Emily’s Diary – Entry 35

We’ve Made It

The most important event of the week was my day with Adele. She called on Tuesday morning when I was barely awake.

“Don’t eat breakfast, I’m bringing the food today,” she rattled off the second I picked up.

I sat bolt upright in bed. I looked around wildly, trying to find something to hold on to, anything that would tell me for sure what day it was. I was terrified I’d simply lost most of the week. I was freaking the fuck out. Had I even been conscious? Or had I been lying here drooling for who knows how long?

I kicked off the blanket and reached between my legs. Okay. I hadn’t wet myself. I patted down the bed. Nothing else either. Great.

“What day is it?” I asked, close to tears.

“Tuesday. Why?”

Adele’s sharp voice and her usual prickliness calmed me down.

“Jesus, fuck, you scared the shit out of me…”

“With what? Bringing you breakfast?”

“But I have to leave for work soon…”

“Oh, come on, Emily, call in sick. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“D-did we make plans?” I stammered.

In a panic, my hands flew to my head, then my bare chest. If she was this sure, we must have. Why had I forgotten? My heart started racing again.

An irritated sigh.

“We didn’t make plans, Emily. I thought we could be spontaneous today.”

Phew. Talk about a relief.

“Okay, sounds good, but what am I supposed to tell Thessa on such short notice?”

“You’ve got the runs,” my brand-new lawyer friend informed me flatly. “That’s not something you can announce a day in advance. Don’t call her—text her that you can’t get off the toilet. Later, if you’re up to it, you’ll call. Except you won’t, because you won’t be up to it. Then tonight you’ll text again that you’ll probably survive, sorry, thanks.”

I listened, stunned. It sounded absurd, but I loved the idea. Could it really be that simple?

Well, apparently, yes.

Barely half an hour later I was out on the balcony, spreading pistachio cream on soft brioche. A few drops of rum and raspberry syrup went into the coffee steaming in my tall, slender glass cup. An insane explosion of flavors. I looked gratefully at my friend, in a sleeveless lemon-yellow romper, who sat with her eyes closed, soaking up the sun on her face and the morning breeze that kept lifting her glossy black Cleopatra bob.

“Now this is living,” she murmured.

I couldn’t get enough of the flavors, and she couldn’t get enough of her freedom. She was finally stepping out into real life, shaking off the chains of endless, disciplined studying. At least as far as school was concerned. Because as a lawyer, she’ll have to keep learning for the rest of her life. Only now she’ll be doing it of her own free will, in her own best interest. Not to tick somebody else’s boxes.

“Did you know Dave was going to propose?”

I had to at least scratch the surface. She opened her eyes and pouted.

“Hm. I don’t know. I guess it just made sense, with everything going on.”

“Everything like what?”

She shrugged.

“The restaurant, the mayor’s office being practically in the bag, my exam… Looks like we’ve both made it. Time to start a family.”

My eyes went wide.

“Start a family? Like, kids and stuff?”

She sat up, grabbed the rum bottle, unscrewed the cap, and sloshed a generous splash into her coffee. Then into mine.

“First I’ve got to get a few things sorted out down there, of course. You know…” She shot a meaningful glance at her lower belly.

Well, well. You don’t say.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, overdoing the surprise.

For a second I panicked that she’d notice and take offense. I got away with it.

“I don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. “I haven’t had any problems in ages. On Thursday we had amazing sex, then a few more rounds on Friday, and by Saturday it was burning and itching like crazy.”

Hm. Tough one to figure out, all right. Every time they screw, she catches some crap. You’d clearly need more than a bar exam to crack that case. But what could I say? And how? So I asked a question instead.

“What’s the deal with that girl he hired as his assistant? Has she gotten any less weird? Is she any good, actually useful?”

She waved a hand irritably, ran her fingers through her hair, then tugged nervously at the tip of her nose a few times.

“Silly little bitch. All she does is giggle and wiggle around in tops cut down to her belly button. I can’t imagine what she adds to Dave’s work.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“Question Dave? When everyone knows how much he hates that?”

I took a few deep breaths and turned my head toward the river. I had to act like these “little things” didn’t mean anything.

“I’m not saying call him out, but you could feel him out about what she actually does. You help him with the campaign and plenty of other stuff too. Why shouldn’t you care who’s doing what?”

She frowned and grumbled.

“Once the mayoral election’s over and he has to build his new team, I’ll make recommendations based on merit. Right now he needs the support and all those eager young people. They do the grunt work, make the calls, write the emails, save Dave hours and hours. And me. If it weren’t for them, I guess he’d rope me into all that too. This way at least I get to help put together the policy platform.”

So there was a new milestone on the horizon. Dave getting elected mayor. Until then, I’d have to watch my words again. It makes me feel pretty crappy, because she’s my friend, after all, and it’s painfully obvious her man is cheating on her—the same guy who just proposed. I wondered what else he planned to use Adele for.

“He’s lucky to have you.”

I figured that would close the subject.

“I don’t know… Then again, now that he’s applying to law school, he’ll need my help even more. He’s already hinted that I’ll be writing his papers.”

Oh, fuck. Does the man have no shame? Now this too. So Adele’s going to be at this dickwad’s service twenty-four hours a day. I’ll have to open her eyes before this snake ruins her completely.

Thank God Ben’s already past all that. Successful, established, ridiculously rich, influential, nothing left to prove. On top of that, he’s at the stage of life where he wants to enjoy what he’s worked for.

Maybe a partner my own age wouldn’t even be good for me. Then everything would always be about the struggle. About finding ourselves. First him, then me, then him again. This way I don’t even have to worry about any of that. I’ll become whoever I can become by Ben’s side. He’ll set the framework for my life. His goals will be mine, his career will shape mine. In fact, if I’m just a wife and mother by his side, that suits me perfectly too.

Oh my God, I’m so lucky. I’ll never have to really worry about anything ever again! No more awful dating, job interviews, money problems. I don’t even care if the 3D floor tiles are tacky, let alone what they cost. It doesn’t fucking matter how much I spend. I’m going to order them right now.