The Rest Will Come Read online

  “That escalated quickly. I only asked you what happened,” Ronnie laughed, pushing Emma’s drink up by the base.

  Emma half smirked and gulped at the liquid again. The sedative arms of the alcohol reached up to cradle around her brain, and the slightest edge of her tension began to dissipate. Only the hole in her chest plunged deeper.

  “What happened with…what was this one’s name again?”

  “Dylan.”

  “Right. Dylan.”

  “You make me sound like a hoochie,” Emma whined, “like there are too many names to keep straight.”

  “Look, I’m not naming any of these puppies unless they decide to stop acting like strays.”

  Emma choked on a chuckle. “What does that even mean?”

  “Details. Spill!”

  “He poofed.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Disappeared. It has been a week. No calls, no texts, no returned messages. Just poof!”

  “Ugh. And you’re sure he doesn’t have some shit going on?”

  “How would I know if I have no idea where he is?”

  “Were you guys dating yet? Officially, I mean.”

  “No. I mean we hadn’t had that talk, but I thought that’s where we were going. It seemed to be what he wanted.”

  “So what are the rules here? At what interval do you have to check in with someone you haven’t committed to?”

  “Ronnie.”

  “No, seriously, I have no idea here. I never ‘dated.’” Ronnie lifted her fingers in air quotes.

  “I don’t even know anymore. No, there is no real rule when you’re not official. But if you are trying to date someone, it’s simple good form to reply to a message, to not up and freaking vanish.”

  “Fair enough. If you say so. You know I always wanted the bastards to poof!” Ronnie giggled into her wine glass.

  “Speaking of your not dating, how is Terrence?”

  “Not so subtle subject change!”

  “Give me a break. We’ll circle back, I’m sure.”

  “Always. T is good. You know, the usual.”

  “Adequately vague, the usual. You know, it’s okay to be in a relationship. You have lived together for multiple years now. It’s okay to act like you love him.”

  “That sounds gross,” Ronnie laughed. “No, no. Once it becomes like every other relationship, it will go to shit like every other relationship. As far as I’m concerned, we are fuck buddies who cohabitate.”

  “And love each other.”

  “Fine. And love each other.”

  “Where is he tonight?”

  “Gaming night with some guys from work. They order pizza and drink beer and play some stupid shooting games I can’t stand while I get the apartment to myself to drink wine with you. Everybody wins.”

  They clinked glasses and both drank deeply.

  “I remember when you brought him to my wedding. You said he was your guy of the night. Look at you now. Practically married. In such denial the whole time. ‘No, we’re not dating. No, we’re just sleeping together.’ Uh huh,” Emma mocked.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I am not married.”

  “Practically married.”

  “I am not practically married.”

  “Sure, sure. Exactly like you’re ‘not dating.’”

  “Shut up.”

  Emma smirked gently against her glass, grasping at the enjoyment of agitating Ronnie, reminding her of all her own denial and hypocrisy. Even if her eventual happiness was also a stab at that hole inside her chest, the wound edged in an envy that alarmed Emma.

  “We are not here to talk about my partner,” Ronnie said.

  “Husband.”

  “Partner! We are here to talk about this situation with…?”

  “Dylan.”

  “Right. Dylan.”

  “Do you think I’m being a psycho?” Emma grumbled. “Can I really get mad when we’re not together?”

  “Sweetie, you’ve always been a psycho.” Ronnie winked. “No, you can be mad whenever you want. But why are you mad?”

  Ronnie lowered her chin and adopted her calm and analytical tone, gently stepping inside Emma’s head. Emma was familiar with Ronnie tucking right beside her in her brain, some strange blend of a comfort and a violation.

  “I’m mad because he poofed.”

  “Right. I guess I’m wondering if you care about him specifically or if you’re upset that things didn’t work out again.”

  “You mean, was I really that into him or just having someone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Very possibly the someone. He let me hope. He let me actually think he could be the one. I was stupid enough to see the happy ending and think I was finally there. I think I almost started to trust him.” Emma paused. “Shit, I’m mad at myself.”

