Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I clear my plate and retrieve a bottle of wine and two glasses. Emersyn plunks down at the table again.
“We can sit in the living room.”
“O-kay.”
Her apprehension makes me laugh again. It feels good to smile without putting forth a lot of effort. With each passing day, I start to see all the things Suzanne saw in Emersyn. She’s kind and polite. And her big blue eyes light up when she sees me—the way they did when she looked at Suzanne. Maybe it’s her youth too. I find myself staring at her with contentment when she does tuck herself into the corner of the sofa (like now), scrolling through her photos and social media apps—occasionally glancing over at me with a tiny grin. Suzanne was right. It’s soothing. She’s soothing.
By the time I pour two glasses and peek into the living room, Harry Pawter’s at her feet in a similar balled up position, not taking up more than one of the three cushions on the sofa.
“Thanks.” She gives me a nervous smile when I hand her the glass before taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa.
“So …” Things are awkward. They weren’t this awkward when Suzanne was alive. “How’s work?”
She shrugs. “Good.” After taking a sip of her wine, she gives me a tight smile. “How’s your job going?”
“Good.” I internally kick myself for echoing her reply. I’m a grown-ass man who should know how to carry on a conversation beyond one-word replies. “It’s been a good distraction. I love to fly. Always have. And it’s been a while since I’ve worked for longer periods like I’ve been doing lately.”
“Go anywhere fun?”
“Two days ago, I was in Shanghai.”
“Your first time?”
“No.” I grin. “Have you done any international traveling?”
“Absolutely. Mexico for spring break my second year of college.” Her soft laughter fills the room as if the wine is already relaxing her.
That sound. It’s not Suzanne, and I know it. I’m well aware that Emersyn is not Suzanne, but my wife was quite taken by this young woman. And … well, I guess I feel like I want to feel something too.
Can she make me smile?
Can she make me laugh?
Can she help me escape my reality—even if only for a little while?
“Mexico is good.” I bring my wineglass to my lips to hide my grin, the grin I’ve made myself believe can’t be real. When Suzanne died, I knew nothing that felt good would ever be real. And while I can’t help but think I’ll regret this later—that I won’t be able to escape the guilt for stealing a breath of happiness—I let it in for a moment or two. I allow a smile to claim my face, instantly feeling the endorphins numb some of the pain.
Emersyn’s wry grin tells me there’s a lot more to her Mexico trip story. She makes me miss my early twenties, when I spent my time flying around the globe without a care in the world.
Before Suzanne.
Before cancer.
Before death.
“It’s my dream to one day travel the world with my camera.” Her eyes light up like the rest of her face. It feels good. Warm and bright.
Again, I see a little more of the Emersyn that drew Suzanne to her.
After another sip of wine, she rubs her lips together and hums. “It’s funny … many people think that spending so much time taking pictures means you’re missing the bigger picture—like you’re only seeing life through a tiny lens.” She shrugs, swirling her wine. “I think that’s fifty percent true. But there’s another side. Life moves so quickly, we often miss some of the subtle moments that hold so much emotion. Tiny expressions that last no longer than a breath—the sun just seconds before disappearing behind the clouds. These micro moments deserve to be remembered and savored. That’s why I love taking photos of everything. I feel like I capture far more than I miss.”
Harry Pawter makes his own catwalk to me and stretches out across my lap.
Emersyn’s eyes widen as her jaw unhinges. “Harry Pawter? What is this about? Are you a traitor?”
I stroke his back and smile like I’ve won some contest. “If you must know, we hang out a lot when I’m here and you’re at work. Just us guys.”
Her expression softens, and her gaze slides from him to me. “I have a stupid fine arts degree that I may never use. A stupid amount of student loan debt. And it makes me feel …”
“Stupid?”
She grins and nods. “Yeah.”
“Then why did you get that degree?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Self-worth. My mom used to complain that she couldn’t find a good-paying job because she didn’t have a college degree. And I haven’t been certain about a lot in my life, but one thing I’ve never wavered on is my determination to not be like her. So here I am … broke and homeless. That plan went to shit. Right?”