Chapter 12

twelve

Weird.

It was the only word Emma could properly think of to describe this evening.

So, so weird .

From the literal moment that Kimberly pulled the front door open when she and Regan were halfway up the winding walkway.

Her mom was dressed in a satin cocktail dress, and she waved at them exuberantly as she wore the widest smile. "Look at you two!"

"I thought you said my cocktail dress wasn't appropriate tonight?" Regan whispered to her, laughter in her voice, as she squeezed Emma's hand.

And it was that hand squeeze – warm, firm, coaxing – that kept Emma going. One foot in front of the other into the belly of the beast, so-to-speak.

"Oh, my Emma Bo Bemma," Kimberly murmured. She hugged Emma as soon as she and Regan were on the porch, her arms bracketing Emma tightly. And she felt the way she always did when her mom hugged her – comforted yet deeply uncertain at the same time. A very disconcerting feeling.

She pulled back from their hug.

"Look at you!" Kimberly reached out and ran her fingers lightly over the collar of Emma's shirt, then over the cotton fabric of the shoulders. "So sharp."

"I thought the same thing," Regan cut in from beside her, immediately snagging her mom's attention.

"And Regan, just as cute as the last time I saw you." Kimberly blessedly released Emma entirely and moved to pull Regan against her.

And Regan shot her a wink over her mom's shoulder, which, bafflingly, loosened the knots in Emma's stomach.

Regan let Kimberly hug her for entirely too long to be normal, and Emma's stomach churned again, wondering… was this how long her mom wished she could have hugged her for? Only she knew Emma wouldn't have liked it?

"Mom, you have to, like, let her breathe." A voice commented from a few feet back.

Kimberly laughed as she pulled away from Regan, and all three of them looked toward the doorway.

And there they were.

Eva, Everly, and Ted, completing the perfect family that fit into this perfect home.

Emma wished she could disappear into the manicured hedges.

Kimberly clasped her hands as she stood in the gap between Emma-and-Regan and everyone else. "Regan, these are Emma's sisters. Eva." She pointed at the frowning preteen – at Emma's sister – that had made the snarky comment, then at the younger, grinning girl. "And Everly."

It always took Emma aback, seeing both Eva and Everly. Seeing these girls that looked like her – at least a little. Emma got her height and her build from her unknown father's side of the family, but she shared the same features as these girls. It never failed to serve as a jarring feeling.

"And this is Ted, my husband," she finished, taking a few steps toward the doorway before she paused and looked unsure if she should continue closing the distance to stand with her actual family or stand in the middle.

"Everyone, this is Regan, Emma's partner ," she stressed the word, throwing a proudly beaming smile in Emma's direction.

And she found herself smiling back, even though the movement felt awkward.

She never knew how to do this. How to greet her… family? These girls shared half of her DNA. When Emma looked at their little faces, she saw herself. And yet, she didn't know what to do with that fact. She didn't know what they thought when they saw her, either. She couldn't imagine they loved her; they barely knew her.

"Uh, hey, everyone. It's nice to see you again." Emma offered a wave.

Was that stupid? She felt stupid. And she felt annoyed at feeling stupid.

Regan stepped in closer to her, their sides brushing firmly together as she smiled that bright, brilliant, breathtaking smile. And it wasn't awkward or stilted looking at all, as she easily greeted, "Oh my god , you all look so much like Emma!" She looked back at Emma briefly before leaning in toward the doorway. "The crazy blue eyes, those cheekbones. That's amazing." She paused, tilting her head toward Ted. "Except for you; you don't have the striking family features. But I think it's a good thing that you don't resemble your wife!"

She laughed, then, and Emma wondered if making a joke about… incest? Should be normal or funny when first meeting someone, but for some Regan-reason, it worked. She found her own smile melting into one that felt natural as Ted – serious, quiet Ted – laughed as well.

"You guys took forever to walk up here," Eva cut in, not laughing or smiling.

Instead, she arched a blonde eyebrow up at Emma. Eva was different from the last time Emma had seen her – naturally older, as it had been… two years? Yeah, almost two years since Kimberly had brought the girls on a visit up to New York. The last time she'd seen her sisters, Eva had been ten and curious, asking Emma a million questions about her life. Emma answered as readily and honestly as she could, figuring that the best way to handle the conversation was to act the way she would if Eva were a kid she was babysitting, which had been her main gig throughout high school and into undergrad.