  “Em, I know you’re mad that you’re single when you don’t think you should be, and I know you’re mad that you’re divorced. Justin took the life you thought you were having away from you. I know this whole time you’re thinking you’re wasting more time not having the kids you want.”

  “Exactly.” Emma nodded with her head hung low while the familiar tears burned back into her eyes.

  The way Ronnie was able to see through Emma’s face and words and extract the buried truths made Emma uncomfortable in her own skin, made her writhe against her own body. Ronnie said the things Emma did not want to say aloud or even silently to herself. She did not want to deal with the way all roads led back to the babes yet unconceived and unborn.

  This violent and painful dissection of her mind made Emma want to avoid Ronnie or omit telling her anything vulnerable, but after Justin had so effectively blindsided her, she found herself addicted to these brutal truths. She never wanted to be caught so unaware again, never wanted everything ripped away while she covered her eyes. She came to Ronnie for comfort while also to have her head cracked open and be told what lay hiding inside.

  She wanted to be mad at Dylan. She wanted to expend her energy hating him. She did not want to deal with what was wrong with her or how she was unhappy with her life. Emma wanted to curl up and cry or crawl into a hole and die. The way Ronnie said it made it sound like it was her fault. Instead of Dylan simply being wrong, Emma now again bore the responsibility of choosing him. She blinked past her tears and dove into the therapy.

  She sighed and leaned back into the couch, watering the pain twisting in her belly with more wine, allowing it to blossom and change shape.

  “So do I even give a shit about him? Or am I unhappy overall?” Emma asked, looking off at the blank TV, her pathetic reflection staring sadly back at her. She could not endure eye contact with Ronnie when she was this emotionally exposed.

  “Let’s not let him off so easy just yet. He poofed; that still makes him a douche. But did you like him, Emma? I mean him for him. Were you falling for him?”

  Emma rolled the questions over and over in her mind until they felt blunted and smooth. She conjured Dylan’s image in her brain, the way he leaned back when he smiled, the way his cheeks lifted his designer glasses when he laughed. She had liked him, hadn’t she? He had been so attractive that her face flushed when she met him. She had felt that spark seize her nerves when he revealed his vivid grin on their first date. All of that had to be him in the moment, not merely what she promptly imagined for their future.

  But what did she know about him? Where he worked, that he had a younger brother and sister. Aside from his well composed appearance, dazzling face, and the fact that he preferred sex with her on top, she could not think of anything remarkable about him. Nothing else about him made her flutter.

  “Goddamn it, Ronnie,” Emma breathed.

  “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like to hear these things. I know you just want it to work out, but I cannot watch you entangle yourself with another douchebag.”

  Ronnie fetched the bottle, filled their glasses, and set it close. The alcohol lay heavier upon her with each sip. Ronnie appeared to r
emain unaltered.

  “We don’t know for sure that Dylan was a douchebag,” Emma protested.

  “Aside from the fact that he poofed?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “He was pretty.”

  “So?”

  “So he was a douche.”

  “Ronnie, you can’t say that.”

  “Yes, I can. Ninety-nine percent of the time, hot equals douche. It is social Darwinism. Hot doesn’t have to work at it, so hot does not develop non-superficial qualities. Hot equals douche.”

  “That’s bullshit, Ronnie. Terrence is pretty.”

  “No, Terrence is attractive. An accidental attractive he does not strive for or seem to be aware of. He doesn’t look like he walked off the Jersey Shore like these asshats you can’t resist.”

  “Ronnie!”

  “Tell me I’m wrong. Go ahead, tell me. You have horrible fucking taste, Emma. Case in point: Justin.”

  Somewhere beneath her alcoholic blanket Emma bristled at hearing his name. Sometimes she hated how much of a bitch Ronnie was. Deep down Ronnie enjoyed this on some level, rubbing Emma’s nose in her epic mistake.

