Working Girl (14 page)

He cracks his knuckles before finally turning his head away from the small headstone in front of us. “So now you know.”

“Know what?” I ask, the lump in my throat still threatening to break free.

“That you’re not the only one who has been dealt a shitty hand. But it’s up to you to learn how to play the cards you’ve got.”

A tear escapes from the corner of my eye and rolls down my cheek. His honesty and his general outlook on life is finally starting to make sense, but even though I’m starting to understand, the fear of the unknown still locks me in place. The chains of my uncertain future are wrapped tightly around my wrists, keeping me from being able to move forward, despite my sudden urge to do exactly that.

“You don’t have to let your past define you, Presley. From the second I saw you, I knew you needed my help. And call me a sucker, or an arrogant son of a bitch, but I can help you if you’ll let me.”

This guy. This guy and his words that hit me in my heart. My walls have crumbled to a point where I think anyone could crawl in. “But why me?” I ask breathlessly.

“Because,” he shrugs, his hands still shoved deep within his pockets, “even the coldest people deserve something warm in their life.”

He’s right. Chrissy’s right. Hell, even Momma was right. But I’m scared and I can’t speak. The gravitational pull I feel towards Emerson is the universe’s way of testing me. It’s trying to bring me full circle. To throw me to the wolves, and simultaneously bring me to the light side.

Emerson is staring at me, waiting for me to make my move, and I know deep down that I’m done. I can’t fight it any longer. With my heart pounding in my chest, I reach out and slide my hand into his, the touch of his skin on mine is electric, my heart skipping a beat on contact. “I need warmth,” I whisper, surprising myself. I look back to him and he’s smiling down at me, his dimples catching the sunlight just enough to make me smile myself.

Despite being unsure of where the words came from, I know without a doubt, for some reason unbeknownst to me . . . he cares. Emerson cares about me. His gesture today validates the connection I’ve felt with him since I first laid eyes on him. But even if he does care, ultimately it doesn’t matter, because this part of my life, the part that I have no doubt Emerson will eventually illuminate, can never collide with the other. Emerson can never know all of me. But isn’t allowing a piece of myself to be cared for better than never having anyone care about me at all?

Still riding the high of my confidence, I rub my thumb on the back of his hand. His skin is smooth and I’m reveling in the feel of him. Emerson smiles as his fingers entwine with mine and I look up at him in awe. How can this boy be so perfect? And why is he here, with me?

“So, where do you need to go?” he asks as we make our way back to his car.

I freeze, trying to think about my fictional errands I need to run. Where would be an acceptable place for him to drop me off while still being within walking distance for me? My mind spins, trying to come up with an answer, but I just decide the grocery store will make a good stopping point.

Dropping his hand, I grab the car door and fumble with opening it. “I need to get food,” I blurt.

Emerson furrows his brow, a slow smirk turning the corner of his mouth. “So a grocery store?” He laughs. “There’s a lot of those around here, Presley. You want to be a bit more specific?” He opens the door for me and I hop in, embarrassed that I wasn’t as smooth as I would have liked. Whenever Emerson is in close proximity it makes me nervous and I just can’t help myself.

Emerson jumps behind the wheel and I rattle off the street of the grocery store I frequent. It’s a few blocks from the brothel, still a fair walk, but far away enough that I won’t be embarrassed having him drop me off there.

“All right, I’ll wait in the car while you shop. Then I’ll take you home.”

My heart stops and I attempt to swallow, my mouth suddenly turning into a desert. “That’s okay, I like to walk,” I lie again.

He looks at me from the corner of his eye. It’s a curious look, like he doesn’t believe me, which he shouldn’t. “It’s no big deal, Presley. Seriously. I don’t mind.”

I shake my head, tears sting my eyes. This is one of those moments in my life that I hate. “I’m not trying to be difficult,” I manage, “I just need some time to myself before I go home.” It’s not necessarily a lie, but it’s not the truth either. I feel like I could spend every hour of every day with Emerson and it would be more than okay.

He reaches across the center console and grabs my hand again, like he knows that I need a little reassurance or something. “Okay, I’ll let you grocery shop on your own. Obviously you’re hiding your terrible eating habits from me.”

And just like that, he gives me what I need. Smiling, I look down at our hands, focusing on how small my fingers look compared to his. My tears dry and I can feel the happiness creep in. We drive in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence where you know that you don’t need words to fill the void. The type that lets me know that Emerson is on the inside of my walls now. Not just that: he’s got the key to unlock my whole damn city. That he and I can just . . .
be
.

He pulls into the parking lot and I begrudgingly remove my hand from his. Instantly it feels cold. “Well, thanks so much. For everything.”

He smiles. “Of course.” I look at him, unsure of how exactly to say goodbye. “So does that mean I can have your number?” he asks, holding out his cell phone, a grin on his face.

I take his phone and quickly punch in my numbers, handing it back to him once I’m done. Smiling, I open the door nervously. “I have a feeling you can have more than that,” I whisper, half hoping he doesn’t hear me. But when his eyes widen in surprise the other of me half dances with excitement.

