh, I know that. I also know how conflicted you were over Reid and Graham. And it looks like everything just blew to hell. So what happened.”
“How long do you have?” I ask, lying back on the bed.
“All night, baby. I even called Derek before I called you, and I told him, ‘Don’t call me; I’ll call you,’ so we have as long as you need.”
“Emily, I’m doing it again, we should talk about Derek—”
“Everything is fine with Derek; he can wait, we’ll talk about him soon enough, don’t you worry. So quit stalling and start talking.”
I tell her everything. And the first thing she says after is, “Wow. I had no idea how much I missed knowing more than the freaking National Enquirer.”
“Huh.”
“Em,” she says then, “have you ever noticed that you say ‘huh’ whenever you can’t think of anything else to say?”
Chapter 41
REID
I almost feel sorry for Blossom. I couldn’t tolerate her for even a full twenty-four hours. Turns out there actually is such a thing as too much flattery and adoration. Next up was a girl playing a Netherfield High cheerleader (I asked her to leave the costume mostly on), followed by a woman billed as one of the teachers.
I’ve avoided any social interaction with cast mates—except Tadd and Quinton—until tonight, when everyone is gathering in Brooke’s room to celebrate Jenna’s birthday. I’ve stupidly brought last night’s girl along. Vivian was hot and inventive in bed; out of it she’s rude and grating. Even still, I need a buffer between myself and Emma, or I’m going to end up doing something rash like getting on my knees and pleading for mercy.
Tadd is opening a bottle of Riesling, sort of. He’s actually mangling the crap out of the cork as Emma looks on, laughing as they pour the wine into glasses and then fish bits of cork out of each one, using straws, spoons, napkins and toothpicks.