  Emma stewed and pouted for quiet and saturated moments while Ronnie patiently waited, sipping her wine. Ronnie knew exactly what she was doing. She had made a home inside Emma’s head since she was force feeding her ice cream post-divorce now years ago.

  “So what am I supposed to do?” Emma snapped. “Be with someone I don’t find attractive, who I have no spark with?”

  Ronnie rolled her eyes. “No. But dude, the spark is bullshit girl code for wanting to have sex with someone, not some mandatory magical connection. I think picking them because they’re hot, because you have a physical reaction to them, is really hurting you. Maybe you should try picking them for other reasons.”

  “Jesus, Ronnie. You make me sound so shallow.”

  Venom had infiltrated the therapy session. Ronnie did not need to be able to read Emma to hear the edge and defense in her voice. She took a deep breath and adopted a gentler tone.

  “Emma, you have been shallow in this whole dating thing since Justin. I’m not sure why. That was fine with the casual partners you started with to distract you, but that can’t be how you select a partner. Hot doesn’t raise the kids you want. A six-pack doesn’t take care of you when you’re sick. A perfect tan doesn’t make him faithful.”

  Emma let out a single yell from the pit of her belly, from below that aching hole in her chest. What did Ronnie know? She had casual-sexed her way to a relationship. She had only actually been in a relationship with one person, never had her heart ripped out when one ended. How could she possibly know what Emma should be doing? How could she spout all this knowledge from a life she never lived?

  “I hate it when you’re right,” she said.

  “I know you do.” Ronnie chuckled, refilling their glasses again. “It has to be really annoying. Especially since I have no relationship experience.”

  “Um, beyond annoying.”

  “Don’t worry, I only have other people’s lives figured out. Mine has always been a big mess. I only do it because I love you and you need it.”

  “And you enjoy it.”

  “Maybe that too.”

  “Fine, so I might not have even been into Dylan, and I’m shallow. What in the hell am I supposed to do about that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess you try again and try not to repeat the same patterns.”

  “Ugh!”

  “I know, girl. This was easier when we were younger.”

  “The pool is so much more shallow now.”

  “Oh! That reminds me. I have a guy for you.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “He’s been on my radar for a minute, but you were busy with…um…”

  “Dylan! You’re doing it on purpose now.”

  Ronnie snickered. “He’s an acquaintance of T’s at work. Nice guy. Smart and actually educated.”

  “Why is he single?”

  “I don’t know yet. I imagine it’s because he’s from Europe somewhere. He hasn’t been here super long. I think it’s worth finding out.”

  “What do I have to lose at this point? I’m willing to meet him.”

  “Let me text T.”

  Ronnie gathered her phone in one hand, still cradling her wine close in the other. Even with no knowledge about this new prospect, his mere existence calmed Emma’s nerves. A sliver of hope in the black abyss of failure Dylan’s neglect had created. If she could focus on the next, maybe the last would not be so deafening or damning.

  Emma sat quietly while Ronnie tapped and swiped on her phone, allowing the conversation to cool in the room and embracing the fleeting neutrality she found in her mind. Ronnie’s phone chimed several times.

  “It’s done,” Ronnie said.

  “What’s done?”

  “The fix up.”

  “What? Already?”

  “Yeah, he must be at the game night. But he’s in, down to meet you at your leisure.”

  “Well, that was fast. Makes me feel better. Now I don’t even have to think about Dylan.”

  “Exactly. Screw him.”

  Emma’s phone sang out from her abandoned purse. She rose to fetch it.

  “Terrence didn’t give him my number already, did he?”

  “Absolutely not. That’s your decision to make.”

  Emma grasped the phone and illuminated the screen. “You have got to be kidding me!”

  “What?”

  Emma turned the phone so Ronnie could read the notification.

  Dylan: Hey babe, sorry I’ve been MIA. What are you up to?

  “How do they always know? How? They vanish and only reappear if another guy comes into the picture,” Emma ranted.

