Road to Love (Lessons in Love Book 1) Read online

  “Enough, Emerson Renee! I'm not sure who's the child here you or Tamia because she is carrying herself with more maturity than you've shown this entire afternoon. You either need to speak to your father directly and cut this mess out, or you can leave.”

  “You can't put me out of Grace's house, mommy,” I replied, smugly.

  “But I can certainly ask you to take a cooling off period,” Grace shot back, “You're out of line, Nay, honestly.”

  “Oh cool, it's gang up on Emerson day huh? I know you're itching to say something too, Chuck. Might as well air me out, too!” I shouted.

  Roosevelt placed a hand on my arm, trying to get me to calm down, but it was already too late. My invisible cape was locked and loaded, and I was now Super Turnt Up.

  “You know what? I don't have to sit here and be treated like this. Nobody has to worry about asking me to leave this house because I'm out,” I said, jumping up from where I was seated and running out of the door.

  With no regard for both my sister and mother calling out after me nor for Roosevelt, I took off at a clip down the road, not even worrying about where I was going, but just knowing that I needed to be out of that space. I thought I could sit through lunch and not be affected by my father's presence, but I was apparently mistaken. I'd come home with the thought in my mind to finally settle this...rift but after today? I wasn't sure it was something I could or would mend.

  After an awkward goodbye from the rest of her family, I exited Grace's house in search of Emerson. By the time I reached the front door, I couldn't see her in either direction, so I just followed my instincts and made my way back to Charli's house. I walked into the house, however, to find it completely silent. I searched the yard, but she wasn't there either. She had left her cell phone at the house charging because we didn't expect to be at Grace's for long. Unfortunately, since I had no means of unlocking it, I had no way to reach out to anyone to see if there was a particular place she may have gone to be by herself and sort out whatever she was feeling. I tried wracking my brain to see if she mentioned any place in particular in any of our previous conversations when it hit me.

  I found Emerson sitting on a bench near the riverbank, staring out into the distance. She didn't even flinch as I sat down next to her, drawing her near to me. It was as if she was in a catatonic state and unaware that I was even there. We sat for a bit in silence before she finally spoke.

  “You probably think I'm crazy, huh?” she sniffled.

  “I think you're feeling a lot of different emotions right now and are conflicted as to which one you should let take the lead. I think you're in a precarious situation right now. And I think you're positively gorgeous right now, but no... I don't think you're crazy.”

  The words I'd hope would bring a smile to her face sent her back into a crying jag. I said nothing further, just wrapped my arms around her even tighter as she released. After a few minutes, the sobbing tamped down, and Emerson pulled back, trying to extricate herself from my hold. I allowed a bit of space, but not complete separation. Using the pads of my thumbs, I wiped the tears from her face, pressing closer to drop a kiss on her nose, before pulling her back into me.

  After a few minutes more of sitting there in silence, I asked, “you wanna talk about it?”

  “Not particularly,” she replied quickly.

  “Okay, we don—”

  “No, we do have to talk about it,” she interrupted before launching into the full story of why she and her father were on the outs.

  I sat there quietly, letting her get everything out and when she had finished, still not saying much. I knew that what I had to say wouldn't be taken well, so I erred on the side of caution and kept my mouth shut. The very last thing I needed was any more awkwardness to occur on this trip. Besides, with my own shaky parental relationships, I was the last person to be offering unsolicited advice, if we were being honest.

  “Do you think I overreacted?” Emerson asked.

  “I...”

  “Be honest, Roosevelt. I can take it...maybe,” she laughed, mirthlessly.

  “Since you asked, I...I think it's worth at least trying to have a civilized conversation. Trying to come at him while emotions are running high won't serve either of you well in seeing how your actions of the past made the other one feel.”

  “I'm pretty sure I made it crystal clear how I felt...feel about him.”

