Getting by (A Knight's Tale) (16 page)

Understandable, yet it was information I didn’t need to know. It seems that instead of getting out of the hole, I kept digging myself inside the Knight’s burrow. Not that they were rabbits—I pictured them with fuzzy tails and began to laugh. Jake gave me a humorous glare, put his arm around my shoulder and kissed my temple while we continued our way to the stores.
So freaking hard.

Call it force of habit, or a freaky thing, but I ended up helping Jake pick up a couple of sweaters and two long sleeved t-shirts. I chose a pair of shorts and two t-shirts for me that were on sale. Jake grabbed both shopping bags from my hands and decided to take them to the car. We agreed to meet at the Yerba Buena Center, one of my favorite places, which was surrounded by a few small art museums, galleries, and the Center was adorned with sculptures.

“Sam’s looking for you,” Liam said, while we walked toward the Center. “I recommend you ignore him, Emma. Don’t answer the phone or listen to his messages. I’ll deal with him next week.”

“What did I do now?” Everything had become a problem between me and Sam. I had no doubt he’d banish me from breathing in the near future, that would kill me or make me quit. A look from Liam gave me the answer I expected. Nothing, he was being Sam.

“Are you and my brother getting back together?” he asked almost absently.

Let’s talk about Sam, please.
“No,” I responded; wanting to add something like,
Back to what? Pretending we have a perfect arrangement, where I fake not to care about him and he gets laid whenever he feels like it? He dumps me when he gets bored while I continue falling hard for him every day.
“I want things he’ll never want, and even if he did want them, I’m not the right girl for him.”

“Blah, blah, we’re a couple of idiots. Got it,” he said, while he moved his hand like a hand puppet. “It’s the truth, Emma. As I said two years ago, I’m not touching your relationship, getting involved or mouthing an opinion. Your job has nothing to do with him and everything to do with your performance. Though I wish things were different for the two of you. Somehow, even when I don’t get you, I like you. I miss Jake and Emma, TMI aside, you two are fun. Also, most importantly, I yearn to eat like a rabbit.” I playfully slapped him in the arm while we continued walking. His sarcasm was funny, for once.

However, a pang I couldn’t ignore hit me hard, because I missed Jake and Emma too. Factually, there was no way in this lifetime that we would be back to what we shared. Finally, our walk put us right in front of the fountain that looked like a cascade and had the most astonishing light display at night. Liam left me there to go into the Apple store that he wanted to browse.

I stared at the sculptures and the fountain and my eyes didn’t know where to concentrate, with so much beauty placed together. My fingers craved to touch raw clay and transform it into something. The only drawing I’d done since my parents died had been traced over Jake’s back or chest for hours. He let me use his clean canvas to bare my feelings, without knowing what I was up to.

“Babe,” Jake voice said, before his lips touched the side of my neck, shooting charges of electricity through my entire body. As if I had summoned him, he arrived at the exact moment that I needed his touch. “We can’t stare at the pretty fountain forever.”

“This place looks incredible at night,” I said, then rested my head on his chest and closed my eyes, letting myself go for a few minutes. “Can we stay a little longer?”

“I’ll bring you after the meet and greet; or tomorrow,” he said, and interlaced his pinky finger with mine where he kissed it, sealing the deal. “Mitch and my parents are waiting for us over at Union Square. Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” I vaguely answered. My mind begged me to move, my body didn’t comply. Worse, Jake’s arms had captured my entire body. The protection created by his strong arms made me want to beg for another chance to be with him, even when this was a fake relationship. “Thank you for the TLC. It means a lot.”

“Mhm.” We both knew that sound. Liam clearing his throat because things were getting a little out of his acceptable PDA range.

Whoa, why were we backtracking instead of moving forward?

I opened my eyes and escaped from the fake warmth and stability I gave up three months ago. Jake composed himself avoiding my eyes. Fine, it was better to shove it under the rug. That thing was looking humpy with so many things swept underneath it. The three of us began our walk to meet the rest of the crew.

