Tethered (43 page)

I bit my lip and willed myself not to cry. There were a lot of people I could live without in the world, but Emmy was not one of them. If she couldn’t get past this, I didn’t know where our friendship would be – if we’d even have one. The thought of not having her hurt so badly, I had to put a hand on my chest to try to relieve the ache. That ache combined with other aches, like the loss of my mother and the conversation I had with Fred and Sam were almost too much to take, but admittedly, the possibility of losing Emmy caused the most pain.

She took pity on me. Her face softened some and when she spoke again, it was gently.

“We are best friends, Donya,” she said. “And sisters. I would have never done anything to make you unhappy and you should have known that.”

“You had grandiose thoughts about who I was and I…I didn’t want to let you down,” I said just above a whisper.

“I wouldn’t have felt let down because you were screwing my brother,” she objected. “
Now
I feel let down.”

She got off of the bed and went to her closet. She came out carrying a bottle of tequila, of course, and two shot glasses. She stood between me and the bed and put the shot glasses on the nightstand and filled them up with the amber liquid. She handed one to me and took one for herself. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but I was thankful for the shot. We took them together. I made a face, but Emmy may as well have been drinking air, because she didn’t even blink after swallowing the shit.

“Pussy,” she muttered and bumped me with her leg. “One more and then you’re going to tell me everything, from the beginning. You won’t leave anything out – unless it’s specifics on sex, because I don’t want to know anything about my brother’s junk.”

After a second shot that I swear took a year or two off of my life, Emmy settled back on the bed and I propped my feet up on the bed and rested my head on the back of the chair.

“It started when I was seven,” I said, feeling less tense than I had minutes before.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Do you want to hear the story, or not?” I eyed her.

“I have a feeling by the time I’m done listening to this I’m going to need at least a half dozen more shots.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Emmet and I stood on opposite sides of the small island in his modest kitchen inside his apartment in Cambridge. It was rare that I got to visit him, because my schedule was so bizarre. In fact, I had just flown in from Paris earlier that day. Instead of flying to New York and hitting the ground running, I flew into Boston, shut my cell phone off, and surprised Emmet as he was coming home from a class.

Emmet, Emmy, and Sam had gone to Paris to watch me walk the runway in ten shows during Fashion Week. It was a fabulous cluster of shows from the audience’s prospective, but in reality, behind the scenes it was stressful and exhausting. The weeks leading up to the event made me wonder how there weren’t mass model suicides, and New York’s Fashion Week was even crazier.

It had been more than a year since my mother’s death and the Graynes discovery of my relationship with Emmet. It took some time for my relationship with Fred, Sam, and Emmy to improve, but I never felt that they loved me any less and their support never wavered. In fact, days after my eighteenth birthday, Fred and Sam met me in New York for dinner and presented me with my very own trust fund.

“You are as much our child as Emmy,” Fred had said. It took everything in me not to start bawling with love and appreciation there in the restaurant. Since the fund was set up by Fred and Sam, I didn’t have the same stipulations that the other kids had. Obviously, I couldn’t lounge on my couch and watch soap operas all day every day and expect to collect, but I definitely was not as bound as Emmet, Emmy, and the rest.

My career had become a behemoth. I was a young fashion and commercial model in demand. My face was in all of the top notch magazines, on a few billboards, and I had been on television and had small parts in two more movies. I had a fantastic contract with a major cosmetics brand and was favored by a couple of the best designers on the planet. I was a very busy woman, and up until recently, Emmet had been a very patient man. There were many missed holidays, missed weekends together, and sometimes weeks without seeing each other. I even missed several family events. I promised Emmet that I would be all his for his spring break, but Alberi Durand, the designer that had been so kind to me when I first got started in the industry, had offered me a major campaign after I walked in his show. His brand had rapidly grown in popularity. His designs were loved by models, celebrities and even other designers. I had two days before I had to be back in Paris, and by the time it was all over, spring break would be all over, too.

“You’ve been in Paris for weeks,” Emmet argued after I delivered the news. “And you promised that you would take this time off.”