  “But baby...that was nearly five years ago. Do you think he hasn't changed in that time? That maybe being estranged from one of his two living children hasn't caused him to reexamine his choices and perhaps be ready to mend the fence here? Didn't you say that Grace said he'd come a long way with her and Ted's situation? Don't you think you at least owe him the chance to prove himself to still be an asshole before just condemning him with that label for the rest of your lives?”

  “Don't you think the same could be said for your situation? You're still punishing your parents for the mistakes they made in the past. So where was all this forgiveness talk when you iced your mother out?”

  I paused before speaking because I recognized exactly what she was trying to do. She was trying to bait me into being just as angry as she was, still spoiling for a fight with someone since she'd run away from the true confrontation that was in her face. Thing was? I wasn't going.

  “You're right. But the difference between my situation and yours? Is that yours is way more salvageable. Your father is trying. It may not be in the manner that you want him to be, but is that a reason to not at least give him the benefit of the doubt?”

  “And if he's still the same bullheaded, domineering jerkoff? If he disproves of any of my life choices and decides to disrespect me, then what? I just keep taking it because he's my father?”

  “I'm not suggesting that at all, sweetheart. I'd never let you be disrespected in that way in my presence, trust and believe. But I'm saying that you should at least take your mom up on her offer of dinner at her place before I get out of here on Sunday. She extended the invite and your dad cosigned before I left Grace's. They hoped that I would be able to talk some sense into you, so you guys can mend this rift.”

  “So that's why you're here? Not for me, but for them. You don't even know them, and you're already on their side. See, that's the problem right now.”

  “No, baby, I'm not on anyone's side but yours,” I emphasized, “I can see how this is messing with you. Don't you think I realized how tense you were when we walked into Grace's house once you realized both of your parents were there? Or that I didn't notice the redness rimming your eyes after your bathroom break? Or the way that you were gritting your teeth every time your father dared to utter a single word? Nah, baby...their wellbeing isn't my concern at all. Yours is. You shouldn't have to maintain carrying this burden if he's offering a chance to free yourself. Just give it some thought.”

  “I...I'm done talking about this,” Emerson said, looking down at her watch, “It's almost time for the cruise, and I'm sure I look like I've been socked in the face with a bag of nickels. I need as much time as possible to make myself look like a real girl again.”

  “Cruise?” I asked.

  “Yes, tonight's reunion event is a dinner cruise along Lake Erie. I told you that.”

  “No, you told me to make sure to pack a suit because Saturday's event was formal, but not that we'd be going on a boat.”

  “Is that going to be a problem? Because if so, you can just chill at Charli's til we get back,” Emerson snapped.

  I held up my hands in a conciliatory gesture, “Nah, we're cool. No worries at all. Let's get you back so we can get ready.”

  I stood, reaching for Emerson's hand to pull her up, but she hoisted herself up and walked ahead of me instead. I shook my head at her antics because she was apparently still in her feelings. Hopefully, a long hot shower and getting ready for tonight's festivities would adjust her attitude. Otherwise, it was going to be a long night for me in more ways than one. I wasn't really a boat person—having gotten
sick every time I attempted to board one in the past. The size of the boat didn't matter; my constitution just did not agree with the open seas, lakes, rivers, none of it. I was usually all right if I popped a little Dramamine though, so while Emerson was getting ready I'd run out to the local drug store and cop some.

  I ran into Charli on my way out to the store, and she talked me out of going to get the Dramamine after some long speech about not putting foreign chemicals into my body and passed me a few ginger chews. She claimed that these were an all-natural antidote to motion sickness. She seemed to know what she was talking about, so I took her word for it and popped one into my mouth. I couldn't drink while on Dramamine, which I wasn't looking forward to since I was about to be trapped on a boat for hours with the one person that I knew for real being angry with me. At least with these ginger things, I would be able to imbibe a little bit if Emerson's cold shoulder became too much to bear.

