Beauty and the Running Back (33 page)

I stare at him across the room, flummoxed by how spot-on he
is. My dad and I have never once understood each other. He’s never even made
the attempt to understand my experiences. We don’t talk. We especially don’t
listen. But here he is now, speaking to what I actually have been thinking and
feeling. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

“Dad...” I say slowly, “Are you telling me that I should
stay with Emerson?”

“I think I am,” he says, as if surprised by the conclusion.

“But you hate Emerson,” I remind him, “You two nearly killed
each other that day—”

“Please,” Dad says, holding up his hands for me stop, “let’s
not go there.”

“Sorry,” I backtrack, “I’m just a little confused, here.”

“I never knew how to do right by you, Abby,” my dad says
quietly, lifting his eyes to mind, “but that’s not your fault. It’s on me. When
you were growing up, I never gave your needs the same weight as mine. Never
thought about how things would effect you. I was totally blindsided by how much
Emerson came to mean to you back then. I didn’t even stop to consider how
wonderful it was that you’d found someone you could talk to, share things with.
God knows I wasn’t helping you on that front.”

“Don’t say that,” I reply, a knot forming in my throat.
“I’ve always loved you, Dad. You have to know that.”

“And I love you,” he says, crossing the room tentatively
toward me. “I’ve just been pretty terrible at letting you know that.”

With great care, Dad takes my hands in his. He looks at me
intently, and for the first time in my life I feel like he’s actually
seeing
me.

“Abby,” he says, “Do you love Emerson as much as you did
when you were a kid?”

“No,” I whisper hoarsely, “I love him so much more, now.”

“Then don’t run away,” he says, squeezing my hands, “Stay
and work through this with him. Don’t refuse him out of pride, or some idea of
propriety. It’s OK to let people help you. Especially the people who love you
more than anything.”

“But what if something goes wrong?” I ask earnestly, “What
if we start to resent each other, or feel tied down, or change our minds—”

“Then at least you’ll know for sure where you stand,” my dad
cuts me off. “I know you’ve been in pain since you and Emerson were forced
apart. It was my fault that happened. Mine and Deb’s. But can you honestly tell
me you haven’t spent the past decade wondering what would have happened between
you and Emerson ‘if only’? I can’t let you spend the next ten years wondering.
Hurting. I need you to hear me now, Abby.”

“I hear you,” I tell him, and it’s true.

“I know it’s scary, sweetheart,” Dad says, resting his hands
on my shoulders, “But you’ve got to jump, now. It’s time.”

“OK,” I whisper, “OK, Dad.”

“OK, you’ll jump?” he presses.

“I’ll jump,” I tell him, “But I may fall, you know.”

“There’s always that chance,” he says sadly, “Trust me, I
know. But you know what’ll happen if you don’t fall? You’ll fly.”

He kisses my forehead and wraps his arms around me. I hug
him back, ferociously. I think this might be the first honest moment we’ve ever
shared together. And all I had to do was let my life get almost entirely
derailed to bring it about.

Life’s funny, isn’t it?

My dad and I both look up as the front door swings open and
a small bundle of fur bounds into the loft. Roxie runs right up to me, whiny
with delight to find me still here. When Emerson steps into the loft after her,
the same look of relief floods his eyes. He was worried I’d be gone by now.
That relief gives way to surprise as he recognizes my dad standing next to me.

“Bob?” Emerson says, looking back and forth between us.

“Hi, Emerson,” my dad replies, going to shake Emerson’s
hand. “Sorry to drop in unannounced, I just needed to have a word with my
daughter.”

“Oh. Sure,” Emerson says, giving my dad’s hand a firm shake.

“You guys have a lot to talk about. I’ll get out of your
hair,” Dad says. “But, Emerson...I know I have no right to ask anything of you,
given how I’ve treated you in the past. It’s just—be good to her. Be better to
her than I ever was.”

“I intend to be,” Emerson says, training his eyes on my dad.
“Whatever she decides that means to her.”

My dad smiles, faintly but resolutely, gives me a final
wave, and sees himself out. Emerson and I stare after him as the door closes
quietly in his wake. For a moment, the only movement in the room comes from
Roxie’s exuberant tail-wagging. When Emerson finally swings his gaze my way,
his eyes are full of cautious hope.

“So...” he begins, “Did your dad have any good advice?”

“You know what?” I laugh softly, “He really did.”

“Did that advice involve getting as far away from me as
humanly possible?” Emerson asks, taking a step forward.

“Not at all,” I tell him, countering his step, “In fact, it
was just the opposite.”

“Huh,” Emerson replies, as we slowly move toward each other
in a dance of barely-contained desire. “Does that mean...you’ve come to some
kind of decision? About what you want to happen next?”

“It means that I’m ready to ask for what I’ve wanted for the
last ten years,” I reply, as we meet in the center of the loft. I take his
hands, take a breath, and take that final leap. “I want to be with you,
Emerson. Now and always. I know that what we have is unconventional, and that
it’s not going to be an easy journey. But there’s no one else I’d rather be on
my journey with. So if you’ll still have me, I’d like to stay here. With you.”

