Page 19 of Save the Date

“Fine. Describe it to me.”

Emma scrunched up her face. “I don’t think I can. I’m too embarrassed.” Mostly about the Coldplay. Not to mention the Celine Dion.

“So, what are you going to do, immediately break things off and change your number?”

Emma shifted her legs around again, essentially curling herself into a ball. “Not quite. We’re going out again tomorrow.”

“Emma!” Imani reached out and flung the tissue box at her. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m trying to break my old habits! Sure, maybe Rob can be a little cringey, but he’s a freaking doctor who seems to be obsessed with me. I could do a lot worse.”

“Since when is that the only barometer for finding the vice president of your life?” Imani asked, using Emma’s own terminology against her.

Emma picked at an angry cuticle in response, wincing at the searing pain. “I think I should examine why outward displays of affection and romance make me so uncomfortable. And I think Rob is a safe person to do that with.”

“Mm-hmm. And you also think he might just be nutty enough to agree to your ridiculous plan?”

“Don’t say words likenutty. It’s not nice.”

Imani glared at her. “Do you know what’s not going to be nice? When you find yourself married to a guy you can’t stand.”

“That’s why they invented divorce,” Emma joked back, even as a sense of dread took over her body.

Nine

AS EMMA HUFFED AND PUFFED UP THE STEEP HILL, SHEwondered how she’d ever had the stamina not only to live at Baxter, but park on the street every day. By the time she reached her former apartment complex, her calves hurt and her temples were moist. She thought she’d have a warm sense of nostalgia upon entering the worn-down lobby, but all she felt was relief that this was no longer her life. She made a mental note to try to remember that feeling since it was so distinctly different than her other thoughts of late, which were more of theif only I could go back in timevariety.

Emma pushed the elevator button and prepared to wait an unseemly amount of time, but the doors opened immediately as though it had been sent down to retrieve her. She entered the small space and was hit with the interlocking smells of weed and cologne. It was surprisingly pleasant. Within moments she was standing outside Rob’s door trying to figure out the best way to greet him. Considering they hadn’t even kissed yet, it seemed like a friendly hug would be the way to go—unless he went in for a cheek kiss, which was one of Emma’s least favorite social conventions. She didn’t desire random people’s lipson her skin in a nonsexual way. And, unlike other features of her personality, this didn’t feel like something she needed to change about herself.

“I see you!” Rob’s voice came through the still-closed door.

Emma jumped in response. If there was anything Emma hated more than a cheek kiss, it was being startled. She tried to calm herself down as Rob flung open the door, smiling. He wore an apron that said Talk Nerdy to Me. A small amount of vomit came up Emma’s throat, but that could’ve just been the effects of afternoon coffee on her fragile esophagus.

“You made it.” Rob embraced her as if they hadn’t reconfirmed their plans only a few hours earlier.

“Of course. Thanks for making dinner.”

“For you? Anything! Including pasta.”

Emma followed Rob into his large studio apartment, which thankfully didn’t look exactly the same as it had ten years earlier, like Tony’s place. She was pretty sure the couch was different and the walls that had once been covered in taped-up movie posters were now covered with framed movie posters. The overall vibe was very much one of a bachelor with a strong interest in the arts and no favorite sports team.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Rob asked as Emma had yet again wandered over to the bookshelf in search of revelations about its owner.

“I’ll take some white wine if you have it.” Her eyes returned to shelves filled with medical textbooks, graphic novels and a box set ofWest WingDVDs that looked unopened.

“Saving President Bartlet for a rainy day?” Emma asked as she joined Rob in the kitchen area. His counters were a mess and already covered in pasta sauce. She tried not to think about the hygiene, or lack thereof, involved in home cooking.

“Saving who for what?” Rob looked over at her, more stressed than seemed necessary for penne.

“I saw your unopenedWest WingDVDs. Are you a fan of the show? Or just a collector?”

Rob picked up a dull knife and began ineffectively chopping some onions. “Neither. They were a gift and I guess I just never got around to watching. I’m not that into politics.”

“Not into politics as in not into watching acclaimed political dramas, or not into politics as in you don’t vote?” She’d tried to be casual but her tone revealed the importance of his answer.

“I vote! I vote, like, every time I’m allowed to. It’s part of being a citizen and everything. But…” Rob struggled to find a description that wouldn’t make him seem like a privileged straight white man who didn’t need to care about politics in order to survive and thrive. “I guess it’s just not my passion or anything. I’d rather read a medical journal than try to follow which senator is the most racist of the day.”

Emma nodded, content enough not to pry further. She had already ruined many a date night fighting about racist senators. Most notably when she had accidentally gone on a spring break trip with a Young Republican in college.

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