"I guess we should, you know...talk?" Emily stammered as she picked at her cuticles, partly out of nerves, partly so she wouldn't have to look at him.
Derek set aside his toothbrush, even though he wasn't finished brushing, spit out his mouthful of toothpaste, then paused to glance at himself in the mirror. He almost couldn't recognize the face staring back at him – the bags under his eyes, the sallow skin, borne of sleepless nights... With a sigh, he turned to look at her where she was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, still not looking at him. "Yeah, I guess we should..." he agreed. He'd known that sooner or later, they would have to have a conversation, but that didn't mean he was any clearer on what it was he had to say about it.
She continued picking her cuticles for a few moments longer, then paused, wiped her sweaty palms on her pyjama pants. "So..." she started, then almost immediately faltered. She looked up at him with beseeching eyes, as if begging him for some kind of guidance, though he had none to offer.
He moved to sit on the lid of the toilet so that he was on her eye level, though neither of them seemed all that keen on eye contact just then. He reached over to rest a hand on her knee, squeezing gently. "Nothing has to change between us, you know that, right?" he said at length. It was as good a place to start as any.
She fixed him with a dubious (and, if he wasn't mistaken, rather desperate) expression. "How could it not?"
He shrugged, admittedly not knowing the answer, though he very much wished he did. "I don't know, Em..." he said, "I just know I don't want to lose what we have." He offered a tight smile that said he hoped that was enough...as if anything at all had been enough lately.
"What do we have?" she asked, hopeless, helpless, almost begging for some kind of guidance.
He didn't seem to have the answer either. "You and I...we're good together. At work and...not at work. I don't want that to change. I want us to be friends and partners and...whatever this is."
She blanched a little. "I hadn't thought about work," she said.
When it became clear she was quickly losing the battle with her overthinking and anxiety, Derek squeezed her knee tighter, grounding her. "Stay with me, Baby," he said gently.
"I don't know how to do this," she said, shaking her head. "It's all so..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
"I know," he agreed, "I know."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Why is this happening?" she pleaded.
"I don't know," he admitted, opening his arms and letting her fall into his chest. He wished he had an answer for her, but the unfortunate truth was that he just didn't think there was an answer...at least, not one that would give her any kind of solace.
She nuzzled into his chest, the occasional sob escaping past her lips in spite of her best efforts to control them. "Sometimes, I just want to fall asleep and never wake up," she said, voice so quiet it was barely there at all.
Holding her all the tighter, Derek urged, "Don't say that, Em. The world needs you around. I need you around." He wasn't entirely certain she believed him. And, before he knew what he was about to do, he'd blurted out, "I love you, Emily. And I don't think I could go on if something were to ever happen to you..."
"What?" she said breathlessly.
He winced upon realizing what he'd said, but it was too late to take it back now. "I love you," he repeated, "Pretty much from the moment we met."
"Derek..." she said, slowly shaking her head.
He could tell he'd said the wrong thing, so he was quick to backtrack, "Forget I said anything." Her expression made it clear she wasn't so sure that was wise, but she also didn't know what to say, how to react, so she simply said nothing.
"I think I really fucked up, Mama..." Derek lamented, then took a sip of his beer.
They sat together at the kitchen table in the dark. Derek wasn't particularly interested in the company, but there was something about drinking alone at night that seemed a little pathetic, so when Fran had offered to sit with him, he'd reluctantly accepted.
"Let me guess," Fran said, "You told Emily how you feel about her..."
He blinked a few times, stunned. "How do you do that?"
"Because I'm your mother and I know everything," she replied. She sighed, reached across the table to pat his hand. "Just give her time, honey."
He shook his head slowly. "I don't know, maybe it's just not meant to be. Maybe this is a sign of some kind..."
"You don't really believe that, do you?"
He shrugged, but said nothing.
"So, you're just going to give up on the love of your life?" she asked.
"It's not like that," he insisted. "I just think that if anything was going to happen between Emily and I – feelings-wise – it would have happened already. I mean, if she doesn't feel anything for me after a year..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Maybe we're just meant to be friends and nothing more."
Fran raised a pointed brow. "And you're okay with that?"
"I kind of have to be, don't I?" he said with a shrug of something like surrender.
"So, you're not going to fight for her?"
He sighed heavily, wearily. "I think I'm going to go to bed, Mama," he said, downing the last of his beer in one sip and setting the bottle down with a heavy thunk on the table.
Fran seemed taken aback, seemed like she would have liked to say more – a lot more – on the matter, but ultimately said none of it, as that seemed the kinder – or, at least, easier – option...