But she seemed more serious right now, more direct. Direct enough for Emma to know that she was no longer the same curious kid she could talk to as a babysitter.

"What, were you watching us?" Regan asked teasingly.

"Yeah, mom's been staring out the window for like an hour!" Everly added, giggling.

Emma could easily imagine her mother pacing. Likely wondering if Emma was even going to come or if she'd get a text that excused her and Regan's absence at the last minute. She knew, as she scanned her gaze over everyone else's expressions – well, everyone over that age of ten – that they all knew that to be true, too.

Kimberly's lips twitched into a forced smile, but before she could speak, Regan was already chatting, "Well, this house is absolutely gorgeous." She used the hand not holding onto Emma's to gesticulate dramatically around them. "Honestly, I needed Emma – Miss Punctual over here – to allow me to take a minute and marvel at it. The front gardens are really incredible; do you upkeep them, Kimberly?"

"She does," Ted asserted. Well, as much as Ted ever asserted in his heartily soft-spoken voice.

Her mom flushed as she waved her hand in front of her. "It's not a big deal. The last owners left very detailed instructions on maintaining the grounds when we moved."

"Trust me, it's a big deal," Regan doubled down with a serious nod.

"Do you garden?" Kimberly appeared as though having a shared interest with Regan was a dream come true.

Regan made a pfft sound. "Not really. I mean, you saw our apartment; we don't really have a yard."

Emma frowned and shook her head as she looked at Regan. "No, wait. You do have a ton of plants."

There were a handful of plants artfully arranged in the living room, near the bay windows, that were always lush and thriving. On top of that, Emma had seen earlier tonight that Regan's room held several more plants.

There were a variety – a couple of hanging ones, a large potted standing plant, one on her desk – but they were all plush and green and had made Regan's room look so… fresh. Alive. Inviting.

She'd never been in there before Regan called for her earlier, insisting she needed help choosing an outfit. After all, she granted Regan the same privacy she'd like to be afforded. She'd imagined that Regan's room would be a little chaotic, much like the woman herself.

But she'd been pleasantly surprised.

No, it wasn't as organized as Emma's own space was. But it fit her large bed, desk, dresser, and plants with some extra space to spare. It was bigger than Emma's room was, which she'd found surprising – because that meant that between Regan and Sutton, Regan had the larger room – but it felt cozy. There were a litany of knick-knacks, which she'd expected from Regan, but from what she'd taken note of, it wasn't insanity incarnate.

Granted, she hadn't studied anything too closely.

Not when Regan had stood only feet away from her in that lingerie. Looking absolutely, ridiculously sexy.

It didn't shock her that Regan was so forward, so unassuming about herself. It shouldn't have shocked her that Regan would summon her while looking like… well, like an underwear model, not an ounce of shame in her body.

And, honestly, Regan had nothing to be ashamed of.

Emma knew that Regan Gallagher was beautiful; she had eyes. Emma even knew that she was attracted to Regan; she wasn't delusional.

But it was one thing to know those things to be true, and another entirely to be faced with the most attractive woman she knew, who happened to be her roommate, who also just so happened to be worming her way right through all of Emma's tried-and-true armor, wearing basically nothing.

She could feel herself blush as Regan smiled up at her. Even though she was doing exactly as she'd promised and acting as a world-class buffer, the look in her eyes was nothing short of genuine.

"I do love my plants," Regan confirmed, tilting her head slightly up at Emma before she turned her attention back to Kimberly.

Emma was able to take a real, deep breath again as alarm bells – ones that had nothing to do with Kimberly or her sisters – rang in the back of her mind.

"But it's not the same thing as keeping up this kind of yard."

"I think keeping your plants thriving when you live in an apartment in the city is even more impressive," Kimberly readily disagreed.

"I think you said that dinner was supposed to be ready in ten minutes, fifteen minutes ago," Eva cut in, obviously bored by the conversation about greenery.

Kimberly's eyes widened. "You're right, honey!" She clapped her hands together. "Let's head in. I'll give you a tour before we settle at the table."

Emma let out her first easy breath since they'd arrived once her mom's back was turned to them.

"Anything you need me to change? I can be adaptable," Regan whispered, dark eyes staring into her own.

Looking down at Regan, Emma took comfort in the sincere look she wore, and she was already shaking her head before she realized it. "No. Please, keep doing what you're doing."

She was certain she was going to need it.

Yes. Weird was the most fitting word.

