Page 59 of Michael: The Hawthornes

Chapter 7

Emilia

Mick let outa harsh laugh and shook his head, then reached up and smoothed his hair back with both hands.

“I’m not sure what you want me to tell you,” he said tiredly. “Everyone’s been more than nice to you since you showed up out of the blue. My guess? They’ll keep bein’ nice to you.”

“Sorry my nervousness is bothering you,” I replied, turning toward my sandwich. My stomach rolled, but I forced myself to take a bite anyway. I had a hard time eating when I was anxious or stressed. The physical manifestation was always nausea and lack of appetite, but I knew I had to force something down.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Emilia,” Mick said to my back. “You made decisions, and now you’re feelin’, what, embarrassed? Ashamed? I can’t help ya with that.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” I replied, forcing another bite into my mouth.

“Seems like you’re tryin’ to get me to reassure you.”

“I’m not trying to get you to do anything,” I snapped, setting the sandwich back down.

The day had been such a roller coaster of emotions I felt like I was going to get whiplash. Fear, anxiety, nostalgia, sexual tension and release, anxiety again, it was all too much. I’d felt calm, almost relaxed, at his parents’ house, sitting in the living room with Heather, Michael, and Rhett. But before and after that, I’d felt like I was going to come out of my skin. Nothing was helping.

Michael had been my safe place and sounding board my entire childhood, but he wasn’t anymore. I hated that I could no longer read him. It was like all of the youthful exuberance he’d had when we were younger had completely disappeared. He was calm, almost unnaturally so, all the time. Even when I knew he should be angry and frustrated—those would be normal reactions—he didn’t show any of that. He was both a stranger and someone I knew on a cellular level. It was confusing and exhausting trying to figure it all out.

“I’m sure we’ll have a good time at your grandparents’,” I said, walking the uneaten food to the trash. “I’m going to go upstairs and change.”

“Emilia,” he called as I walked toward the stairs. “What the hell?”

“What?” I turned to look at him.

“You just made that and threw it away?” he asked, coming toward me.

“I guess I wasn’t that hungry.”

“Bullshit,” he replied. “What the hell is going on?”

“I really want to get out of these damp clothes,” I said, pulling at the neck of my sweatshirt.

“This why you’re so skinny?” he asked, coming closer. “You just don’t eat?”

“I eat.”

“Really? ’Cause you’ve barely touched your food since you got here.”

“I ate at your parents’ house last night.”

“Barely.”

“Are we really arguing about what I eat?” I asked in frustration. “Because this is ridiculous.”

“Fine,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “Eat or don’t eat. Do what you want.”

“I’m going to change and lie down with Rhett,” I replied tiredly. “We’ll be down in plenty of time to go to your grandparents’.”

“Sounds good,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

As I dragged myself up the stairs, exhaustion hit me like a freight train. It had been such an intense couple of days it felt like I hadn’t had even a minute to relax. Every muscle in my body was tight with tension, my mind always racing a million miles per hour.

Instead of just changing my clothes, I opted for a shower in Michael’s fancy guest bathroom. The hot water felt fantastic on my sore muscles, and I finally felt warm after our little interlude in the rain. Within fifteen minutes, I was curled up next to Rhett, completely passed out.

“Mama, dinner,” Rhettwhispered, his lips so close to my ear that I could feel the tickle of his breath.

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