“I know I promised,” I said solemnly. “But it’s a major campaign with Alberi Durand,” I added imploringly.

“I don’t care if it was the fucking French president, Donya,” he snapped at me. “I’ve been patient and supportive all of this time and all I have asked for is one week.”

“I know,” I said again. I knew I was beginning to sound like a broken record already. “But that’s why I’m here now. I can give you two days before I have to fly back.”

“Two days?” he asked incredulously, with his eyes opened wide. “You’re going to sleep at least one whole day, as you always do when you have a moment to catch your damn breath. It’s really just one day, Donya.”

He was so disgusted with me. It was all over his face, in the tone of his voice, and I could feel it radiating off of him. I opened my mouth to apologize again, but he talked over me.

“You promised me and I believed you,” he said, jabbing a finger in my direction. “You swore that you would take the time off. When I last talked to you less than two days ago, you gave me your word that you would not work for a week and that you would be here tomorrow. I believed you,” he said again, glaring at me. “I had plans for us and you just blew them all to hell.”

“What plans?” I asked quietly. I felt like a douche rag, but it wasn’t like I was breaking our plans to go be with someone else. I was breaking our plans so that I could work.

Emmet stormed out of the kitchen without saying a word. Hesitantly, I turned and followed him. In the living room he opened a drawer in his desk and produced a long, thick envelope.

“What is that?” I asked, when he only stood there holding it.

“Airline tickets for Mexico,” he yelled it. “And confirmation for the all-inclusive beachside resort we were going to stay at. This was supposed to be our little getaway – away from school, away from your work, and away from the family. This was supposed to be our time to get our relationship realigned before you went traipsing off across the globe again, and you just fucked it all up!”

I stood there, stunned, as he slammed the envelope into my hands. I blinked down at it. It felt like a hundred pound weight sitting in my hands. I felt really bad about canceling last minute on him, but he had to have known it was a possibility. He knew how unpredictable my schedule could be.

Something he said dawned on me. I looked up into his seething eyes.

“Realign our relationship?” I asked. “Our relationship needs realigning?”

“Are you
kidding
me?” Emmet shouted and gaped at me.

“What’s wrong with us? I didn’t think there was anything wrong with us,” I said in a bit of a panic.

Emmet snatched the envelope out of my hands and put it back in the drawer.

“I can’t believe you even have to ask that,” he growled. “You have your designer head so far up your own designer ass right now.”

I gasped and it was my turn to gape at him. Emmet had not said anything as cruel as that to me since he told me I was too young and dumb, and even then that had not hurt as much as this did.

“You’re never here,” Emmet said. He was trying to control his anger, but he was barely holding back. “You show up late, if at all when we’re supposed to meet somewhere. You begged me to meet you in Milan for New Years and you ‘got stuck’ in Berlin for two days. There have been countless cancelations when we’re supposed to meet in New York or here, and even when you’re supposed to be taking time off to be with me or the family, you end up working. If you’re not working, you’re exhausted from working and you sleep our time away. You don’t know anything about my life anymore, because it’s all about you. You don’t know shit about my classes, my GPA, or my applications to law schools. You don’t know who my friends are or what I do with my time. We’ve been slipping apart for months, Donya, and you don’t even fucking
feel
it!”

I felt as if he had slammed a sledge hammer into my chest. There was so much pressure and it hurt like hell. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I was rooted to the floor in front of him. I wanted to look away from his hurt and angry expression, but I couldn’t make myself turn my head or avert my eyes. Everything he said was true, but I felt like I had to justify my actions.

Softly, with a quavering voice, I said “My career is so short. Soon, I’ll be too old for the work I’m doing. My time in this aspect of the industry is so very limited. In a few years, I’ll shift gears and slow down.”

“In a few years,” Emmet said with distaste. “What are you willing to lose before then, Donya? What are you willing to give up?”

The way he said it implied that maybe he thought I was willing to lose him, that I was willing to give him up, and that wasn’t the case. I had always thought as Emmet as the constant in my life, that no matter where I went or what I did, in the end I would always be able to rely on him being there for me, waiting for me. Just considering the possibility of not having Emmet as that constant in my life terrified me.