  Since I no longer had to leave the house, I decided to grab my stuff from the room Emerson and I were sharing to take advantage of the other empty bathroom, so I wouldn't be accused of holding her up once she was finally ready. When I walked into the bedroom, Emerson was emerging from the bathroom, droplets of water running her bare shoulders, disappearing into the towel she had tightly wrapped around the rest of her body. I crossed the room, grabbed my bag and informed Emerson of my intent to make use of the other space, so she could take her time getting ready without me being underfoot. She didn't respond verbally, just grunted some sound that could possibly be interpreted as gratitude.

  Just over an over later, I emerged from the spare room to take my things back into our shared bedroom. I walked into our room to see Emerson in front of the mirror putting the finishing touches on her makeup. I’d seen the dress that she was wearing, but on her body, it looked magnificent. It was a simple, partly sheer black dress with a fitted bodice and full skirt that molded to her body like a second skin. Her jewelry was minimalist, diamond studs sparkled in her ears, and a delicate gold bracelet adorned her wrist. On her feet were a pair of Christian Louboutin heels, that distinctive red sole giving her outfit the only pop of color. I knew she was probably still upset with me, but she looked entirely too good for me not to acknowledge it. I walked up behind her, placing my hands at her waist, bringing her back to rest against me as I pressed a kiss to her neck and inhaled her scent.

  “You look incredible,” I whispered into her ear, “And if we didn’t have somewhere to be soon and you weren’t pissed at me, I promise you this damn dress woulda been somewhere on the floor by now.”

  Emerson giggled before she could stop it, her little angry face fading briefly, then returning. She stepped away, finished applying her lipstick, then turned to face me.

  “I’m not pissed at you, Roosevelt. Just giving what you said some thought, is all.”

  “Your continued silence and this little frown tell a different story,” I replied, running my thumb over her currently furrowed brow.

  “This is my thinking face,” she smirked, “You haven’t even seen my angry face. Ready?”

  Despite the dock for the boat that we’d be cruising on being less than half a mile from where we were currently staying, I still drove the Caddy over. There was no way Emerson was doing too much walking in those heels, no matter how much I would enjoy the view. The ride to the dock was quick and uneventful and when we arrived, I let out a low whistle.

  “Oh boy,” Emerson sighed.

  We pulled up to a bit of a disaster. There had been a large balloon arch over the gangway that led onto the ship, but it was currently floating away into the water. That annoying chick with the nametags from the other night was squawking at some dude dressed like he was on his way to do the Charleston at the Cotton Club to save it. He looked wholly disinterested as he checked out some chick walking ahead of us in a badass red dress. The annoying chick slapped Cotton Club Chuck upside his head, and he finally paid her a bit of attention. It was too late at this point though because the balloons were now fully in Lake Erie. As we walked up onto the boat, I felt my stomach getting a bit queasy, so I popped another one of those ginger candies that Charli had given me earlier. Emerson once again bypassed the nametag table, grumbling about how stupid it was to have nametags when everyone knew each other anyway.

  We walked into the main cabin, and it definitely looked like a booster club had thrown up inside of this joint. Their school colors, blue and gold, were on every surface—along with a gang of signs saying Go Panthers! And other very school spirit-y phrases. Last night I’d heard some folks saying that the chick who organized these reunions tended to go a bit overboard, but that was an understatement. We heard Emerson’s name being called from across the room and turned to see who was trying to get her attention and now I understood what had Cotton Club Chuck’s attention earlier.

  “Oh snap! I guess we’re getting The Roxanne Malone tonight,” Emerson quipped as we walked over to greet her friends.

  Little miss red dress from earlier was none other than Rocki. Seth looked like he was barely keeping his hands off of her as his eyes were transfixed on her every movement when she stood to pull Emerson into a hug before we sat. Shortly after we sat, Charli arrived in a long floral dress that was sure to have Wesley sweating once he arrived if the way he’d been hawking her last night was any indication.

