CAN HANDLE THAT
“How was it during those two weeks with Warren?” her mother asked her on Thursday.
This morning Emma was terrified she was going to miss the ferry and arrive late to her family’s house in Boston.
“It was good,” she said. “Is it horrible to say it’s nice to have my house back to myself though?”
“Stop scrunching your face like that,” her mother said. “And no, it’s not horrible. I love going to the island to write when your father is here. My writing used to make me feel guilty when your father and you children were home. That I should spend time with family and not working.”
“That’s it,” she said. “I feel guilty that I’m writing when he’s sitting around the house. But I can’t writeandentertain him.”
Her mother frowned. “Does he expect you to entertain him? I thought you two had an understanding about that?”
“We do,” she said. “But it’s terrible that I feel this way, right?”
“You’ve spent too much time alone,” her mother said. “I think what you have with Warren works because you have so much time apart. Not everyone can handle that.”
“I think it bothers him more than me we are apart,” she said. “Which of course makes me feel guilty. I hate that even more. No one said love made you feel like shit half the time.”
“It’s not half the time,” her mother said, grinning and shaking her head.
Emma’s phone rang and, since she had it in her purse, she pulled it out. She only had it on her in case Warren texted. He was going to let her know when he was on the way.
“Hello,” she answered. The number looked familiar to her, but she wasn’t one to always add contacts.
“Emma, this is Mike Parsons.”
She held her finger up to her mother and walked out of the room. “Hi, Mike.”
“You’re probably confused about why I’m calling you today, aren’t you?”
“Kind of,” she said.
“Happy Thanksgiving. I know you’ll be with Warren today. Hopefully, he’s not there yet since I know he was with the team yesterday again, so he wasn’t on the island.”
Her lips twisted in frustration. He wasn’t supposed to be doing anything but resting. He’d told her how his appointment went with the team doctor and that he had some more time before he’d be practicing.
She didn’t even want him to do that, but wouldn’t tell him. It’s not for her to say. It was his life.
All the concerns she had about his health and safety had to stay hidden. She wouldn’t want someone telling her what she should do with her career.
“No,” she said. “He should be here soon. What’s this about? I’m sure you could call him if you needed him. He’s better at answering the phone than me.”
Mike laughed. “It’s you I wanted to talk to, not him.”
She lifted her eyebrow. “About what?”
“I’m sure you know the doctor told him he could start practicing in about a week.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Well, the team is depending on him. We still have a chance to make the playoffs.”
“How well he recovers has nothing to do with me,” she said.
“True,” Mike said. “But he can stay in better shape and return to the game mentally if he’s at his house and not with you.”
“So you want me to encourage him to stay at his place?” she asked, frowning. She didn’t know where this was going.
