For someWhereinRoma and Dementedx. Your continuous support continues to inspire, and I shall continue to endeavor to be worthy of it.

10

We chatted while she cleaned my kitchen (I'd tried to help, but Emma had her own way of doing things and finally she told me that if I was going to insist on not scrubbing the countertop properly she'd prefer I just watch and learn), and she gave me the Cliff's Notes version of the last ten years of her life. She was now a high school guidance counselor, which was the absolute perfect job for her of course. Who could possibly be more understanding about all the strangeness growing up inevitably entails? Even as a young girl, she'd understood me better than I'd understood myself, and it was strange how we'd slipped back into our previous friendship as though no time had passed at all, as though I hadn't been absent for all the biggest events in her life and she hadn't learned about mine via Entertainment Tonight. She explained to me that until recently she'd been engaged to a colleague at work, a Phys. Ed teacher, but apparently that whole relationship had ended unhappily.

"It wasn't his fault, you know," she confided sadly. I nodded as though I knew what she was talking about, expecting her to continue, but instead she paused. "Um, Honor, why is there a shirt in the refrigerator?"

I froze and turned to her, frantically searching my mind for any possible excuse. In the end all I could do was shrug. "Em, you're scrubbing the produce drawer with a toothbrush, you have no room to talk."

"True," she agreed, but still looked confused. "It's just… Very unhygienic." She shuddered theatrically, except I don't think she was being theatrical; I took the shirt from her and tossed it over the back of one of the chairs.

"You were saying? About how it wasn't his fault…" I prompted, hoping to distract her.

She nodded, and her eyes were sad again. "I was in love with someone else, it wasn't fair of me."

Somehow I wasn't entirely surprised that she'd ended up in that kind of situation; she was too sweet, too kind for her own good, and counter-intuitive as it may be, that kind of unwillingness to hurt someone even when it would be for the best can often translate into bad situations being drawn out far longer than necessary (though obviously I'm speaking from observation and not experience).

"And now that you're free?" I asked.

Her sad expression transformed into a shy smile. "Well, I don't know, it's all very, very recent… This just happened practically last week. But this guy, I think maybe… I mean, things are complicated for him right now. And me, with Ken and everything, but… He kissed me, and I think maybe we might… Have a chance, you know?"

It wasn't just the tilt of her lips that made her look happy, her entire face glowed, her eyes shining as though lit from within, and I tried to remember if I'd ever worn an expression like that in my entire life. Somehow I didn't think so.

"That's great, Emma." I meant it, really meant it, because as much as I hadn't thought of her in so long, now that she was here in front of me I realized how very much I wanted her to be happy.

"What about you? Your life is probably more exciting than mine." She began to set the table with the plates and silverware she'd just finished disinfecting, looking at me inquisitively.

"I don't know, that tale of secret love and heartache and a broken engagement could have come from the tabloids really," I pointed out, "but things are… Well, I mean…" What are they? "They're good, I think. My last album did really well, the tour was a success, and I'm" not unhappy I guess? "really happy. Ecstatic. I never imagined any of this would happen for me." That last bit was completely true at least, but I was surprised by how much of what I'd said had felt like a lie. My life was perfect, I knew it was perfect. Or would be, once I returned home.

"I always knew it would," she assured me quietly as she dished out portions of the casserole. "I wasn't surprised when you left, and I've kept track of your career. Oh, and I own all your albums. But what about, you know, love and a family and everything?"

I hesitated, my years in the spotlight and deep abiding fear of having my private business end up in the papers having made me paranoid, but I knew Emma would never repeat anything told in confidence. "I don't know if I'm cut out for all of that, Em. I'm not… I don't connect, you know? And the way my life is makes it harder. I can't think of a single person in LA who wouldn't toss me under a bus, literally, if the incentive was great enough."

"But you have friends, right?" Her voice was so sad and concerned.

I shrugged, taking a bite of the paprikash and sighing happily. "I haven't had sour cream in approximately ten years."

She smiled. "Sad as that is, you're not going to distract me. You have friends, right?"

Really she was too tenacious for her own good. "Yes, of course. Fellow musicians and producers and everything… But… You won't understand this, Em, you're too good, but I can think of very few of them who I wouldn't toss under a bus if the incentive was great enough."

"I don't believe that," she said, "and I don't think you do either."

She was completely wrong about this; honestly, I could think of some people I'd be downright overjoyed to toss under a bus regardless of incentive, but I didn't tell her that.

"Do you want to know what I think?"

I nodded. "Of course. Guide me, counsel me," I teased, desperately trying to lighten the mood. Emma wasn't going for it.

"I think you need to realize that just because your mother didn't love you the way you wanted her to, that doesn't mean no one ever will," she told me, voice soft. "When you left, you left behind people who cared about you, you just didn't know it."

I looked away guiltily. "Maybe. But it doesn't matter. I don't regret it." I don't.

"How did you feel when you found out she was gone?" Emma pressed in her careful, delicate way.

"Irritated, mostly," I lied. Part of me wanted to try to explain what I'd felt, how much the emotions had surprised me, but I couldn't even put them into words so I didn't try. "I'm in the middle of a lot of important things right now, and I knew leaving for a week would be really inconvenient."

Emma's wide warm eyes looked into mine with gentle understanding. "We don't have to talk about your mother," she murmured. "But do you have anyone special in your life?"

"No," I answered immediately, but even as I said it my mind turned to Will. Which was… Nonsensical. He was neither special nor actually in my life. But he was… Something, and if anyone could understand it would be Emma, at least if I could explain it in some half-intelligible way. I'd have to keep it general, of course; Lima was a small town and it was entirely possible she'd know who I was talking about. It wasn't my place to tell others that his marriage was over, but surely I could give a basic overview.

"I met someone recently… VERY recently… But it's like you said, it's a complicated situation… And I don't know him very well, I just know that if I could I would like to. Maybe. Does that make sense?" I rather suspected it didn't.

"It does," she said, as if to specifically contradict my thoughts, and I smiled a little. "I think that no matter how complicated things are, you shouldn't give up if you have a chance at happiness. I mean, look at me… I thought nothing would ever happen with this guy, and then suddenly everything changed and now it's a real possibility. So you can't give up." And her face was glowing again.

"Yes, but that's you, Em," I pointed out. "And you deserve it, which I don't. Also, when I say complicated, I mean… Soap-opera complicated, you know?" (A secret identity, a celebrity with a painful past, a fake baby, a one-night stand… Jesus, my life is a soap opera.)

"Can I say one more thing?" Emma asked, watching me carefully.

"Of course," I told her, wanting to reassure her. "I am listening, Em, honestly, and I appreciate your perspective. I don't have anyone to talk to" at all "about things like this."

"I think you're lonely, and hurt, and you've felt that way for so long that you've turned it into a character trait. You think you're the go it alone type, Honor, but I know you. You were only ever that way because you had to be, and you don't have to be anymore. You need to give yourself permission to really be happy."

There was no condemnation in her voice as she said this, only acceptance and absolution, and I remembered that the most annoying thing about Emma was the fact that she was always, always right.

"God, I miss sour cream," I muttered, consuming my last bite of casserole, and just like that we changed the subject.

TBC

I understand that this chapter may cause a feeling of conflicting loyalties, but please stay with me. You've trusted me for 15k words so far, trust me for that many more and I promise you everything will be right in the end.

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