If We Lived Here (25 page)

“I was happy to help.” And just like that, Emma revised her memory of standing by as maid of honor fuming to standing by feeling thrilled for her friend. “More drinks?”

“I’ll help you,” Annie said. In the kitchen she measured out the juices and grenadine into four glasses, and then Emma began splashing them with rum. When she reached the fourth glass, Annie held a hand over it. Emma gave her a puzzled look.

“So I went to the doctor like you insisted,” Annie said, her eyes going glassy with tears, and Emma knew right away what was coming. Her stomach was already swishy with drink and nerves about the storm, but the understanding of what was about to be revealed hit Emma’s gut like a whirlpool. “I’m pregnant.”

Emma clutched at Annie and hooked her chin over her friend’s shoulder. It was a gut reaction that seemed appropriate no matter what Annie’s state of mind. Plus, it conveniently hid Emma’s panic. Her mind hummed in shock, and whatever expression she wore, she was sure she wouldn’t have been able to mask it.

Emma felt Annie trembling against her. What was her friend thinking? she wondered. They’d never even talked about pregnancy, motherhood, the whole shebang—at least, not in any serious way. She considered how impossible it was that Annie’s stomach, pressed against her own, was now home to a tiny growing creature, a speck of a future person now literally coming between them; the last thought barely flickered in her consciousness before Emma banished it. Of course she’d already partly known, and so had Annie—Annie, who was usually a total hypochondriac, running to the doctor at the slightest sign of a cough, and who’d been so flippant about her imagined African parasite. Annie, who was a pro at anything she put her mind to, in this case denial.

“I’m so sorry, Ems.” Annie was now crying.

“
Sorry?
What do you mean, sorry?”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was so scared, and . . . I don’t know.”

“Shh.” Emma stroked her friend’s curls. “So was this, um, planned?”

Annie shrugged. “Eli was pushing for it even before we got married, and I knew it took my mom more than a year to get pregnant with me. So I figured it wouldn’t happen right away. I mean, we were sleeping in tents in Africa, un-showered, and wearing pleated khakis, for God’s sake—we only had sex, like, twice.” She nuzzled her head back into Emma’s neck. “Ems, I’m not ready for this. I’m completely terrified.”

“Hey, I’m sure everyone’s scared when they first get pregnant. You’ll be a great mom.” She stared at Annie’s stomach; the Tin Man smiled stupidly back at her. Together she and Annie had spent the better part of two decades doing crunches and planks and a hundred other trendy workouts with the goal of attaining flat abs; now Annie’s stomach would go a different direction, growing and distending to create new life.

“Please don’t tell Nick, okay? Eli doesn’t know I’m telling you. He wants to wait until twelve weeks to share the news, but I can’t keep a secret from you or my mom.”

“Of course.” Emma framed Annie’s face with her hands. “And listen, as soon as you pop that thing out, we’ll get the guys to babysit and you and I will go out on the town for a big old glass of wine, same as always.”

 

Emma barely paid attention to
The Ice Storm.
She couldn’t help thinking how her friendship with Annie was now stamped with an expiration date. They’d still hang out once Annie became a mom, but it wouldn’t be at all the same.

By midnight the rain had started up, and Eli suggested they strap on boots and go for a walk. “We might be stuck inside for who knows how long.” Emma wasn’t in the mood, so she stayed behind, carrying Annie’s laptop into the guest room. Sprawled out on the bed, she was intent on visiting celebrity gossip sites and turning off her brain.

Emma quickly tired of the vapid news bytes, and logged onto her e-mail. Her brother had written detailing the predicted storm damage in her neighborhood and asking if she was okay and whether she’d evacuated; Emma replied that she and Nick were safe and bunking at Annie’s. She jotted off a similar note to her parents. In her work in-box, among the Helli cancelations, Emma was surprised to see a message from Dylan York; after he’d fled in fury from her office the previous week she’d assumed she’d never hear from him again. The subject line was
Suck it!
and the e-mail’s body featured only a photo of Dylan’s fist, middle finger raised, in front of an application to what Emma assumed was Columbia. “Oy vey.” She clicked Delete. A note from Sophia invited Emma and her “beau” to come stay with her on higher ground for the hurricane; also, she wrote, she was halfway through her application to the University of Madrid program, Emma’s dad was hilarious, and she was looking forward to meeting him in person. Emma considered replying that she was cabbing up to Sophia’s place stat, but then she reminded herself that the girl was a client, not a friend.