“Do you want me to quit?” I asked weakly. As soon as the question was out of my mouth, I began to feel resentment. Not necessarily at Emmet, but in general. I didn’t want to quit my job. It was a job that only a very small percentage of the population could do and I was fortunate and talented enough to do it and do it well.

Emmet dragged a hand through his hair, looking exasperated, angry, sad, and hurt all at once. He stared at me with his hand still in his hair, pushing his hair off of his forehead.

“If I ask you to quit, you will resent me,” he bit out. I didn’t know if he said it because he believed it or if he could feel me feeling it, but I didn’t deny it. I didn’t object or argue. I just stood there, waiting for a direct answer to my direct question.

“I want you to quit because you want to,” he finally said. “Not because I want you to.”

I bristled. “That really puts me in an awkward position.”

Emmet released his hair and put his hands on his hips as he went back to glaring at me.

“Because you can’t decide whether or not you want your job or me?” he shot out.

“That’s not fair!” I cried. “Why can’t I have both you and my job? I love my job, Emmet, and I love you and I shouldn’t have to choose!”

“You love your job more!” he shouted. “It’s not even a fucking contest between me and the conceited thrill you get out of seeing your ass in a pair of jeans on a billboard!”

More hurtful words. I was confident in my abilities to model, which was a necessary component, but I wasn’t conceited about it. I didn’t think I was better than anyone else and I didn’t feel self-important.

“What am I supposed to do if I quit now?” I challenged. “Get married, stay at home and pop out five kids like your mom?”

“You could get married, pop out one kid and stay at home like
your
mom,” he snapped.

“Wow,” I smiled cynically as I backed away from him. “If your goal was to hurt me with your words, you’re doing one hell of a job. Is insulting your fiancé an elective course you can take at Harvard? They give you lessons on how to treat your future wife?”

“My future wife?” Emmet laughed without humor. “You’re married to your work, Donya. You don’t need me,” he said tauntingly. “You have Coco and Prada and Coach to keep you warm at night, and I’m sure if you get hot and bothered any one of your male modeling buddies can help you out. Hell, in your industry, I’m sure one of your female counterparts would help you out.”

If I had been standing closer to him, I would have slapped him in the face, but I was standing several feet away. All I could do was stand there and stare at him as I let more of his hurtful words sink in. When I finally found that I could move again, I turned away from Emmet and walked to the foyer where I had dropped my luggage. I yanked my jacket off of the coat rack that hung on the wall behind the door and pulled it on. Emmet was standing a few feet away watching me as I zipped up and draped my scarf around my neck. I didn’t have the patience to put it on effectively. I grabbed my hat off of the rack and pushed it on my head before bending over to pick up my bags.

“Don’t you dare walk out that door,” Emmet said ominously. “If you leave, there is no going back from here, Donya. I’m done waiting around for you if you go.”

I hesitated, but didn’t look back at him. I could feel his anger. I could feel his apprehension, too, but mostly his anger. It overpowered everything else at that moment. I was willing to work on our relationship, but I didn’t think that I needed to hang around and continue getting verbally punched in the gut. I never purposely hurt Emmet, but he was going out of his way to hurt me.

After a strained moment, I pulled the door open and dragged my bags outside into the cold winter air. It was almost Spring, but there was a lot of snow on the ground from a recent snowstorm, and it was very cold. I didn’t have a car – I didn’t even have a license to drive a car – and the nearest mode of public transportation wouldn’t be easy to get to with all of my bags. I could go back inside and try to get Emmet to calm down and carry on with our weekend, but I wasn’t sure if I could calm him down. I felt like my only option was to close the door between us and sit on the curb and call and wait for a cab.

Without glancing back at him, I closed the door and walked to the curb. A large part of me hoped that Emmet would come out and convince me to go back inside, but I gave up hope by the time the cab pulled up and the driver put my luggage in the trunk. I looked back at his apartment before getting inside, wondering if I was making a mistake. The tether between us ached painfully. We were both hurt, but Emmet’s anger was still strongly felt and I didn’t think I could deal with it.