I was studying at my desk when I spotted movement from my bedroom window. Someone is walking through Emilia’s backyard. I frown and lean in closer to get a better look. It’s her. Emilia walks straight to the hedge between our gardens and worms her way through it. Is she trying to sneak in to speak to Kate? Why would she be so stealthy about it?
I walk down the stairs in a rush and move towards the living room window to keep an eye on her. She isn’t headed for the house at all. Instead, she walks straight towards the treehouse in the backyard. She pauses at the bottom of the stairs and looks up. She seems to hesitate, and I can’t help but feel like something is wrong with her. She walks up slowly and holds onto the hand rail along the stairs as though it’s all that’s keeping her standing. I’m rarely genuinely worried about her, but tonight something seems off.
I wonder if I should get Kate to check up on her, but then I shake my head. If she wanted to talk to Kate, she would’ve just come into the house. It seems like she wants some peace and quiet, and while I’d love to respect her wishes and give that to her, I need to make sure that she’s all right.
I glance up at the stairs. The house is quiet. I doubt my mom will realize if I sneak out for a bit. I nod to myself and make my way to the back door. I’m nervous as I walk to the treehouse. I look up at it, my eyes lingering on the sign Kate and I made. It used to read Kate and Carter’s Treehouse, but Emilia stuck a bit of wood over it with her own name on it, so it now reads Kate and Emilia’s Treehouse. Initially, I kept removing it, but she’s far too persistent. That’s one fight she actually ended up winning.
I walk up the stairs, the steps creaking slightly underneath my weight. I pause halfway up when I think I hear something. It’s soft, but it’s definitely the sound of crying. My heart clenches. Emilia is crying? I can count the amount of times I’ve seen her cry on one hand. What could’ve possibly happened to make her cry? Did she argue with Kate?
I walk up the remaining steps and pause by the entrance. Should I enter, or walk away and pretend I didn’t realize? The sound of her sobbing intensifies and my mind is made up. I enter the treehouse and spot her lying down on the window seat. She’s lying with her back towards me, her shoulders shaking. Each one of her sobs tears me apart. I walk up to her and ditch my flip-flops next to hers. She’s crying so hard that she has yet to notice me. I sigh and lie down next to her. I spoon her and throw my arms around her, hugging her tightly. She gasps and freezes before turning around to face me. My heart aches when I see the countless tears on her tiny little face. She sniffs and looks into my eyes. She looks so incredibly lost and hurt.
Emilia grabs my t-shirt and holds onto it tightly, the fabric stretching in her fists. She sobs even louder, as though her heart is irreparably broken. I throw my arms around her and hug her, her body flush against mine. I stroke her back and don’t say a word. I just lie there with her and pat her hair and her back, over and over again. She cries for what feels like hours, and a little bit of my heart chips away with every sob that escapes her lips.
Eventually she manages to calm herself down. She relaxes in my arms, her breathing still uneven. It’s like she’s choking on her sobs, and I hate that there’s nothing I can do to make it stop. Emilia isn’t much of a crier. She never has been, not even when we were younger, so it breaks my heart to find her crying like this. I don’t want to see her in pain for a single second.
She pushes her face against my chest, and I tangle my hand into her hair. She seems to want me close, but she doesn’t want me to see her. I guess I’m the last person she wants to be caught in a vulnerable state by. In the last couple of weeks, things have been more tense between us than usual. I guess I’ve messed with her a little too much. I’ve pushed her away just a little too far.
“Wanna talk about it?” I whisper.
She shakes her head and clenches my t-shirt in her hand. The fabric is soaking wet from all the tears she shed, and it’s clinging to my skin. Nonetheless, I don’t move a muscle. Emilia’s breathing evens after a couple of minutes and she brazenly grabs my t-shirt to wipe away her remaining tears. I chuckle and shake my head, letting her do as she pleases. Eventually, she pulls away from me a little, her eyes red and her expression sullen.
I grab my t-shirt at the edges and pull it up and over my head before handing it to her. “You’ve already soaked it through, Emilia. Just use it and return it to me next time,” I whisper. She looks startled and takes it from me. I lean back and watch her while she uses my t-shirt to wipe her face and her puffy red eyes. My minx isn’t a pretty crier; she never has been. She’s never been fake or half-hearted in anything she does.
“Come here,” I whisper, opening my arms for her. She doesn’t hesitate to throw herself back into my hold. I close my arms around her and she presses her nose against my bare chest while my hand finds its way back to her hair. She lies there in silence until she’s finally breathing evenly again and stops shaking.
“I contacted my mom,” she tells me eventually. I tense. That woman is straight up trouble. Any woman that can leave her own child for another man isn’t worth a second thought in my books, but I get it. I get Emilia’s need for a connection. I see the way she looks at my mom sometimes, and I saw how hurt she was when my mom was about to scold her over the Nair prank. It’s the closest my mom has ever gotten to being disappointed in Emilia. It was different from her occasional half-hearted scoldings, and I saw how much it tore Emilia apart.
“My dad found out. Apparently, she called him saying that I was stalking her because I emailed her a few times and sent her a friend request on Facebook.”
I nod and stroke her back as she tells me about her argument with her dad. She pauses multiple times to swallow down her tears.
When she’s done talking, I’m filled with rage. Both her parents must be insane. How could her dad get so mad over something like this? If anything, he should’ve defended Emilia’s actions. What kind of mother would accuse her own child of stalking her?
“Emilia, your dad was just tired and upset,” I whisper. I have no idea what he was thinking, but my need to console Emilia is greater than my anger at his actions. “He didn’t mean what he said. You’re not ungrateful at all. You never get into trouble with anyone other than me, and your grades are consistently the highest in your class. I know how hard you work for that. I know his words hurt, but I promise you he didn’t mean them. It’s gotta be tough on him to hear from your mom again, and for it to be over something like this.”
She’s silent as she thinks my words over. I don’t know what to say to her about her mom. I understand why she did what she did, even if I don’t agree with her. I personally think Emilia shouldn’t contact her mother either, but I can’t say that to her without hurting her even further.
Eventually she pushes away from me and sits up. Her eyes roam over my body, as though she’s only just realizing that I’m half naked. Her gaze lingers on my abs and she blushes as she moves away from me. She’s so antsy and nervous all of a sudden that I can’t help but grin. Too cute.
“I — uh… thank you,” she stammers. It’s like she’s finally realizing how intimately entwined we’ve been. —
Emilia twists my t-shirt around in her hands, as though she’s thinking of what to say. I sit up and drink her in. It’s rare for me to find her looking so… sweet.
Emilia smiles at me before turning and fleeing, my t-shirt in her hands.