What happened next was one of those things that seemed insignificant at the time, almost laughably so in retrospect. Yet, that small moment, a single click, would set in motion a series of revelations, which would each etch themselves permanently into Emma’s mind. It must have been a preference setting, the cartoon red flag that popped up on Annie’s computer dashboard. Emma didn’t think of herself as a snoop. When she’d heard stories of girls ransacking boyfriends’ pants pockets or browser histories, she’d always felt shocked and a little disgusted, like where was the trust, and why would you want to expose yourself to every little thing about your partner anyway? But when the flag began waving and then flashing from the bottom of the screen, Emma couldn’t help but click. Up sprang Annie’s e-mail, the first subject line practically shouting:
We’re pregnant!!!
The message was to Annie’s mother. With little hesitation, Emma opened it.

Emma was paralyzed. The exclamation points danced before her eyes. Maybe Annie was playing up her excitement for her mom’s benefit. Even still, there was no denying that Annie had been faking it earlier, putting on an act about how distressed she was just to make Emma feel better, her poor, pathetic, unmarried and childless friend. Emma wanted to crumple up from sadness. In their decades of friendship, she’d never known her best friend to lie to her. Also she was furious. How childish for Annie to pull this kind of stunt—and if it hadn’t been for Emma, she never would’ve gone to the doctor in the first place! If she couldn’t even take care of herself, how was she going to care for an infant? Sure, she could throw some brilliant baby shower with the perfect appetizers and the best party games, but what about when it came to actually bearing responsibility for a human life? The diaper changing and the middle-of-the-night feedings? Knowing Annie, she’d probably just farm it all out to some high-end nanny—probably a couple of them—and of course she could, thanks to Eli’s bottomless bank account.

Emma was still stewing in a swamp of anger and self-pity when she heard the faint chime of a text on Nick’s phone—he must’ve forgotten it, or maybe he’d left it behind, hoping to preserve its battery life. Thinking back on the moment, Emma wasn’t clear about her state of mind or motivations: Had she been worried about the hurricane and the possibility of an emergency, of someone needing to get in touch? Or, reeling with hurt and mistrust over Annie’s e-mail, did she feel entitled to invade her boyfriend’s privacy, to check up on his loyalty, too? Or, had she simply
not
been thinking and acted on impulse? It was a hard thing to piece together and pinpoint in retrospect. In any case, in fewer than ten seconds Emma had swiped open Nick’s phone and read the text:
I hope you & Emma are OK. I’m scared up here. Wish I had company
;) The sender tag read,
Genevieve.

Emma stared in a stupor, blinking at the screen. After a while the message became gibberish, a pile-up of letters in haphazard order, plus that moronic emoji. She didn’t even know Nick had Gen’s number.

After one minute or ten, it occurred to Emma to scroll up. She was more curious than angry—there must’ve been an innocent explanation, since surely if her friend were coming on to her boyfriend via text message she wouldn’t have included Emma’s own name a mere sentence away from her flirtation. Then, in reverse order, Emma found herself uncovering what had apparently been an ongoing conversation. First, another stupid wink from Genevieve. This was a relief—although it revealed a side of her friend that Emma didn’t know existed. (Gen never would’ve communicated to her in smiley faces.) Emma figured Nick would find it ridiculous, too. But the previous message, this one from Nick, made Emma newly nervous:
Of course. Lips sealed.
Before that, from Gen,
But totally a mistake. Pleeeease don’t tell Emma. No need to hurt her.
Emma felt her lungs contract; she was having trouble getting breath through. From Nick, one of those emojis of a kissy pout.
This, from the Nick she knew?
Emma began panicking, scrolling up with a numb thumb. Gen:
Although it was fun . . .
Nick:
Forgotten. (Even your honey lips.)
This stabbed at Emma. She pressed together her own lips, bare and chapped, taking in the cheesiness she couldn’t imagine her boyfriend capable of. It seemed a mercy that there was only one more missive, this one from Gen:
I’m so sorry about today, no idea what I was thinking. Let’s forget it ever happened.

Rain pounded like fists against the windows, and Emma felt suddenly unsafe. She yearned to flee, to dash out of the building and into the fresh-aired storm, to run free into the night, far from her loved ones’ deceit, and from her own fear.