Emerson

Once she’s out of the car, I breathe out the air I’ve been holding in, unable to comprehend the turn of events that the day took as I start driving back towards the college. Somehow this girl makes me do things I never thought possible. She makes me nervous, but somehow makes me feel alive at the same time. It’s intoxicating as hell, and I find myself wondering when I’ll be able to see her again.

I rub the back of my neck, hoping to release the tension that has built up. I’m still shocked that I just did that. Sharing my darkest moments with her just felt right, but was it? Being there with her, seeing her vulnerable, wanting her to let me in, it all went to my head. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, but to me it was the only thing I could do. I had to do something to let her know my intentions. It was necessary for me to tell her, in order to keep her from pushing me away.

This girl. This
woman
. There is something unexplainable about her. About how she makes me feel. How all of the sudden I feel hopeful and wonder what the future will bring. I lost myself for a while, but I am definitely on my way back.

IT’S QUIET AT THE MANSION TONIGHT
. I’m assuming most of the girls aren’t on the rag, therefore, they’re over across the street at the brothel, able to turn tricks. I’m thankful for the quiet, and the company of the only friend I’ve ever known.

“So, tell me. You okay?” Chrissy asks without ever breaking her attention from painting her nails.

“You know, I think I am,” I say with confidence. “I should be sad that Momma is gone, but oddly enough I’m not. Sure, it was shocking to lose her, and I guess in a way I miss her, but having her gone is almost like a relief. You know what I mean?” I ask, hoping that if anybody understands me, it’ll be Chrissy.

She nods.

“It’s as though I finally get to be a kid,” I continue. “For the first time in my life, I get to be selfish and irresponsible. I don’t have to worry about her getting drunk, or having her eyes blackened up by some scumbag. My life is mine and nobody else’s, and the thought of what the future could possibly hold scares me, but excites me at the same time.”

Chrissy leans over and carefully hugs me. “I’m so lucky to have you as my friend. You’re so smart and level headed. You amaze me. Every. Single. Day.”

I smile and Chrissy goes back to her nails, finishing up on her left hand before moving to her feet. My phone pings on the nightstand and I flop on my belly in order to reach it before Chrissy gets too curious. I glance over my shoulder and she remains oblivious to my uncharacteristic childish behavior over my cell phone. In fact, my cell phone never goes off, except for the occasional email notification, so how she doesn’t notice is beyond me. I look at the screen, excited to see what it says because I already know who it will be from.

Emerson: So, now that I have your number, what can I have next? ;)

His message makes my stomach dance, in a good way of course.
Could he be any cuter?
I know I have a huge smile on my face and I do my best to wipe it off, quickly stealing a glance at the other side of the bed to make sure that I haven’t caught Chrissy’s attention. I’m not in the mood to answer her questions tonight; especially since I don’t know the answers myself. Just trying to figure things out on my own is confusing enough. I don’t need her muddying up the waters for me any more by making me more confused. All of these feelings are so new to me, and with everything happening so fast, I need the time to process them myself. When I see her bend over, her focus entirely on painting her toenails and still completely unaware of what I’m doing, I breathe a sigh of relief. I do my best to conceal my fingers furiously flying across the screen to text him back.

Me: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. ;)

Once I hit send, I start questioning myself. Was that an appropriate way to respond? Should I answer humor with humor? Not even one text in and I’m already driving myself crazy. This inexperience shit is annoying. Being alone is much easier. Sure, this is exciting and new, but at the same time it’s petrifying because I’ve never done any of this before. I’m not good at being a friend; I’m barely any good at being a normal functioning human being. I’ve tried to make a go of this whole normal teenage girl thing before, and I didn’t fare very well. The risk of it petrifies me, but I have to allow myself to take a chance. To live before it’s too late, and my opportunities cease to exist.

My phone pings and I practically stuff it under my pillow from fear, but instead I put my big girl panties on and take a peek.

Emerson: Touché.

Me: Means to touch.

Emerson: I like touching you. ;)

My heart races. This is too much.
He
is too much. Slow down heart. Slow down.

Me: So . . .

Emerson: I want to see you.

Me: When?

Emerson: Now?

Clutching my phone to my chest like some excitable schoolgirl, I look over at Chrissy who doesn’t have a clue about what’s taking place between Emerson and I. She hasn’t pressed me for information about what happened after she left the diner, and I haven’t offered her any either. For now, I’d prefer to keep it that way. I don’t need her playing devil on my shoulder.

Me: Can’t tonight. It’s girls’ night. Chrissy and I are doing our nails.

Okay, so Chrissy was doing her nails and I was keeping her company, but Emerson didn’t need to know that. I wasn’t ready to be alone with him again. Truth be told, I don’t trust myself around him. He makes my heart fickle, and I know that I’m slowly giving in to him.

Emerson: Tomorrow then? Coffee?

Staring at his words, I freeze. Is this a date? Is he asking me out? I wish I knew something about dating and boys—or either of them in isolation. Anything. I glance over my shoulder again and Chrissy is no longer devoting her attention to her toes. Instead she is staring at me, grinning like she knows something.