Getting a tour of the three-thousand square foot home her mom now lived in with her husband and two children was weird. Weird being told that there was a guest room upstairs that Kimberly would just love for Emma and Regan to stay in sometime.

It was weird to be on the receiving end of so many dirty looks and snarky remarks from Eva.

It was weird to be seated across from Everly, who bounced in her chair and looked at Emma like she was a celebrity.

She supposed the only thing that wasn't weird was Ted. As his mostly silent presence was the same as she'd remembered since meeting him as a teenager.

And it was the weirdest thing was that the biggest comfort she had was having Regan by her side.

Never in a million fucking years would she have thought that Regan Gallagher would be her savior, especially not when it came to Kimberly, but… she was living in proof of it.

Regan kept up conversation with Kimberly, asking about the food she'd cooked, about what it was like living in Miami. She talked about dance trends and a popular children's show – something Emma had never even heard of – with Everly. She'd easily and brightly responded to every remark that Eva made.

Even as Eva had stared at them from across the table as they'd sat down and remarked, "You're still holding hands? It's been, like, forever." Her gaze had fallen defiantly to Emma. "What's that about?"

Emma had felt simultaneously like she wanted to laugh at the idea of a twelve-year-old trying to shame her and embarrassed at the fact that she was holding Regan's hand like a lifeline.

Rather than let go, though, as they pulled out their chairs with their free hands, Regan had made a point to flex her fingers around Emma's. The touch was firm and grounding, and Emma found herself holding tighter.

She'd never been a big hand-holder, not even when she'd been with Felicity, but the constant reminder that she wasn't alone tonight felt… it felt remarkably, insanely good .

"I just love to hold her hand," Regan had commented back, humming contentedly as she stroked her thumb over Emma's hand.

Emma felt herself shiver at it, the touch feeling like some sort of casual intimacy that she shouldn't have with Regan. But, at this moment, she did. And it was the least uncomfortable occurrence happening to her.

"Sometimes, holding someone's hand can feel so nice. Like second nature. It might be something you enjoy with your future partner," Regan had said, her voice so warm.

And it hadn't mattered to Emma that Regan's words were technically a lie. They'd felt true enough in the moment.

Regan even drew Ted out of his shell as she asked him about his job as a senior accountant at the firm he worked at. "I don't know much about numbers, but I do know that I once had to take a basic accounting class as part of the managerial program at the café, and it taught me that no matter where I end up in life – it won't be in finance."

Emma smiled at Regan's dramatic expression as she moved the food around her plate.

"You said you're a barista, right?" Kimberly leaned in with interest from where she sat at the head of the table. "Where, exactly, is that?"

"Topped Off. It's right near the NYU campus where most of Emma's classes were," Regan answered, tossing her a large, deliberately cheesy smile. "It's how we met."

"Ohhh, a meet cute?" The excitement in Kimberly's voice was palpable.

"Absolutely," Regan confirmed, heartily.

Emma couldn't stop herself from scoffing. "I don't know about that."

"I do," Regan defended, narrowing her eyes at Emma.

Emma held her ground. "A meet-cute is something charming ."

"It's a memorable, exciting first interaction," Regan argued, turning to face everyone else, who were staring with undeniably rapt attention. "I accidentally spilled coffee all over Emma's shirt–"

"Which she then proceeded to literally tear off of me," Emma cut in dryly, garnering laughter from around the table.

Being the cause of the laughter in that light moment made her feel strangely… proud, and she found herself sitting up straighter in her chair.

"Not all the way off," Regan attempted to reason. "I just had to open it to ensure she didn't get burned!"

"Liquid burns are no joke," Ted added with a firm nod.

Emma couldn't help the incredulous laugh that left her throat. "Oh my god!"

Regan's grin was sheer triumph as she tossed a look at Emma. "Thank you, Ted. I agree."

Emma stared back, a ridiculous smile working onto her face at Regan's self-righteous expression. A smile she could not get rid of, even as she explained herself, "There were dozens of people there, watching this happen."

" But , I promptly took her back to the break room and gave her my favorite sweatshirt to change into." Regan tsk ed at her, eyes gleaming with laughter. "You always forget that part."

"It is a very comfy sweatshirt," Emma admitted with a defeated sigh. That much, she would give Regan.

She didn't realize what exactly she'd said to make the sweet playfulness drop from Regan's expression, shifting to something that looked curious.

And she didn't have much time to think about it before Kimberly let out an aww . "That is a meet-cute! You don't really ever hear about people meeting in person like that too much these days."