But she didn’t. Instead, she stayed very still, moving not a muscle, feeling her feet on the ground to reassure herself that it was still there beneath her. It was the weak part of her winning out, the part that insisted on staying dry and warm, in a familiar place, and close to the people she knew and loved best, however vile and deceptive she’d just discovered them to be. So although Emma felt as if the storm had already ripped through the walls and swept her up in a ferocious gust, that the wild wind was now inside of her, whipping through her veins and blowing apart everything she’d known mere minutes ago, there she sat on the edge of the bed, quiet and still and perfectly postured. Someone happening upon her at that moment might have believed her to be at peace.

Chapter
25

E
mma was still sitting in a stupor, head roaring with wind and not much else, when she heard the front door creak open. “Yoo-hoo, Ems, where are you? We found an open deli and we got your favorite—Swedish Fish!”

“In the guest room,” she called out, trying to sound casual and despising herself for it. “Just a minute.”

“Hey.” Annie appeared in the doorway.

“Hey.” Emma was pathetic, she knew, feeling as though she had to act breezy—why?—because giving in to her true feelings, all the rage and turmoil, felt too dangerous and unwieldy, because expressing these things would make her look like a fool. “I’m just answering some e-mail.”

“Cool. It’s like the surface of the moon out there, totally deserted. It’s really creepy. So, are you up for another movie?
The Day After Tomorrow
’s on demand.”

“Nah, I think I’ll turn in for the night. I’m exhausted.”

“Okay. Love you, Ems.”
Yeah, right.

“You too. Good night.” Emma felt her insides crinkle.

Perhaps even more pathetically, when Nick slid into bed beside her, to him Emma feigned sleep, while to herself she pretended that everything was just as it had been. The rain struck like a machine gun against the glass and the wind howled like a tortured animal. The part of Emma that she deemed her common sense understood that the only way to survive the night was to push from her mind all that she’d discovered, to instead focus on how nice it was to lie skin to skin against her boyfriend, to feel his chest pressed into her back and his arms around her waist as permission to slip into a deep sleep.

 

There was no question of going outside the next day. The four of them were housebound, watching the whipping wind and rain through fogged windows, listening to the disaster coverage on the radio, and sipping mimosas. Annie made a show of declaring the champagne delicious, which at this point was only for Nick’s sake; with great restraint Emma resisted rolling her eyes, and instead kept topping off her drink.

Never in her life had Emma felt more anxious. There was the storm news—the power had already gone out in parts of Brooklyn, including Red Hook, where trees were down and streets were fast flooding—plus the Annie news, and of course the news of whatever the hell had happened or maybe was still happening between Nick and Gen. Emma had done all she could to avoid the storm, camping out in this apartment on the twenty-sixth floor, and now she tried to avoid her boyfriend and friend, too, sequestering herself in the guest room supposedly to work, then offering to make lunch when the rest of them hit up the building’s gym. While she spread eight pieces of spelt bread with some kind of designer Dijon, Emma spun scenarios in her head—Nick and Gen had been sleeping together for years, laughing at Emma’s naïveté during their steamy trysts; or they’d only recently realized their deep love for each other and, pitying Emma, were trying to find a gentle way to let her down; or Nick, desperate to escape buzz-kill Emma who was forcing him into cohabitation, had run into the arms of fun-loving Gen for relief and commiseration, and now was plotting how to weasel his way out of their new lease.

When this line of thought became too overwhelming, Emma moved on to Annie. She conjured up every stereotype of new moms, picturing Annie’s designer purses replaced by diaper bags spilling forth with rattles and pacifiers and picture books, her Insanity workouts replaced by Mommy and Me Yoga, the silly romance novels she read and then related to Emma plot point by steamy plot point replaced by how-to books on babies and breastfeeding. What would the two of them talk about? How would they relate? Would Emma, too, get replaced by Annie’s new mom friends?

Finishing the sandwich prep but feeling too troubled to eat one, Emma retreated back to the guest room. Eventually Nick appeared in the doorframe. “Knock, knock,” he said. “We’re starting Monopoly. I saved the iron for you.”

“I think I’ll sit this one out.”