The ten minute walk from the Center to Union Square felt longer than the half time show of the Super Bowl, and nothing magical, not even a musical or a wardrobe malfunction happened. Rachel waved at us, but her glare didn’t look friendly. Mitch’s red face gave away his mood. Ed’s absence didn’t look promising, but I abstained from making any comment. It didn’t take long to learn that, after many years of marriage, the man knew how to calm his wife. He bought her a Ghirardelli box of chocolates, and after she ate two pieces of them the vendetta between Mitch and her dissipated. I wanted this, not them; but a family who’d care so much about each other. A husband, who after years would still woo his wife like they had just met.

Bomb diffused, emotions simmered, and ready to continue killing time until the next big wedding event, we journeyed into Chinatown. Meanwhile, I pointed to the different old buildings which housed modern stores. Back when I was a child, the one pink lingerie store used to be the local bookstore. I remembered the toy stores and even a music box store. That one was my favorite place; each unique piece had a different artistic quality. They not only sold music boxes, but also snow globes. Mom had a big collection of them, some were self-purchased from her travels, and others were gifts from friends and family who knew about her collection. Most of them were lost after my parents died. I didn’t remember what I did with them, or who took the boxes from where I had stored them.

We walked in two lines, Rachel, Ed and I leading the expedition with me in the middle. I waited for one of my defensive mechanisms to kick in. Me going quiet, bitchy or simply detach myself and begin to do my businesslike voice, answering politely to whatever they asked, giving nods and shakes. Instead, I told them stories without them asking. Like the time when Mom and I walked from Pier 1 all the way to Pier 39 and then took the ferry to Alcatraz and back—without taking the Alcatraz tour. I was eleven years old, and when the building of the old prison came into my view it terrified me so I begged Mom to take me back home.

The comments from the other passengers inside the ferry didn’t help; ghost stories, death penalties and serial killers weren’t my favorite subjects, not back then and certainly not after Mom and Dad died.

“We both drifted apart around my junior year of high school,” I told Rachel, who listened to every word I said, and Ed gave me a little squeeze on the shoulder. “Mom and I used to do everything together, but then I began to date and she closed herself off to everyone. I grew a lot during those years as an artist and began to exhibit my work independently. She’d be around the galleries or local museums, but would never talk for me. I was on my own when it came time to socializing. It was scary, because I’ve never been comfortable with crowds.”

More times than others, I had a hunch that Mom resented the artistic independence I acquired. Grammy confirmed it when I applied to grad school. It was her attempt to convince me on going back to my paintings and sculptures and leave advertisement. Had Mom been isolating herself because of her husband’s infidelities, or my abilities? Poor Mom, she died unhappy and I treated her badly on her last days. If I could have another minute with her, I’d apologize for my selfishness and tell her how much I love her.

Browsing through the small stores in Chinatown had been fun for me and Rachel. We bought a few scarfs. My fixation with them had increased throughout the years, summer scarfs, winter, cotton, wool, any weather they were welcome and loved. At the last shop, the guys suggested we go for a refreshment.

“Tea time,” I said. “Rachel needs to visit La Rotunda and enjoy some tea and sandwiches with me.”

“You four can go somewhere else,” Rachel addressed her husband, “like Starbucks or any other place. I doubt you want to be with us.”

I beamed at them when they agreed, and changed directions back to Union Square. “We should call ahead,” I uttered.

“I’m on it.” Jake was browsing his phone, and Rachel gave me a look I didn’t understand.

*

The restaurant inside Neiman Marcus hummed with excitement. Many women wanted to share the experience with their mothers, friends or whoever they came with. Thankfully, Jake had pulled a few strings and got us a window seat with a great view of Union Square. Classy, but honestly after so many places I’ve visited, it wasn’t as great as I thought it was back when I was a child. It was overcrowded with lots of visitors who wanted to try the great Rotunda. We shared a pot of blackberry tea and the traditional three tiers of tea sandwiches and desserts. Rachel accompanied the food with her personal story, for a change. I was grateful, relieved to know that I wouldn’t have to put myself out anymore. Though I wouldn’t mind much, her patience and intelligence showed with every word I spoke. Our exchange had been well received, and no sympathy for the orphan was added; she made me feel safe.

Rachel Knight, psychologist by choice and professional meddler by nature, talked a little more about her trips around the world. I learned new things about Jake and his brothers. Jake and Mitch were born in Texas—American boys, where she was from. Ed, a British native, owned various businesses with his father that took him all over the world. This was the reason for when the baby—Liam—joined the family less than two years later, they were living in Australia.