"Um… yeah," Regan quietly agreed, still looking intently at Emma.

So intently, it made her stomach clench, not with nerves but with an… awareness.

Finally, Regan shook her head and looked back at Kimberly. "It's so true; not in the day and age of dating apps."

Eva cleared her throat. "Can I start clearing plates? I'm done… and it looks like Emma is, too."

Emma's attention – and everyone else's – went to her own plate. Where she'd been pushing around the same carrot in the beef stew Kimberly had made for a while.

"Did you not like it?" Kimberly asked. "I know it's summer, so this is a bit out of season, but I thought – well, I remembered that you always loved Gram's beef stew, and this is her recipe."

There it was again, that hopeful edge in her tone.

Emma had always loved her gram's beef stew, and Regan's effusive compliments toward Kimberly when they'd first sat down were true; it was delicious. At least, the few bites Emma had managed to take of it.

But she felt so uncomfortable, her stomach so tight, she hadn't been able to eat much at all.

"No, it's good. I'm just, um, I'm not super hungry tonight, I guess," she muttered.

"Maybe for dessert, then?" Kimberly asked, ever optimistic, as she looked between Emma and Regan. "I know it's a Saturday night, and you two probably have some other plans, but–"

"But every Saturday, we have dessert during family movie night," Everly eagerly interrupted, grinning widely. "It's my turn to pick the movie!"

"If you're able to stay?" Kimberly finished, focusing on Emma, her eyes bright.

Emma's stomach churned again, and she placed her fork down in her bowl, steadfastly avoiding her mom's gaze. "I actually need to use the bathroom. Excuse me."

She stood and blindly made her way from the dining room to the full bathroom down the hall, unable to take a breath until she had the door shut behind her.

God, why was this so hard ?

She sat down on the lip of the bathtub, dropping her head into her hands.

She shouldn't be surprised, right? Because this feeling had been exactly what she'd been trying to outrun by avoiding Kimberly for the last few months.

Even if she wasn't surprised, though, it was suffocating. It made her face feel too hot, and her chest feel too tight, and Emma squeezed her eyes closed against the sensations.

Panic arced through her when the door to the bathroom opened, and she snapped her head up. "Occupied. A little privacy, please."

If she couldn't get privacy in the bathroom, where could she?!

"Emma, if I have to try to find another bathroom in this house, I might get lost!" Regan whisper-shouted dramatically as she shut the door behind her. "Besides, next time you need privacy, you should make sure you hit the lock." As if to demonstrate, Regan did, indeed, lock the door.

Emma tried to summon some frustration. Really, she did.

But when she was faced with Regan and her gentle smile, Emma's guard was nowhere to be found. With Regan, she found herself… defenseless. She didn't need to be guarded from Regan. Not anymore – maybe not ever, she'd been learning – and definitely not here.

In this house, Regan was her biggest ally. And she had taken up that mantle as if Emma were paying her handsomely.

"I'll leave you alone." Regan's voice was surprisingly soft and soothing – a tone Emma had never heard from her before. "You've just been gone for almost ten minutes, and I… well, I got a little worried. I'm still a little worried, honestly."

Emma inhaled sharply. It had been ten minutes?!

She swallowed thickly, shaking her head. "I'm fine."

Across the bathroom, Regan leaned against the door, shooting her a disbelieving look. "Wow. I kind of thought you'd be a better liar than that."

Again, she wished she could summon up the energy to glare at Regan for the gently teasing tone.

"I'll be fine," she amended, her cheeks still feeling too warm.

"I'm sure you will be," Regan readily agreed. "But, as your girlfriend ," she added with a cheeky smile. One that – insanely – made the tightness in Emma's chest relax a little. "I think it's my job to make sure you're okay right now."

Emma closed her eyes again.

"I turned down family movie night, even though Everly seems quite distraught that we won't be here to watch the latest Pixar release. I cited that I promised to take you to the bookstore before they close so you can enjoy a relaxing Sunday tomorrow with a new read."

Emma felt Regan sit on the lip of the tub too-close next to her, her solid warmth feeling like an anchor.

"It's a good lie," she whispered, still keeping her eyes closed. "If you were my girlfriend, that would be a perfect way to end a bad night." She frowned, considering, "Or a good night. Any night, really."

Regan scoffed. "I know. I've seen the bookshelves in your room. You know those things are digitized now, right?" As she spoke, she dropped her hand to Emma's forearm, stroking up and down.