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“I know this is a scary situation, but we’re safe here. You were right to make us evacuate. And even if we can’t go home for a few days—”

“It’s not the storm.” As soon as she said it water began pooling in her eyes. Nick sat down next to her and Emma couldn’t help nuzzling into him. (God, she was pitiful.) So she chose the easier thing to say: “Annie’s pregnant.” She no longer cared about her friend’s request to keep the news under wraps.

“Wait, seriously? Hasn’t she been drinking the whole time we’ve been here?”

“Drinks minus the booze, yes. Virgin.” The word “virgin” in relation to Annie made Emma scoff.

“Oh.” Nick looked like he was trying to gauge Emma’s reaction; Emma wondered if he feared she’d launch into a tearful speech about her ticking biological clock. It wasn’t that this hadn’t occurred to her, but there were a dozen more pressing things on her mind.

She clarified her upset: “I’m worried for our friendship. Within basically a year Annie will have changed from my fun single best friend to someone who’s totally settled down, married with a kid. Maybe that sounds selfish.”

Nick shook his head. “Hey, do you seriously think a baby has the power to break what you and Annie have? When we were living here, do you know how many times I walked in on the two of you having what I thought were choking fits, only to realize you were actually hysterical with laughter? Do you realize what most people would give for a friendship like that? Most of us are stuck with the likes of Carl for friends.” At this Emma laughed. “You and Annie are bonded for life. God, Em, pretty much the only thing Eli and I have in common is that we’ve both been trying to worm our way into your and Annie’s number-one spots for years, to no avail. And if
we
can’t do it, what chance does a baby have? A newborn’s like eight pounds and can’t even roll over.”

What he was saying was mostly bullshit, especially considering all Emma had recently discovered, but it made her feel better nonetheless. “How about you take a break from pouting and come play Monopoly,” he said. “I know you love being the iron, hiding your sneaky little self behind properties to dodge the rent.”
Sneaky little self—
the words pricked at Emma. “Come on, play with us.”

She felt incapable of making a decision, so she let Nick pull her up. “Oh, and the pregnancy’s a secret,” she said.

“Lips sealed.”
Lips sealed. Your honey lips.

“Oh God.” Emma bolted from the room to the toilet, where she proceeded to cough up the contents of her stomach—all that pulpy champagne. Nick was behind her then, stroking her back, at which point it would’ve been easy to reveal what she knew. Instead, she heard her rationalization: “Too many mimosas.” For the rest of the afternoon, she let herself be the target of the group’s jokes about her daytime drinking problem, and how she was too much of a lightweight to hold her fancy brunch bubbly.

 

Through a daze Emma ferried her iron around the Monopoly board, landing on others’ properties and paying a steady stream of rent, somehow never getting it together to buy up her own places. Just as Eli was about to clean them all out, the lights flickered, they heard a whining sound and then a pop, and they were thrown into darkness. Annie squealed and grabbed Emma’s hand, and then all was silent—no hum of electronics or pedestrian noise from the street; for a moment even the wind stilled.

They lit candles and gathered around the crank radio to hear the news: A ConEd power station at Fourteenth Street had exploded, leaving nearly all of Manhattan below Forty-second Street in the dark. Most of Alphabet City was flooded. So was the NYU Hospital, and since backup generators had failed, patients were being evacuated to other area hospitals, although those weren’t in much better shape. These devastating facts were followed by on-the-street interviews, which Emma mostly tuned out—that is until the reporter introduced an artist from Red Hook, whose studio had already been ruined. “The water started off as a trickle,” the woman shouted; you could barely hear her over the sound of rushing rain. “But then it burst in through my windows, like some kind of power hose, dousing all of my paintings. It kept coming and coming, filling the studio. I had to wade through a foot of water to get out. Now I’m just trying to save myself, walking north until I can find a cab or someone willing to give me a lift.”

“Let’s turn that off,” said Nick. “Come on, it’s late anyway. How about bed?”

That night she and Nick had desperate sex. As Emma slammed her body into her boyfriend’s, fueled by fear and rage and anxiety, she imagined that the pounding rain outside was moving through her, the wind slapping at her skin and knotting her hair. So powerfully did she feel connected to the storm that she fully expected with her own release would come one final flash of light, one concluding crack of thunder, and then a petering out of the rain. But the elements pounded on long after Emma and Nick had finished, long after Nick had fallen into sleep. Emma stayed alert, listening. The water and wind, relentless against the windows, were oblivious to the two of them inside Annie’s guest room twenty-six floors up from street level, just a couple of the probably hundred thousand people in Lower Manhattan holed up at home in darkness.

