Page 77 of Common Grounds

Cass waves this away. “You can pretend you’re some hard-ass all you want, but you’re getting soft in your old age. That article was love personified.”

I practically choke on my bite of lasagna. I cough and sputter as Cass and Vi look on disinterestedly. Some friends they are.

When the coughing fit has passed, I take a huge gulp of water. “That’s a strong word, don’t you think?”

“What, ‘personified?’” Cass bats her eyes at me, feigning innocence.

I drop my fork on the plate and fold my arms. I’m suddenly not hungry. “No.”

Cass shakes her head and lets out a triumphant, “Ha!”

“I think what my beautiful wife is trying to say,” Vi jumps in, clearly sensing this conversation going off the rails, “is that it was a departure from your more recent work. And given the events of the other night…” she trails off and leans forward, clasping her hands on top of the table. I glance at Cass, who doesn’t flinch. She’s looking at me expectantly, which means Vi came home on Wednesday and told her all about the fight Trevor and Derek got in.

“Well,” I start, then drop my gaze to the table. I study its black surface, pockmarked from years of wear and tear. I imagine little toddler hands fisting utensils and banging on it, giggling, and driving their moms up a wall. It tugs at that thread around my heart. The one that had loosened itself yesterday while I observed the shop. I objectively know that these two are about to become three. I have been aware of this for months, but this sudden and very specific image of their family life throws me. This house, with its manicured lawn and view of downtown is about to become a home with a real-life baby. A manifestation of their love for one another.

I don’t want that. I don’t. I’ve never wanted kids, and little baby Darlis-Jacobsen isn’t going to change that. But there’s a life here. A vibrancy I haven’t had in my own life since… well, since ever. Not even with Derek. As much as I wanted to believe it was there, it wasn’t.

But they’re right. Writing that article opened something in me that has been closed off for a while. I felt it sitting in the shop. I felt it when Trevor laced our fingers together on top of the table. I even felt it when he woke me up at four in the damn morning.

Ugh, maybe Cass is right. Maybe I am getting soft in my old age.

I draw in a deep breath and turn my gaze to the ceiling. I let it out through puffed cheeks. “I might have spent the night at Trevor’s on Wednesday.”

“I knew it!” Cass is victorious again, pumping her fist in front of her. She takes a giant bite of lasagna.

A slow smile stretches over Vi’s face. It’s so almost relieved, which is a strange emotion to express about a sleepover. I furrow my brow in question, but she shakes her head slightly. We’ll talk about that later, I guess.

“It wasn’t anything, really,” I say, though I’m not sure I believe it. It didn’t feel like something, necessarily, but it didn’t feel like nothing, either. I’m not sure how to explain that.

Cass rolls her eyes dramatically. “You, Emery Darlis, are your own worst enemy. You know it’s okay to be happy, right? You’ve got to let go of this notion that the way your life looks now is the way it’s going to look forever.”

I flip my hair over my shoulder as my body tenses. “What is that supposed to mean?” But before she can respond, my phone dings three times from where I left my purse in their entryway.

“Hold that thought,” I say as I rush to grab it and bring it back to the table. Two messages and an email blink on my screen. I push one. It’s an email from Randall.

FROM: Randall Skinner

TO: Emery Darlis

SUBJECT:

BODY: Meeting RE: coffee articles. Monday morning. Plan to be there.

That’s ominous. I square my shoulders and straighten in my chair. He agreed to this and has essentially given me free reign to write what I want. If he doesn’t like it, that’s his problem.

I flip over to my text messages and see the group chat with Ethan and Josie lit up. I press it, hoping for some explanation.

Ethan: 350,000 clicks since noon. Bitch, you’re gonna do it!

That would definitely be an explanation. Randall is likely pissed I’m actually doing something successful. His pride has always been worth more than the reach of any given article. As I’m thinking of how to respond, Josie’s message comes in:

Josie: Randall is in a sour mood. He was looking for you this afternoon. I’ll gladly respond to Letters forever if it means seeing him agitated like this.

When I look up, my smile stretching wide, Cass and Vi are looking at me expectantly. “Three hundred and fifty thousand clicks since noon,” I say. “With those numbers, more will see it over the next few days, I’m sure.”

They let out whoops and cheers. While they’re busy celebrating, I click on the next message.

Trevor: Mike decided to be decent and open the shop for me tomorrow.

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