The shockingly calming sensation of Regan's touch, mixed with Emma's visceral internal reaction to that comment, had her opening her eyes. "A digital book doesn't come close to capturing the magic of physical one. You will never convince me."

"Hey, I'm not the person raking in money from e-readers." Regan held up her free hand defensively.

Emma merely sighed, leaning sideways against the cool tiled wall.

"Look, Emma. I know things – as you told me – are complicated here. And I'm not going to tell you that you should be grateful Kimberly wants to spend time with you or whatever because… your feelings, whatever they may be, are valid. But you're usually so straightforward. At least, you are with me," Regan added, a grin flashing over her face as she stroked her thumb over Emma's wrist.

"Because talking to you is a lot easier than talking to Kimberly," Emma retorted. At least, she'd meant to. But her words came out a lot softer than she'd intended.

What alternate universe had she found herself in, she wondered, as she stared at the woman next to her. Surely, something had to have torn in the fabric of time and space in the last few weeks, meaning she was here in her mom's house , taking comfort from Regan .

Regan's smile grew impossibly brighter. "I just think that maybe you can try to talk to her with half of the brutal honesty you've used with me? Things might get resolved – one way or the other – a lot… neater. Without you needing to hide in the bathroom like you're skipping third-period chemistry."

She wanted to tell Regan that her advice was a lot easier said than done.

But a much bigger part of her wanted to take Regan's advice. Wanted to lean into it. She desperately wanted to move beyond this limbo she was in with her mother. The one she had been in for months, maybe even years, though it had been much easier to avoid, before.

"All right." Regan sighed, slowly sliding her hand from Emma's arm. "I'll get back to it; a fake girlfriend's work is never done."

Her put-upon tone pulled a hoarse laugh from the back of Emma's throat.

Regan paused with her hand on the doorknob as she looked back at Emma. "You got this, Thom."

She stared at the spot Regan had been standing in for several long moments before clearing her throat and dragging her hands through her hair. If nothing else, Regan had already bought them a ticket out of there, and Emma held onto that as she let herself out of the bathroom.

As she quietly pulled the door closed behind her, her eyes latched onto the photos that lined the wall of the hallway.

She'd glimpsed them during her tour but hadn't looked too closely.

There were, perhaps, too many photos for it to look truly balanced or artistic or whatever interior designers aimed for. But all of them reflected the happy, grinning faces of the family that lived in this house.

The family that had movie nights together every Saturday. The family that had bickered, playfully, over how big of a pool was big enough to have in their new house after leaving Miami.

There were photos of her mom and Ted together, a whole smattering of Eva and Everly – individually and together. Birthday photos, school pictures, family photoshoots. So many pictures of her mom with her sisters, living their quintessential childhoods. Not in any way reflective of the childhood she'd experienced with their mother, nor had she been a part of it when this new family had been built.

Yeah, there was that sickening feeling again.

Everything inside of Emma froze as her eyes landed on a photo of herself. On… a few photos of her, actually, she realized as she looked closer.

The biggest, most prominent Emma photo was from her senior yearbook. Hair done up, posing as directed by the school photographer, a muted smile on her lips.

There she was at her eighth birthday, where Kimberly had surprised her by not only showing up but also lugging a box of beginner chapter books – Emma had been elated by both things.

There she was at her seventh-grade science fair. Kimberly had – again – shocked her by showing up. By twelve, Emma had learned not to expect her mom to make it to school events. And when she did, she knew her mom would show up – the only parent from Emma's grade that was still in her twenties – wearing bright, flashy clothing cut inappropriately short. Kimberly beamed in the photo, her arm slung over Emma's shoulders. At twelve, she'd been hitting her growth spurt, so she and Kimberly had been nearly the same height. She was smiling, but adult Emma could see the embarrassed, hurt strain starting to form underneath.

There was the selfie Emma had taken with her gram when she'd been accepted into NYU. At the very least, that one made her lips curl into the ghost of a smile. Gram's grin in the picture was as big as Emma's.

And then her smile froze in place. There she and Kimberly were, in the hospital after Kimberly had given birth to her. Emma couldn't recognize herself in the photo – to her untrained eye, she, Eva, and Everly all looked exactly the same in these freshly born pictures. But she knew this one was her because Kimberly was just so young compared to the other two.

She looked like… like a kid. Which she had been.

Emma had no idea when Kimberly had gotten all of these photos from Gram, but – obviously – she had, at some point over the years.