  About halfway through the cruise I was out of the ginger and feeling the full effect of being on a boat. I hadn’t had anything stronger than a ginger ale to drink because I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be able to stave off the sickness. I excused myself from Emerson and her friends to head to the restroom to see if I could somehow get this nausea under control enough to not ruin the night for her. She looked so carefree all night, dancing with her girlfriends to nostalgic music, gossiping with them about who looked the same and who looked drastically different, all while making sure I felt included in the conversation despite being the odd man out.

  There were others there who brought spouses who hadn’t attended the high school, but they were all locals, so even if they didn’t know the person as well as they knew their classmates, there was still some familiarity there. I’d gotten quite a few stares from men and women alike as Emerson and I danced together, which made me want to revisit her whole “I don’t have any old work” in Ragston fib. She may not have known it, but some of these brothers in here were definitely checking for her now if not back then—on some Mike Jones shit.

  When I reached the bathroom, it was occupied, but I leaned against the wall until I heard the telltale click of the lock indicating that whoever was in there was vacating soon. I drug my eyes open just enough to make my way into the bathroom and noticed Cotton Club Chuck coming out of there with a woman who was definitely not his wife. Not my business, I thought as I moved into the restroom to handle more pressing matters. I’d gotten there just in time. That nausea was more than a notion I thought as the hors-d'oeuvres from earlier in the night came back up. By the time I made it back out to the table, the ladies were still out on the dancefloor, currently doing the chickenhead to Chingy’s “Right Thurr”.

  The DJ played a few more uptempo songs before seguing into a slow jam set, which immediately had Emerson seeking me out. As the opening strains of Michael Jackson’s “Butterflies” started, I pulled together the residuals of strength I had left to make my way over to Emerson and do a little two-step with her in my arms. I wasn’t as adept at hiding that I was suffering as I thought I was though because barely thirty seconds into the song, Emerson was pulling back to look me in the face.

  “Baby…you don’t look so good. What’s going on?” she asked, leading me off of the dance floor and back to the table at which we were seated.

  “Boats aren’t really my thing,” I replied with a wan grin, feeling another wave of nausea washing over me.

  “Seasickness?”

  I nodded weakly.

  “Roosevelt, you should have said something! We didn’t have to come on this darn boa
t cruise, you must be miserable,” Emerson said, with a slight pout.

  “And miss you doing the chickenhead to one of St. Louis’ finest? It was totally worth it,” I said, grinning while she shook her head.

  “Tell me what you need from me,” she said, running a napkin over my brow to wipe that sweat that had suddenly accumulated.

  “I’m fine,” I replied, leaning back onto the wall next to our table and closing my eyes, “It’s almost over, right?”

  “Let me see if someone here has something to help you. I’ll be right back,” she said before quickly crossing the room and seeking out one of the staff members on the boat.

  In what seemed like no time she was back with a Dramamine pill, one of those wristbands used to combat seasickness, a small packet of oyster crackers, and a glass of ginger ale. I washed the pill down with the ginger ale and tried to eat a couple of the crackers, but that was in vain. Luckily, we were about twenty minutes from docking again, so I suffered through those last few minutes with Emerson pressed into my side, alternating between mopping my brow and checking to see if that Dramamine pill had kicked in yet. We were supposed to go out for drinks with her friends after the cruise, but I felt pretty bad once we disembarked the boat, so we ended up leaving and going straight home to bed.

  When I woke up the next day, surprisingly I felt pretty okay. My head was a little cloudy, but beyond that, I didn’t feel any residual queasiness or nausea. In the past when I’d ventured onto a boat, I was usually down for the next few days. I awakened to an empty bed, and it looked like it’d been that way for a while. I showered and threw on a pair of ball shorts, a tee and my slides as I ventured downstairs to see if there was any trace of Emerson there. As my foot hit the bottom step, she was coming through the door, fresh off of a run. Her face shone with happiness, those endorphins from exercise clearly working their way through her system.