The real world doesn’t like to wait.
CHAPTER 11 EMMA
When I got back to the cottage an hour later, Maddy was in the screened-in porch, reading. She wore shorts and flip-flops, and she was drinking a beer. She set down her book when I came in.
“Hey,” I said, flopping into a chair. “Neil dropped me off in the yacht. He wanted to take Mom for a sunset cruise.”
She rolled her eyes. “I wonder how long the honeymoon’s gonna last. I give it a week.”
I didn’t answer. Though a week sounded about right.
“So, how was it?” she asked. She seemed de-escalated now that a few hours had passed.
“Fine. She seems okay.”
“Did you get Stuffie?”
I got my purse from the floor and pulled him out to show her.
In looking at him I wondered if you see things differently in childhood. If innocence can make anything beautiful. Because he looked like he always had, but I didn’t remember him being this tattered. His eye was gone and his fur was matted and dirty. His stuffing was flat and his neck hung limply.
“Wow,” Maddy said. “That’s him, huh?”
I set him on my thighs and sighed. “Maybe I can clean him up?”
“Maybe.” She didn’t sound hopeful. “And the date?” she asked.
I smiled. “He took me to play with kittens. Then we went to a cool breakfast place and then to a park with a waterfall. It was fun.”
“Did you tell him no to something?”
“I did—and I beat him in chess. He passed both of your tests.”
“Nice.” She took a sip of her beer. “Does he smell good?”
“He smells really good.”
“Did you make out with him?”
I shook my head. “No. Mom and Neil were there. It would have been weird.” I looked at her. “Did you really threaten to kill him?”
“It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.”
I laughed dryly. “God.”
“There’s a chance you might actually like this guy enough for him to hurt you, and I need him to know there will be repercussions if he does.”
“Wow. You’ve never threatened anyone before, he should feel special.”
“Well, I’ve never seen you chase someone before.”
I gasped. “I am not chasing Justin.”
She sat up and looked dramatically around the porch. “Are we not in Minnesota right now? You have never, in the entire time I’ve known you, put this much effort into a guy. You are aloof to a fault. You don’t even get attached after sex. You’re like a dude.”
I made an indignant noise.
“I’m serious,” she said. “This feels different from your normal MO and there’s only so much trauma you can handle. You’ve met your lifetime maximum already. If he fucks with you and you unravel, I’m going to unalive him with a can opener.”
I was laughing. “I don’t have trauma.”
She looked at me like I had two heads. “Uh yeah, you do. Your entire childhood was traumatic. You should be in therapy working out the shit that woman put you through—”
“I went to therapy. For four years. Your parents made me go all through high school. I have resolved trauma, there is nothing wrong with me.”
“Oh yeah? Then why did you live out of a suitcase the entire time we were at home?”
“I didn’t live out of a suitcase—” I said defensively.
“Yeah you did.”
“I kept my suitcase under my bed and I used it to store things.”
“Yup. The things you cared about. The stuff you’d take in a fire, or if Amber showed up to get you. You never once unpacked. Not really.”
“So?”
“So you don’t think that’s weird? That you can’t ever act like you actually live somewhere? That you’re always ready to take off on a moment’s notice?”