“If I’ll still have you?” Emerson breathes, taking me into
his arms, “I’d give up everything to still have you in my life. Not that I’m
suggesting that as a game plan, but...”

“We’re really going to do this?” I ask, wrapping my arms
around his shoulders.

“We are,” he replies, circling my waist, “No one can stop
us, Abby. Not like before. There’s no one we need to apologize to, nothing we
have to explain. We’re free.”

I press myself to him, bringing my lips to his. Our kiss is
searing, binding, full of promise and hope. Roxie runs circles around us as our
mouths move together, making up for lost time. I grin as I kiss him, happy
tears running down my cheeks. As we finally break apart, Emerson brushes a lock
of hair behind my ear, gazing at me with great purpose.

“There’s just one last thing we have to figure out, then,”
he says, his voice rasping with emotion as he takes my right hand in his.

“What’s that?” I ask, wiping the tears away.

He looks down at my hand, rubbing his thumb over the single
pearl glimmering on my finger. I feel my breath catch in my throat as I guess
his meaning.

“Would you rather be wearing this...on the other hand?” he
asks, his blue eyes gleaming as they drink me in.

“Are you...do you mean...?” I stammer, all my composure
going right out the window.

Emerson’s face breaks into a gorgeous grin as he slowly
lowers himself onto one knee before me. I laugh with confounded elation as he
slips the pearl ring off my right hand.

“What do you say?” he asks, holding the ring up to me.

“I say...Let’s jump,” I breathe, staring down at him.

His smile grows impossibly wide as he slides the band onto
my left ring finger. Turns out that I chose my engagement ring when I was just
seventeen years old. And you know what? I chose the person I wanted to share my
life with when I was seventeen, too. It just took us both a while to realize
it.

Emerson stands and scoops me up into his arms as we both
burst into ecstatic laughter. This has to be the least conventional
relationship anyone’s ever heard of, but it’s
ours
.
No one can take us away from each other, no one else gets the final say. But
there is one last thing I have to ask him, now.

“Are you going to take me to bed now or what?” I grin,
running my hands along his impeccably cut chest.

He slips an arm under my knees, and carries me toward the
bedroom like a bride on her wedding night. We’re getting a bit ahead of
ourselves, maybe. But we’ve always done things out of order, Emerson and I.
Only now are we catching up to where we left off at eighteen. But if there’s
one thing I’m sure of now, after all these years, is that what we have has
always—
always
—been
worth the wait.

Epilogue

* * *

One year later...

I push down on the top of the french press and pour the
delicious-smelling coffee into three generous mugs. Two excited voices banter
behind me, and I turn toward them with a smile.

“Here we are,” I say, setting the three mugs down on the
kitchen island, “We can’t plot brilliant business strategy without coffee.”

“That, my dear, is a fact,” Riley says, gratefully taking
her cup.

“Here, here,” Emerson replies, grabbing one for himself.

I settle down at the island beside them. The entire surface
is covered with outlines, graphs, and ideas. A flurry of excited butterflies
rally around my stomach as I look over all our hard work.

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” I grin.

“Sure is,” Riley replies, “You guys are ready to launch.”

“I just have one more feature I want to add to the app, and
we’ll be golden,” Emerson says, stepping my way and slipping his arm around my
slender waist. “You feeling good, Ms. Founding Partner?”

“Good and ready, Mr. Founding Partner,” I laugh, clinking my
coffee mug to his.

For the past year, Emerson and I have been hard at work
developing a suite of new applications to take the world by storm. The suite
will be the centerpiece and first project of our two-person creative
collective: Treehouse. We’re the founding partners, CEOs, and only
employees—save for our PR consultant, Riley, and our de facto mascot, Roxie.
But though we may be small, I feel very good about our operation.

Our first batch of apps is targeted at friends and family of
people struggling with substance abuse. There are resources, information, and
support available through this modest suite of applications. There’s even a way
for individuals to get in touch with each other, share the burden of living
with and loving someone who’s self-destructing. Basically, it’s everything
Emerson and I wish we had as kids, everything we were eventually able to give
each other...only in app form.

Hey, it’s 2015, after all.

“All you need to do is press ‘publish’ and you’ll be good to
go!” Riley says excitedly.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Emerson asks, sliding a
tablet my way with the suite of apps pulled up, ready to be launched.

“We’ll do it together,” I say, taking his hand in mine. I
feel his wedding band brush against my hand and get a little thrill. We only
just said “I do” at a small City Hall ceremony last month, so seeing his
wedding band is still new.

“Together,” Emerson agrees, “Naturally.”

“Get on with it, lovebirds!” Riley says excitedly, “I want
to put out the press release!”

With hands clasped, Emerson and I each lower a finger to the
“big red button,” and introduce the world to our latest idea. After months of
tireless effort, it feels wonderful.

There may have been a time when starting my own business,
launching a brand new product, and subjecting myself to the crazy world of the
internet may have been terrifying. But as I look up at Emerson, I realize that
I’ve already taken the biggest, best risk of my life. Nothing can stop me now.

Scratch
that,
I think, as Emerson scoops me up into a celebratory kiss.
Nothing can stop
us
, now.

THE END