"Emma," Kimberly's voice startled her as she stood a few feet away, pausing at the other end of the hall. "I," she flicked her eyes to the photos Emma had clearly been staring at. "I, um, see that you've found the family photo wall."

"Yeah." Emma clasped her hands together, feeling distinctly like she'd been caught doing something wrong. "Sorry."

Kimberly nearly tripped over herself as she jumped forward. "No! No, please don't be sorry. It's okay – it's better than okay! You should look."

But Emma didn't want to look anymore. She wanted, more than anything, to leave. In fact, she wanted – startlingly – very badly for Regan to return to her side, for her to swoop in and save this conversation.

She didn't know how to hide her discomfort, and she knew Kimberly could feel it; it was oppressively strong. She hoped, futilely, that her mom would just let it go. That she would let Emma leave without another word.

Emma had never been that lucky.

"I know Regan said you two have plans. And it's really sweet of her to take you to the bookstore; you've always loved a new book." A wide, soft grin slid over Kimberly's face as she gestured without looking at the picture of her bringing Emma books for her birthday. "But – maybe you can stay for dessert? Just a little while longer? You don't have to stay for family movie night."

Not only could she hear her mother's hopeful tone, she could feel it, and it cut like a knife.

Unable to stop herself, she looked again at the slew of pictures on the wall. At the family that had family movie night every weekend.

"Sorry, but we can't stay," Emma's voice was rough as the words escaped her.

Because she wasn't a part of this family. Not in that way. It was a truth that stung when she was confronted by it so blatantly, but it was a truth nonetheless.

"I know you don't want to be here," Kimberly's voice was tight with sadness, disappointment, and a whole host of emotions that Emma didn't want to try to decipher.

Not when the shock of her mom's words was still rushing through her. She opened her mouth, unsure of what to say. Even though she knew she hadn't hidden her feelings – Regan was right; she'd never lied well – she'd never expected Kimberly to call her out on it.

Kimberly waved any possible comment away, her lips tugging into a small, unhappy smile. "You don't need to say anything; it's very clear. And I hate pushing you so much, I really do. Every time I call or text, it feels awful because I know you don't want to answer. But I can't stop," her mom confessed, taking in a trembling breath.

Emma's stomach tightened into the biggest, tightest knot of the night. It made her feel sick, but also made her feel like she wanted to cry. And she hated it, she hated every second that was crawling by.

"I just – I love you so much, Emma Bo Bemma. I know it might be hard for you to believe. But I do. I know you hate it when I call you that name, too, and I can't help it. Because I miss the days when I'd come to see you, and your little face would just light up. When you were so excited to see me, and you wanted me around." Her voice went reedy, "When you loved me, too. And I regret everything from back then. Every time I flaked out. Every time I didn't call. Every time I left."

Emma's throat was so tight with every word her mom spoke, she couldn't have possibly responded even if she wanted to. It was so tight, she struggled to simply breathe through it.

"I know our relationship is the way it is entirely because of me. But that's why I haven't been able to give up trying to get you over here for the last few months. I've had this hope that if you just… if you came here, if I could have you here with your sisters, as a family , it would feel right." There was a desperation in her words, which burrowed deep into Emma's chest. "Because it feels so right, to me."

"I thought – I hoped – that maybe it would feel right for you, too. Being here." She took a deep, shaking breath and lifted her wide, sad eyes to Emma's. "But I can see that it doesn't," she conceded, bowing her head with the words. As if just saying that she was going to give up pained her.

"I understand why you hate me, Emma." The tears brimming in her mom's eyes – the same blue as her own – spilled over in thick trails down her cheeks. "I wasn't a good mom to you, not even close to the mother you deserved. And I don't want you to resent me even more, so I… I'll back off."

Kimberly sniffled, reaching up to press her hand over her mouth, and Emma felt like her chest had been cracked open. It could no longer contain the tightness, the pain. The pain that she wished felt hollow, but it didn't; it would be easier if this pain were hollow.

It was so achingly full.

"I don't hate you," she managed to push out, trying her best to blink back her own tears. The backs of her eyes burned with them.

"You – you don't?" Kimberly asked, an undeniable hope in her voice as she searched Emma's face.

God, Emma wished she did. She couldn't say that. She couldn't summon that kind of cruelty. But this would be so much simpler if she hated Kimberly.

"I don't know how to feel around you," she confessed the truth in a whisper, dropping her gaze away from her mom's. It felt like it was far too much to handle. "Because I do… love you." The words nearly stuck in her throat, feeling so heavy . Saying them felt clunky and awkward, but also not wrong.

