On Monday, my mother called me to see if she wanted to get lunch. She was in town for a doctor's appointment. It had been a few months since we last spoke, almost a year since we last saw each other. I agreed to it, telling Emerson to clear my calendar. We would meet at the restaurant she liked down the block from the office at noon.
The whole morning, I kept thinking of Emerson and the events of the weekend. I wanted to find out who had hurt him all those years ago, but I knew that would never happen because I wouldn't dare ask him. I didn't want to make him cry again. I thought about eight years ago. There was probably a time where we were both alone in our rooms, our lives not yet intersected, where we were feeling the same feelings. Violated, confused, lost. I wish I could have been there for him, but I was here now and so was he. A part of me couldn't believe I opened up to him, but it came so natural. Honestly, a part of me felt guilty for not telling my friends. There was just too much shame involved, but they probably would have pulled me out of the dark state I've been in for the last eight years.
A little before noon, I went into the reception area. "I will be heading out now," I said to Emerson. "My mother is probably already there."
"Oh, you didn't say you were meeting with your mom," he said, standing.
"Yes, she was in the city today," I said. "I haven't seen her in a while."
He stood next to me. This is something he did often. He didn't talk to someone from across the room. He kind of didn't have any understanding of personal space. When he stood closer to me, I thought of hugging him this past weekend. His body was softer than I expected. He was kind of a lanky guy so I assumed he would be a little bony, but he had felt soft in my arms, like a pillow. "That's fun," he said. "My mom was just saying she was thinking of visiting me some time, but I told her not to until next."
"What's next week?" I asked.
"Well, I move into my apartment, remember?"
"Oh, right," I said. He was moving in on Sunday.
"I just, you know, never mentioned the part where I am crashing at your house," he said. "I figured she would have thought it was odd."
"Right, understandable." I inhaled, making eye contact, but looking away when I exhaled. "Well, I'll be back in about an hour."
I met my mother in the restaurant. She was already seated at a table. Her gray hair mixed in with the dark blonde on her sleek bob. Her nails were a shiny red, like they always had been. She was dressed in a cashmere sweater, always cold, and had a diamond necklace I bought her years ago around her neck. She looked like she could fit in with the older woman on the upper east side, but deep down she was still the little girl that had grown up in the rough Bronx neighborhood. She only moved to East Harlem when she met my father, where my siblings and I all grew up.
"How was your doctor's appointment?" I asked.
"It was fine. The doctor says I have osteoarthritis," she said.
"That's treatable, right? Are you in pain?"
"I'm okay right now, and it's manageable."
The waiter came over so we ordered our food. She got a cobb salad. I got a steak with mashed potatoes and green beans.
"How is work?" she asked.
"Fine. Same as usual," I said. She didn't really care to talk about my job. "How is Dad?"
"He's good," she said. She took a drink of her water with lemon. "He was playing a game of pickleball when I left."
"Good. Good to see him active," I said. I hadn't talked to dad in almost a year, not since the last time I saw both him and Mom in person.
"I saw Clovis today," she said. "He was going to bring me to a show soon." Clovis worked as a theatrical engineer on Broadway. He was two years younger than me.
"That will be fun," I said.
"You could always join us. Axelle and I are going shopping after this. I figured maybe I could gather you all up at some point," she said.
"Maybe. I'm quite busy," I said.
I couldn't remember the last time all of us had gotten together. Claude was thirty-seven. He got married when he was twenty-eight, had a son named Marco, then a daughter named Gemma, and then was divorced at thirty-five. He had joint custody with the kids. He lived in Scarsdale because that is where his kids lived, but he spent a lot of time in the city. He used to stay at my townhouse until we stopped really talking to each other. Then he got an apartment in the city. He was a regional manager for a bank located in both Scarsdale and a branch by his city apartment.
Axelle lived in Soho. She was two years older than me and had one ten-year-old daughter named Elizabeth that she had from a one night stand. Lizzie attended a boarding school in Switzerland so I did not see her often. She was a remarkably bright girl, so I helped pay for her tuition because Axelle had asked me to and knew Lizzie would do well. Axelle never wanted to be a mother, but still loved her daughter and wanted her to succeed in life. Axelle worked in human resources.
When I started to earn more money, I helped everyone in my family. My parents were able to retire early and I bought them a new house in a quiet suburb in Queens. I bought them new cars as well, at least ten years ago they were new. I had helped Claude pay off some of the debt he had accrued and helped him pay for the house in Scarsdale. I also had savings accounts for his kids to help pay for their college. I helped fund Axelle's certification in human resources. She now worked part time and from home, unless she had to fire someone. Then she did that in person. I had a savings account for Lizzie as well. As for Clovis, he went to college unlike Axelle or Claude. I helped him pay off his student loans and then let him live in the townhouse for a while until he started making it big on Broadway.
