Page 41 of Things I Overshared
“Wait, can we grab a photo for the gram?” Trina says as we head out onto the sidewalk.
“Yes, good idea, Trina. We’ve got an actual Canton here, after all. And the bigwig CFO home from ’cross the pond!”
“Oh, okay, sure!” I say. “Maybe just under the awning?” I throw my arms up as if presenting the store.
“Yes, lovely!” Farrah coos. “And you too, Mr. Clark, c’mon.”
Emerson walks over as fast as a slug and stands next to me like a lamppost.
“C’mon, Mr. Clark, I won’t tell Miranda.” I smash into him, loop my arm through his, and throw up my back foot. He remains frozen. Trina bursts out laughing at whatever is on the screen.
“What?” I ask her.
“Maybe, uh, give it another go.” Farrah giggles.
I squeeze Emerson’s arm.
“Dammit, just smile for five seconds, Icy!” I say through gritted teeth.
“Got it!” Trina says, and I dart away from Emerson before he actually vomits on me. “You want to post these on your Insta?”
“Oh, I don’t have social accounts anymore, actually.” I hear how sad I sound and feel equally pathetic. “But! Send me all of them, and I’ll make sure they get posted to all our main corporate accounts on all the platforms!” I pat myself on the back for recovering so well. When the photos arrive on my phone, I see what she’s laughing at.
Oh, wow.
It is perfection.
It’s the first shot she took, and I am cheesing hard at the camera while Jack Frost looks down at me with utter shock. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen someone look more uncomfortable. I start laughing, hard and loud, letting the fatigue, embarrassment, and irritation take over my vocal cords.
“Bloody hilarious, isn’t it?” Trina asks.
“Holy crap, it’s our entire relationship, and this trip, caught in a rectangle. I can’t look away!” I walk with her down the street, Farrah hovering as well. Emerson is ahead of us, well on his way to the restaurant already.
Over dinner, the girls and I talk and talk and talk, and Emerson listens, nods, and listens. Farrah tries to ask him about his family, but he shuts her down. He’s not rude, but he’s also not subtle. I recover for him with questions about London and Farrah’s sisters and gaggle of nieces and nephews.
Trina insists I let her and her cousins take me out on the town one of the nights we’re here. I promise to try to make it happen, and I mean it. It sounds like everything I need, just on a different night, after I’ve adjusted to the time change. We happily exchange hugs and cell phone numbers before I climb into Charlie’s car behind Emerson.
“Well, I thought today wassmashing, Mr. Clark, don’t you agree?” He’s holding his head with his eyes closed. “Well, Charlie, lemme tell you, it was. It was smashing. Much better than yesterday. The stores are in better shape, our franchisees loved us, including Mr. Clark and his spreadsheets, I was actually awake the whole time, and I think Trina is pretty awesome. That’s our franchisee’s daughter—she said she’d take me out on the town. Isn’t that great!”
“Very good, Miss Samantha,” Charlie’s voice is soft as he peers out from under his chauffeur hat.
“I know. It’ll be so great to have a friend for this trip. I mean, other than you, Charlie, of course.”
“And Mr. Clark.” Charlie eyes us sheepishly, and his full cheeks turn pink.
I look over at the potential friend in question. “Um, are you all right? Headache?”
He nods.
I whisper loudly to Charlie, “Kill the music for ourfriend.” Charlie nods. The rest of the drive, I stay mostly quiet, only talking softly to Charlie here and there.
At the hotel, Emerson and I practically stumble our way up to the suite, jet lag catching up with our limbs. He waves his hand wordlessly on his way to his room.
“Wait!” I say.
His body seems to crumple in response.
“No talking, I promise,” I say softly. “I just wanted to tell you peppermint or lavender tea helps with headaches. We have both.” His brows raise. “I can make some—it’ll take two seconds.”