 

At some point she must’ve drifted off, because Emma awoke with a bolt, eyes swollen and cheeks wet with tears. Her sobs woke Nick, and before she could reconsider, she blurted out, “I know about you and Genevieve.”

In a flash Nick’s expression morphed from fuzzy with sleep to wide-awake and miserable. Even in her anguish, Emma was relieved to see he wasn’t going to deny it. “Oh, Emma, I was such an idiot.” He sputtered out everything she realized she’d been desperate to hear—the apologies, the I love you’s, the fact that it was one time and that it had been little more than a kiss. Emma believed every word. She had to. “Considering you and me and everything we’ve done and built and have, that one stupid moment hardly registers,” Nick said, his forehead scrunched up like a shar-pei dog’s. “What I mean is, it didn’t mean anything. Gah! I don’t know how to say this stuff without sounding like a soap opera. But I’m being sincere, I promise.” This made Emma smile despite herself; it was so rare for Nick to be tongue-tied. “Listen, if you want we can talk all night about it. Or I’ll shut up immediately.”

“Let’s not talk,” Emma quickly responded. As much as part of her wanted a play-by-play, a script of all that had happened along with Nick’s internal monologue, another part knew that would be the worst thing to hear. Also, Emma was exhausted. Nick nodded, and she could see he was hesitant to touch her. Emma didn’t feel better exactly, but she no longer felt like she was plummeting into a bottomless pit. She felt about like she did after Nick said he’d help her with her taxes but then spent the afternoon smoking pot and playing video games, or when he hinted that going vegetarian might be a good way for her to lose that layer of belly fat; she was angry, yes, but she wasn’t doubting the very foundations of their relationship.

Without her asking, Nick took his pillow to the floor. Emma harmonized her breathing with his, inhaling when he exhaled and vice versa, and in this way she tricked herself back to sleep.

 

The second time Emma awoke shivering, she saw that the sky was glimmering with a thin light, so she wrapped herself in a blanket and went to the window. The rain had stopped, but water was swishing through the streets. No one was out. Every window was dark. Emma switched on her phone, and scanned the news and her e-mail: The city’s power would likely be down for a week or more, and schools would stay closed through Friday. Her boss, Quinn, wrote that
1, 2, 3 . . . Ivies!
was out of commission until further notice, and her mother had sent a one-liner:
Stay dry and warm! XO.
Genevieve had texted Emma a selfie from her bed, surrounded by stuffed animals, along with the message,
My cuddle buddies during the storm!
Emma winced, and jotted off a reply:
Screw you! The way to get a guy is NOT by stealing mine!
She quickly deleted it. She sat there trembling, thumb poised over keypad, but before she could come up with an alternative, she noticed her phone had just 10 percent left of its juice. Relieved, she powered it down.

Emma climbed back into bed, still shivering. Nick, a potential source of body heat, was still on the floor. Eventually she pulled him back up under the covers.

“Hi,” he said, hesitant.

“Hi.” She pressed her chilled feet into his shins; he didn’t even flinch.

“You know,” he said at last “when I was laid out after my injury, I finally got around to reading that favorite book of yours.”

“
The House of Mirth
?”

He nodded, and Emma was torn between declaring that sweet—Nick usually liked modern sci-fi, not century-old novels of manners—and saying something cutting like,
That’s not all you got around to.
Instead, she said nothing.

“You’ve talked about the main guy, that Selden dude, as some kind of romantic hero, as Lily’s great love interest who got away.” Emma shrugged her assent, then waited curiously. “Well, I think he’s an asshole.”

“What do you mean? Selden is the only character with any ethics, the only one who’s not willing to give up his principles for riches or popularity in that small-minded society. He refuses to play their petty games.” Emma was indignant; it actually felt good to get worked up about a fictional character and fictional events.

“Yeah, but only because he can get away with it. Because he’s a guy. He’s so judgy of your girl Lily for trying to trade her looks for a marriage proposal and security, but it’s different for her. Unlike a man, a woman in that world can’t stay single and still be accepted. She can’t just live alone with her high moral code.”

“Fair point,” Emma said, “but Selden is always trying to save Lily from those silly societal values.”