What Kimberly had said minutes ago was true – throughout her childhood, Emma had been utterly thrilled every time her mom returned home. Every time she'd taken Emma out for bagels, every time she'd surprised her by simply being there . But it got harder as the years went on. Then, the wall was built, solid and nearly impenetrable, when her mom moved to Florida and started her family anew.

She hastily reached up to swipe her hand over her eyes, trying to take a deep, stabilizing breath.

Emma did not want to break down here, surrounded by family photos in this hallway.

It took effort to clear her throat, trying to rid some of the tightness there, as she blinked her eyes open. "You – you don't need to stop texting or calling. But… maybe less? Just – I need to be able to breathe."

Kimberly's eyes were wide, and she nodded along as if soaking in every word Emma said. "I can do that."

"And please stop calling me during the workday."

"Yes, absolutely. I'll stop," she promised, breathing a watery laugh.

As Emma took a deep breath, she realized that she didn't feel like she was drowning. She could do this; she could try with Kimberly.

After all, trying with Regan had been working wonders. Maybe it could work here, too.

The last thing Emma had expected to come from her night was actually browsing through the bookshelves at On the Same Page, the bookshop a block away from their apartment.

Regan had called for their Uber, which had dropped them off here twenty minutes ago.

Even though she was mentally and physically exhausted from the emotions that had wrung her dry tonight, being here, surrounded by the stacks of one of her favorite bookshops, gave her an immediate sense of calm. A soothing balm over the jagged edges inside of her that had been exposed tonight.

But right now, she was in her happy place. She'd combed through the general fiction section and had taken ten books from her Tbr list, settling in one of the comfortable, worn chairs to decide which ones she was going to purchase.

Regan had disappeared when they'd walked through the doors, but Emma figured she would hear a commotion somewhere in the store and find her eventually.

As if summoned by Emma's thoughts, Regan appeared next to her.

"There you are!" In her hand was one of the little white paper bags from the small café at the back of the store.

Emma placed her hand over her small stack of books. "You know, I didn't actually expect you to take me to the bookstore tonight."

Regan shrugged as she walked closer, wedging herself between the little round display of books and the chair, so that she could perch on the arm. "I know. But you said that this is the best way for you to end a bad night, so I figured… why not?"

The rush of appreciation that she felt for the woman taking up far too much of her personal space was alarming. But after the emotional toll of the night, Emma didn't have it in her to fight it.

"You don't have to buy my books, though," she commented, leaning her head back and tilting it up to look at Regan properly.

Who was already looking down at her.

It was annoying, honestly, that Regan's jaw looked so good from this angle; no one was supposed to look good from an angle under their chin.

Emma figured it had something to do with that radiant grin.

"Emma, what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't buy your books?" Regan's gaze dropped to the books in question, her eyes widening. "Wow. I leave you alone to go to the café, and you amassed half an aisle."

Before Emma could respond, Regan smiled suddenly, as if just remembering something, as she lifted the bag.

"Right! The bakery." She opened the bag, reaching into it and emerging with a double-chocolate cookie and a triumphant grin. "Here you go!"

Emma hadn't even realized how hungry she actually was until she was presented with the treat. Still, she hesitated before taking it. "I can wait until we get home to have something else."

Regan frowned, first at the cookie, then at her. "I thought it looked good."

"It does," she agreed.

Regan pushed it toward her, again, insistently. "Between the enormous stack of books in your lap and then the walk back, it will be at least another half hour or so before we're home. Take the cookie."

Emma pursed her lips as she reached out for the dessert, giving into her body's demands. "It's a dangerous thing, living with you," she grumbled. "The desserts you're always baking. The stuff you like to bring home from the café. This cookie." She held it up, waving it in front of Regan's face as if she needed the reminder.

Playfully, Regan leaned forward and took a bite. Her dark eyes grinned down at Emma as she flicked her tongue out and licked a wayward crumb from her bottom lip.

Emma diverted her gaze. Yes, it had been a long night.

"Emma, you hardly ate anything at dinner. Like, you ate nothing tonight. Besides, you have a great body. A little dessert is fine."

She glanced up at Regan dubiously. "You know, we're not at my mom's house anymore. You don't have to keep up the compliments and the adoring girlfriend thing."

