Page 24 of Hate the One You're With
Emmersyn: I’m not sure, we’ll figure it out. Isn’t there like a manual? Daily meals, sex three times a week and not leaving the lid of the toilet seat up—that’s for you.
Caleb: Ha, I don’t think there’s a manual, but if we have to write it, I want sex three times a day.
Emmersyn: Whoa, that’s . . . I don’t know if I can do that. I mean I’ve never had sex so . . . Can someone do it that many times?
Caleb: You’re a virgin? That’s surprising.
Emmersyn: Not you too . . . Why does everyone think I’m always drunk, doing drugs and fucking any available body?
Caleb: Who else thinks you’re a troublemaker?
Emmersyn: Duncan, Grandma’s butler, Grandma, of course, and . . . the list is endless.
Caleb: Would it make you feel better if I told you my parents would agree with your grandmother?
Emmersyn: I wouldn’t be surprised. I’m a party animal. You’ll find me every weekend in my room blasting music, reading books, and consuming large amounts of popcorn and Buncha Crunch. So, so wild.
Caleb: Popcorn and Buncha Crunch . . . That’s practically a rager. Should I be worried about your wild lifestyle? Sounds like a real slippery slope to a sugar high and a book hangover.
Emmersyn: I’m living on the edge, Caleb. One more chapter, one more handful of Buncha Crunch, and I might just spiral out of control. It’s a wonder I haven’t ended up in rehab yet.
Caleb: And you still think I’d marry you?
Emmersyn: What if I promise sex four times a week?
Caleb: Twice a day and we have a deal.
Emmersyn: I ask again, is that even possible?
Caleb: Baby, I’ll teach you everything I know and make you want it more than twice. You’ll be begging for it.
Emmersyn: Huh, sounds like I’m getting a bargain out of this deal.
Caleb: Maybe I’m the one getting the bargain.
Emmersyn: Are you going to help me?
Caleb: Can I give you the answer on Sunday night when I arrive in Boston?
Emmersyn: Thank you for even considering it.
Chapter Sixteen
Emmersyn
I stare at my phone,the message from Caleb making my heart do a weird flip in my chest. Meet me at your favorite bookstore. What does that even mean? Is he going to reject my proposal? Agree to do it? Or maybe he just wants to see me one last time before telling me this whole ideais completely insane.
I wouldn’t blame him if he walks away from me, but he should do it for his family. Also, why is he meeting me here? He said he’d give me his answer once he arrives in Boston, but apparently he isn’t in Boston.
Caleb is in New York. At my favorite bookstore.
How does he remember?
This is the way you let down people softly right? Inviting them to their favorite place and then rejecting them.
A knot tightens in my stomach as I sense what’s coming. I move cautiously, slipping on my coat and tiptoeing through the penthouse, hoping to avoid my grandmother. She’s been too much lately—hovering, critiquing, suffocating me with her expectations. I can almost hear her voice in my head listing all the ways I’ve disappointed her.
Langley women don’t do this, they don’t do that . . . She’s always dictating how I should behave, while I’m silently rebelling, thinking we should do whatever the fuck I want. I wonder some days if this is just her way of dealing with the grief of losing my grandfather.