  “Penis ESP. Once they have sex with you, they can just sense when another is sniffing around the goods.”

  “Such bullshit!”

  “Yep.”

  Emma ignored the text and she and Ronnie drained another bottle.

  ***

  Emma woke up the next morning on Ronnie’s couch. Her awareness stirred lazily inside her cranium. Her brain lay dehydrated on her skull, pushing heavily against the backs of her eyes. Her eyelids were glued to her sticky eyeballs. She found it uncomfortable to shift them or attempt to blink.

  Her consciousness was abrasive. She had hidden from the pain of her hangover in the depths of intoxicated sleep. Once her perception bobbed to the surface, her nerves sent garbled messages that irritated her brain. She could taste the wine in the sharp edge of her headache that radiated from the center of her forehead; feel it in the sour flavor coating her tongue that flooded her mouth and beckoned nausea if she dared move it.

  If she kept her eyes shut and held still enough, she could hide from the hangover, like a vicious beast stalking her. Unfortunately, the more her faculties roused, the more vividly the punishment enveloped her.

  She blamed Ronnie.

  Emma dragged herself upright. She was slouching into her own lap and cradling her throbbing head when Terrence emerged from the bedroom.

  “Oh, Em,” Terrence said quietly. “How much did she make you drink?”

  “Good morning, Terrence,” Emma said, struggling to raise her head high enough to make polite eye contact. “I lost count after three bottles.”

  “Your bestie is a lush,” he cackled. “But you forgot your troubles, didn’t you?”

  “Oh yeah. After Ronnie dissected my soul, of course.”

  “Ronnie is good for both of those things. Except on me. No soul to dissect.” He smiled genuinely, in a way that made Emma feel neutral and at ease, even in her suffering.

  “Was I still awake when you got home?”

  “God, no. You were already drooling on yourself. Ronnie was still up making sure none of the wine survived.”

  “She still sleeping?”

  “You know that girl isn’t getting out of bed if she isn’t getting paid.”

  Emma laughed. “True.”<
br />
  “Now, don’t move. I got you.”

  “Oh no. I don’t think I could possibly eat or drink anything. Ever again.”

  “Look, I have been with Ronnie long enough to have become something of a hangover expert. Trust me, girl.”

  Emma did trust Terrence. As he walked into the kitchen, she caught herself musing about how strangely inappropriate it was for Ronnie to end up with him, for him to remain and emerge out of her long history of disposable men. Where was Emma’s decent guy? She was trying far harder than Ronnie ever had. She had played far nicer and always had her life more together. Until Justin. Wasn’t she more desirable? Didn’t she deserve the successful relationship more?

  Terrence returned from the kitchen with arms loaded. He placed a can on the table in front of her.

  “Soda, if carbonation soothes your stomach.” Then a glass. “Ice water, if it doesn’t. Hydration is important. Saltine crackers, if you’re timid. Leftover pizza, if you need the grease. Aspirin and antacids.”

  “Wow. You really are an expert.”

  “Like I said, a lot of practice. Care if I watch some ESPN with you? I’ll keep it quiet.”

  “Go for it. It’s your house.”

  “Ha! It’s Ronnie’s house. She lets me live here.”

  “You’re probably the only guy she will ever allow to do that, so you’ve got to be special.”

  “Nah, we fit, Ronnie and I.”

  “Can I ask you something? Would that be weird?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  “With how Ronnie was, how did you even end up here?”

  “You mean, how did I go from one night stand to partner?”

  “Yes,” Emma giggled. “Exactly.”

  “I saw Ronnie through her bullshit. There was something there, so I stayed. I imagine she stayed for the same reason. Things just happened how they were going to happen.”

  “Natural.”

  “Right, natural.”

  “As a guy, can I ask you what I’m doing wrong?”

  “Em, I know you’re unhappy being single. It has to suck. I never dated much more than Ronnie though. Not sure how much help I can be. Never played the bullshit games.”