Regan's eyebrows knitted together as she turned even more inward on the arm of the chair. Her thigh settled firmly against Emma's side as she asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Emma stared at her, feeling the burning sensation in her cheeks returning. "The comment about my body," she muttered.

But Regan didn't back down. "No, I got that; I still don't understand what you mean."

"Regan," she grit out, exasperated.

"Emma," Regan mirrored her tone.

It pushed her enough to gesture down at herself. "I mean that I'm not… fun-sized like you are. Obviously."

"And?" Regan immediately asked, her stare intent. Demanding.

Emma squirmed where she sat. "You've seen me without my shirt on multiple times," she reminded her, frustrated with how embarrassed she felt. "Not by my choice, I might add."

"Uh, yeah? I think that actually makes me a wonderfully qualified source."

Emma groaned, dropping her head back against the chair, leaving her eye level with Regan's chest. Which she immediately looked away from, staring straight up at the ceiling.

She didn't hate her body; she'd come a long way from the issues she'd had with herself in school. She'd towered over most of her classmates when she'd hit her growth spurt, pushing her to nearly her full height. Her breasts had grown insanely fast, as well as her butt, hips, and thighs, and her skin still had the stretch marks to prove it.

"Regan, come on. I'm five-ten and not a waif, like Sutton is. We both know that."

Still, Regan stared down at her, confusion clear. "Yeah, I obviously know you aren't a waif ." She then frowned and muttered, "What a strange word choice."

Before Emma could interject, Regan's gaze returned to her. And not her face, either.

No, Regan's intent stare started at her thighs. "I really like your body, though. Why do you think I'm being disingenuous?"

Emma really wanted to make an easy quip back. But she found herself incapable of doing so, as Regan's eyes slowly took her in, moving up her body as if studying…

"Art," Regan's voice was so low. Low enough, Emma wasn't certain she was supposed to overhear her. "You look like all of those classic sculptures of women in a museum. Like a piece of art."

Emma's breath caught in her throat as the pit of her stomach tingled at the compliment. At what – insanely – might have been the most beautiful sentiment anyone had ever expressed about her.

And it felt – it felt damningly uncomfortable. But not in the same way she'd been uncomfortable at Kimberly's. This was far more… aware. It made her shiver, an unexpected heat sparking alive inside of her.

Emma minutely shook her head, denying its very existence.

"You have an incredible figure," Regan continued in that quiet, thoughtful, slightly raspy tone. "Which you have to know; most of your outfits highlight the perfect curve of your waist."

When those dark eyes fell to her chest, she shivered. Then cursed herself for it before she silently cursed Regan. Why was she looking at her like that?!

It was – it was wildly inappropriate.

And it was very, very wrong for a straight woman to stare at another woman like this, a voice said in the back of Emma's mind.

Before she thought… well, this was Regan . So.

"And your breasts are out of this world. Just – so impressive. They look soft," Regan finally said, staring –

Emma followed her gaze, feeling her own breathing grow more erratic at the way she was being watched as she realized that from Regan's vantage point, she had a clear shot…

"Are you staring down my shirt?"

She felt flustered, both baffled and heated. Emma tried to tell herself the heat was from frustration, but –

"Oh my god!" Regan shouted out as her solid presence disappeared from Emma's side.

She watched, wide-eyed, as Regan pitched herself off the side of the chair, knocking into the small display of books behind her. All of the books joined Regan on her descent to crash onto the floor.

Emma jumped up in alarm, sending her own potential book purchases falling down.

If she were any other customer, she'd be annoyed by the chaos. But, as it was, she could only be grateful for this moment cutting through whatever insane, dangerous place her mind had started to go to.

"Are you okay?" She asked, genuine concern starting to set in when Regan didn't immediately pop up.

Instead, she stared dazedly up at Emma, blinking several times, her mouth agape but not saying anything.

"Did you hit your head?" She pressed, leaning down next to Regan as her worry grew.

Regan looked at her, eyes moving over her face slowly before she slowly shook her head. "I'm fine. I'm – I'm totally good."

Emma offered her a hand, which Regan stared at with wide eyes for several long moments. Long enough that anxiety started to set in; was it now going to be her turn to escort Regan to the hospital? Finally, thankfully, she reached out and slid her palm against Emma's, letting herself be hauled up.

When Regan was on her feet – looking shell-shocked – Emma peered down at her, scanning for injuries. Regan seemed fine, though. Just… wide-eyed, staring back at Emma.

Yes.

Weird was the appropriate word for the evening, indeed.