Chapter 12
2038 Words
That was what her life had come to, she thought grimly. That was the highlight that she looked forward to – emotionally unavailable s*x with her ex-fiance.
“It was really good today,” Owen said, thoughtfully, his mind on the band, as was so typical of him. “I think it went really well. I heard a bit of a rough playback, and it sounded really professional, even before they smooth off the edges. I can’t wait to hear the finished product.”
“I am glad that you are happy with how it went.”
“You saved us,” he smiled at her, his handsome face lighting up with the expression in a way that made her heart pick up a beat. “The guys were really impressed.”
“I am glad I could help.” She was speaking by rote, biding her time until she got home and could have the crying jag that she knew was pressing in on her. They would have their Vietnamese take away, s*x, and he would leave, and she would cry. She could almost schedule it in by the hour, she thought ruefully.
“They want to ditch Cordelia and find a new back-up singer,” Owen said with deliberate casualness. “You wouldn’t be interested?”
“Oh, Owen,” she sighed. She wanted to say yes, because it would forge a connection between them, give them a chance, perhaps, to start over. But it was such a crazy idea… She could not just run off with the band, like he had done. “I don’t think so. It is not really me, you know? You have always loved performing. I love singing, but the performing side has never really appealed.”
He blew out a breath. “Yeah, I know,” his tone was regretful. “It would have been good, though. Give it some thought, hey?” He pulled into her work carpark and paused behind her car. “See you in half an hour?”
“Yes,” she did not know whether to kiss him or not, and so paused awkwardly before getting out. “Oh, your phone,” she retrieved it from the laptop case and put it onto the passenger seat with the earbuds. “See you soon.”
He waited until she was in her car and had the engine started before driving off.
Her phone rang as she pulled out into the traffic, and she accepted the call, putting it through the car speakers. “Em.”
“Hey, Em,” Megan replied. “I have been calling you all afternoon.”
“Sorry,” Emily glanced at the display. There were four missed calls and a number of messages.
“I wanted to tell you about my date last night,” Megan told her. “Oh, god, is this one a keeper, Emily. I think I’ve found the one. Ask me why.”
“I am not sure I want to know,” Emily replied with amusement. Megan was not shy on the details of her dates. “If I ever meet him, I won’t be able to look him in the eyes because I will know too much.”
“A fireman, six foot three or four at least,” Megan ignored the comment. “And built like Adonis, I swear you not, crossed with a footballer, and hung like a hero,” she enunciated each word with emphasis. “I mean, hung. But that is not the best part. When we were making plans for the date, I said, whatever, but I don’t eat carbs, got to watch the figure right?”
“Sugar is a carb,” Emily pointed out.
“Sugar doesn’t count. Anyway,” Megan’s tone carried an eyeroll. “He says to me, women are meant to have curves, and life is only lived once, why deny yourself the simple joys of it in order to fit into some misconceived concept of beauty?”
“He said all that?”
“Well, not quite in those words, but you get my point,” she swore and honked her horn.
“Do you have me on speaker?”
“No, god, who has time for that? Anyway, then he cooks me dinner. And I mean cooks it, a full pasta meal with dessert - really cook, like the pasta was made from scratch. His mother taught him how to make it.”
“So, you are marrying him for his pasta?” Emily raised her eyebrows. It wasn’t the most outrageous reason that Megan had contemplated marrying a man for.
“No, I would marry him for his – hey, watch it you arsehole! That guy almost sideswiped me, Emily, I swear it and have dash-cam evidence. Anyway, what have you been doing rather than answer my calls?”
“I have been in a meeting all afternoon. Well actually not a meeting.” Emily confessed. “A recording studio.”
“A recording studio?” Megan repeated. “Let me guess – Owen?” She said it with amused meaning, as if totally unsurprised that Emily would be lured into a recording studio by Owen, or that Owen would continue to feature heavily enough in Emily’s life to lure out of work in the first place.
“Yes. It was… Sort of fun actually. I sang back up for his band.”
“You sang back up for his band.”
“Yes.”
“Alright. That is interesting.”
“They want me to join them.”
“They want you to join their band?”
“Why do you keep repeating everything I say?” Emily demanded.
“I am just… flabbergasted. Where is my sister Emily and what have you done with her?”
“I have always sung with Owen.”
“I know that. I came to your gigs like a good older sister, and you were not awful. But this is the band that Owen dumped you for… It is a bit… odd that you are now singing with them.”