They not only lived in Australia, but also Japan, Chile, Brazil, France, Switzerland, New York and Norway before moving back to England. She home schooled her children, which I knew. They spoke ten languages, played various instruments and started college by the age of fifteen or sixteen and finished by the age of eighteen.

My turn came—again—and I shared the plans Mom and I made for when I went to art school. If accepted on the East coast, she’d come to visit me often and we’d hop on a train to visit the Smithsonian and other museums of art I had never been in. While, if Europe opened its arms to me, she’d travel over, stay for a month or two at a time and visit Europe with me. Mom didn’t live the way she wanted to or did the things she had been ambitious about when she was young.

Dad made a fairly good amount of money, but we only traveled to Hawaii for vacations. The schedule never changed. Mom and I explored the islands, and Dad lay under a palm tree, drank piña coladas and swam to cool down. Chloe usually went MIA. It was an annual five days of the same. During my junior year, he promised to switch gears when I graduated and go on a cruise. Though, he needed to save enough money so we could stay in the expensive rooms because my claustrophobia wouldn’t accept a seven day boat trip inside a metal box. Her laugh reminded me of Jake, her son, who laughed about every stupid thing I said. Rachel offered a cruise around the Mediterranean on their yacht.

Of course the Knights owned a yacht, and not just any yacht. Jake and Ed designed the ship with the help of a famous boat builder—whose name escaped her. It had six suites, a swimming pool, different amenities which included game and media rooms. I’d love the boat and wouldn’t feel secluded inside a metal box. Politely I declined her offer, giving no reason. The whole “I’m trying to get rid of your son’s memories without giving the truth” happened to be harder than I thought. But I continued trying. I offended her a couple of times and had to give in to some of her requests.

Like the obvious. “Next time you visit London,” she said, and then firmly she continued, “you must stay with us, not at a hotel.”

How could I explain I didn’t stay at a hotel, but at her son’s? Half of his closet belonged to me. Did he throw away my clothes and clean the shelves which once belonged to me? The sane, reasonable part of me wanted to throw away the stuff he left at my house. The other won the match. While I made plans to pack his clothing, Rachel continued with yet another conversation I didn’t pay much attention to because her son was invading ninety seven percent of my brain.

“Hello beautiful ladies.” Ed came to the table. “I hate to interrupt, but it’s time we leave.”

“Let me get the check,” I said and pulled out my wallet, but he tapped it and shook his head.

“It’s taken care of, lovely girl,” he said, as he helped Rachel slide into her light jacket and I followed behind them. Jake and Mitch flanked me, and Liam was in front of everyone, leading the way to the car.

“Sweetheart, let me know when your grandma calls,” Rachel told me, when we were on our way to Gaby’s. “I’ll be happy to go with you.”

I’d said no so many times that I gave up. Resigned, I gave a sharp nod, upset at myself. Yet, why fight the woman, when I could do as I pleased while pleasing her with a physical queue. Nodding didn’t get me inside the plane or her an invite to my grandparent’s home, right? No. Big mistake, she began to make plans for my visit to London, which I didn’t want to do anytime soon. She mentioned numerous tea places, plus museums and antique stores. Rachel became a tour guide, brainstorming before her big client arrived. Overwhelmed internally, I pleaded for a small break from her meddling. She didn’t bother me, nor did her plans. It was her link to the man I tried to forget.

Over one shoulder the rowdy fallen angel told me to go with her. While the sensitive one sat on the other side playing the harp said…
why not?
Well neither one helped my situation, did they? The story of my life, those two sides loved Jake with a passion that blinded their common sense.
Common what?
Both yelled at me in unison.

Chapter 20

Jake

JOHNNY FOLEY’S APPEARED across the street from the Starbucks we mapped, a unanimous decision, plus the inviting authenticity of the pub, got us to skip the espresso and head for a cold refreshing drink. A Guinness quenched the thirst I had carried since we left Yerba Buena Center. Though, an Emma would’ve done a better job. Thankful for the long shirt blocking the view below the belt, I walked ten minutes next to the cause of my erection. I counted all the way to a million—skipping the numbers containing the letter e. By the time we reached my parents, the bulk in my pants was gone. My brain performed better, out of the sexual haze I had slipped into.