I didn't mind helping my family, but I did feel guilt at giving them money despite not being close with them. We hadn't had a family reunion in many years. I actually couldn't remember the last time I was together with my siblings and parents all at once. Mom talked about getting us together almost every time I saw her, but it had yet to happen.
"Are you still with that Liam boy?" Mom asked.
"No," I said. "We ended things a while ago. It wasn't that serious anyway." Mom had never actually met him, but she knew of him.
"Are you seeing anyone new then?"
"No. I don't have enough time for a relationship," I said.
"Well, you work too much, so you should make time," she said. "You aren't getting any younger."
"Does it disappoint you that all of your children seem to be too socially stunted to have any type of successful relationship?" I asked.
"No, I'm not disappointed. I just worry about you being alone."
I looked at her as she pushed food around on her plate. "I'm content, Mom," I said. "I promise. You don't have to worry about me. I'm doing pretty well, actually. I've been cooking a lot more and my sleep schedule is getting better."
"That's very good to hear," she said.
We did not talk much more as we tried to finish our food. I paid for the lunch and walked with her out of the restaurant. A part of me thought about bringing her into the office. She always liked the building, and I bet she would have liked Emerson. He would make her laugh, but I was running behind on returning and she was going to meet Axelle. So we departed ways.
"How was your mom?" Em asked.
I didn't want to stop walking to my office. Em didn't come into my office, but I realized I wanted him to. "Come with me, please," I said. He followed behind me as I walked into my office. I sat on the couch in front of my desk with a sigh. "She was fine," I said.
Emerson stood. "That's good," he said.
"You can sit down, you know?"
He smiled and took a seat next to me, the slight hint of citrus from whatever perfume he used wafting my way. "Does your mom visit a lot?" he asked.
"No, not at all. No one in my family does," I said. "We aren't close."
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
I leaned my head back against the couch and glanced at him. "You're always sorry for stuff you don't need to be sorry for," I said.
He tucked his legs under him and hugged the pillow. "Well...my bad," he said.
I smirked. "You don't have to be sorry for me. My siblings and I are content not being close," I said, my smirk fading. "We've always had a distance between us."
"Why?" he asked. It was such an innocent question.
I shrugged. "It's just how we are," I said, but there were reasons. I just didn't want to share them with Emerson. I didn't want to say them out loud. "Anyway, what are you thinking for dinner tonight?"
"I found this recipe for shrimp scampi that I think you should make," he said.
"Oh, should I? What if I want beef or pork?"
He scrunched his face in a way that was...cute. "No," he said. "You should try going pescatarian. Or maybe just chicken and fish. You might have less tummy aches."
"I'm a grown man. I don't have tummy aches. I have...digestive issues," I said.
"It's the beef and pork, and the carbs. And sugar. I mean, ever since you started cooking for me, wouldn't you say you have less tummy aches?" He tilted his head.
"I guess maybe my stomach hurts less lately, not much," I said.
"Because you cook for me you're eating like a normal person, and look at how much better you feel," he said, flashing me a smile.
I nodded. "I suppose you're right, Emerson."
He scrunched his face again. "It's so weird when you call me Emerson. Em or Emmy are much better. Emerson reminds me of my mother," he said.
"Well, like I said, Emmy is for after hours," I said, standing up to get water from my cupboard.
"Yeah, but...no one else is in here," he said. "So maybe, behind this door and after hours?" He batted his lashes, making me laugh.
"Fine, Emmy, behind this door."
"Good," he said with a smile. "I can call you Faye if you want."
I laughed again. "Faye? That's a girl's name," I said, leaning against my desk.
"So is Emmy. Don't worry, I would never call you it in front of anyone," he said.
I threw my hands up. "Sure. Call me whatever you want."
He clapped his hands. "Yay, I'm so excited." He brushed his hair back. "Faye, Faye, Faye. What a fierce name. It could be your drag name if you ever wanted it to be. Faye."
I took a swig of water. "Sure, Emmy, whatever you want."
He smiled to himself contently.
Truth be told, someone once tried calling me Faye, and I had despised it. All of my friends knew that it had to be Lafayette or nothing. And yet, Faye didn't sound that bad coming from Em's lips. I had to admit, I kind of liked it.