“I know.” Emily sighed. Oh, boy, didn’t she just know. “I should…” Cut Owen out of her life, for the sake of her broken heart, she thought, but trailed off, unable to say it.
“You should join them.”
“What?” Emily was stunned. It was not the response she had expected from her sister.
“You should join them.” Megan repeated as if it were an obvious conclusion and Emily was slow for not seeing it for herself. “You are selling your house and furniture, quitting your job to pursue your writing, why not join the band? It is like completing the circle of insanity you and Owen are on, isn’t it? And it is not going to take time away from your writing. A couple of gigs, travelling around the country for a few months. You have the money to do so, and still buy a little place in the countryside to become a hobbit in.”
“Hermit,” Emily corrected absently, her mind pulled onto a path that emotionally she had dismissed.
“Whatever. Let’s face it, you are still in love with Owen, Em. And I am pretty sure he is still in love with you, despite his declarations to the contrary. Although you have been thin on the details, I know you are still f-king each other -”
“Megan,” Emily protested, embarrassed.
“Grow up. F-k, f-k, f-k, f-k.” Megan cursed several times in a row with relish. “You are f-king your ex-fiancé. So f-king scandalous, not. Except for the fact that your are selfishly not sharing the details of the hot ex-s*x. Though, as I know Owen, and he is like a kid brother, I am not sure I really want them, to be honest. What is with drivers tonight? Don’t honk me you f-king soccer mom, you are the one crossing the lines! If I ever drive an SUV with stick people on it, Emily, shoot me.”
“Megan,” Emily groaned.
“Neither of you are willing to let this go completely. So, join the band, go on his little tour, and see if you can rekindle that flame. And then, maybe, having scratched his itch, or satisfied this premature-mid-life-crisis of his, you two can sort your s**t out. Because you really need to do that, sis. This limbo s**t is bad for the chakra.”
Emily activated her garage door and waited for it to lift.
“You still there?” Megan prompted.
“Yes, I am thinking.”
“You think too much. Do it.”
“It is just not… me. I am not the rock band sort of person.”
“I know, and that is what is so fun about it. We will totally do a shop and make Prissy Em into Rock Star Em. You won’t know yourself.”
“I will think about it. I am home.”
“Okay, let me know when you want to make your credit card scream. Thursday is good for me! Bye.”
“Have fun with Adonis.”
“You know I will,” Megan chortled like a mad woman and disconnected.
Do it, Emily repeated to herself as she parked her car and closed the garage door. As if that were so simple. But… wasn’t it? As Megan had said, she was selling everything, and quitting her job, for a fresh start because she could not tolerate the thought of staying where she had once dreamed of starting a life with Owen.
And whilst there was some hope that Owen might reconsider, was she willing to let it go? As painful as it was to cling to a fading dream, no. No. She loved him. She was in love with him. She was clinging on, fighting for him, because she wasn’t willing to commit to a life without him.
She changed out of her work clothes whilst her laptop started. For weeks she’d had two emails prepared to send and had sent neither. The first was, of course, to her boss, tendering her resignation. She had intended to wait until the house sold, but… She closed her eyes as she pressed the send button.
The second email was an enquiry letter to an agent with a synopsis and the first three chapters of one of her books that she felt was as ready as she could make it…
She heard the front door open.
“Hello?” Owen called out cheerfully as he made his way down the hallway, as comfortable as if they still lived together. “Are you in the shower?”
She hit send and closed the laptop.
He was unpacking the shopping bag onto the kitchen bench and looked up as she entered. “I got a bottle of champagne,” he said with a grin. “A good one. I thought, after today, we had earnt it.”
“I just resigned from my job,” she said, shocked by her bravery.
He rested a hip against the bench top. “All the more reason to drink champagne.”
“And sent my book to an agent.”
His grinned widened and he began to unwrap the champagne cork. “The one you have been procrastinating about all year?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it is about time. I think we will use the good glasses, eh?” He popped the cork and laughed as it ricocheted off the ceiling, disappearing somewhere under the dining table. “s**t, that was an eager one.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Where did you move them to?” He searched the cupboards for the good glasses.
“Okay, I will join the band.”
He froze, his head in the overhead cupboards. “Really?”
“If you still want me to, that is.”
He turned and walked across the kitchen, to take her face between his hands and kissed her, hard. “Yes. F–k yes, Emily.”
- Writer
