Our family has always hovered right on the edge of being wealthy. I often thought that, had Mom and Dad chosen to live somewhere else—anywhere else—we might have been much happier. For instance, if we lived in Yonkers, where the average income is around seventy grand a year, we’d have been the wealthy people around.
But Dad always ascribed to the idea that proximity to greatness made it more likely for him. As a bizarre type of sado-masochistic optimist, Dad always felt like rubbing shoulders with the very wealthy would help him find more opportunities. I’m not at all sure that ever worked. In fact, I’m pretty sure it made Mom miserable, seeing things that her friends had that she couldn’t quite afford. It also always inspired Mom to spend just over her means.
We were always chasing ballooning debt payments, which eliminated any windfalls from Dad’s spurts of erratic luck.
I’m very familiar with the misery that comes from seeing things you can’t really afford. . .so when Bernie sends me the listing for the large, spacious old inn that sits on nearly a full acre on the edge of town, just past where my parents and nearly all my friends live, I tell him I don’t even want to see it. Sure, it looks like exactly what I want, but it’s also nearly twice what I calculated I can probably afford.
What I didn’t count on was that the saddest property on the list would be right next door to the quaint inn.
“Why are we even looking at this place?” Emerson whispers. “It looks like it should be condemned.”
“I think that’s why.” Bernie squints.
“Uncle Bernie,” Emerson says. “Just get reading glasses.”
He waves at Emerson absently. “No, no. They say that once you start wearing them, your eyes give out completely.”
Emerson frowns, and even frowning, he’s so stinking cute. “Who says that?”
“Everyone.” Bernie waves his hand. “Everyone does.”
“Hand me the iPad,” Emerson says.
“Stop.” Bernie slaps at his hand. “Listen, this place is actually below the price point Elizabeth gave me by fifteen thousand dollars, and I know they’re negotiable. Think about how much room that would give her to—”
“But she wouldn’t have much extra cash,” Emerson says. “She’d still need most of the downpayment, so she couldn’t remodel it properly. She’d just have a very cheap pile of rubbish.”
I can’t help my snort.
Or my wistful glance at the inn next door. “Is it just me, or is that one actually glowing?”
Emerson sidesteps in front of me and grabs my hand. “No. You’re both a mess right now. We said that one’s too expensive. Let’s focus on what’s in the price range.”
He’s right. I turn away from the beautiful, glowing navy inn with white shutters and a large, fenced, inviting yard that would be easy to partition into cute little runs, and I focus on the hovel.
“You mean this about-to-be-condemned neighbor?”
My adorable boyfriend clears his throat. “It’s not so bad, when you close one eye and squint.” Emerson doesn’t lie well at all. “I mean, if we painted it, maybe.”
“We?” I can’t help arching my right eyebrow. “The closest my parents have ever come to a paintbrush is hiring someone who can use one. Are you saying you know how to paint?”
“We had to paint rooms in the Inn at home all the time,” he says. “And one summer, I saved for school by helping a contractor I met at the Inn—I painted close to twenty houses that summer.”
“A man of so many talents,” Bernie says. “He keeps you depressingly on budget, and he offers to help paint turds.”
But as we walk up the steps to the front door, Emerson’s foot punches through one of the boards.
“Oh, no.” I reach for his arm, as if I could somehow lift him up.
It takes him a full minute for us to extricate his foot, and when we finally do, his ankle’s bleeding.
“I hope you’re up to date on your tetanus,” Bernie says.
“It’s not a rusty nail,” Emerson says. “I’m fine.”
“Tetanus can be in dust, dirt, and grime.” Bernie shrugs. “Just like, well, every part of this place.” He grimaces.
“Did you add this to the list because it’s close to that one?” Emerson glances sideways toward the inn.
Bernie splutters. “How could you possibly insinuate—”
“Alright, then. Everyone watch their steps.” Emerson’s remarkably upbeat for someone who was just injured. And if he’s limping a little, well. He did just gash his ankle open.
“What’s that?” I point as we walk through the front entry.
Emerson squints and tilts his head. “I think it’s just a loose light fixture, but why it’s loose. . .”
And that’s when a rat drops through the hole next to the dangling light and onto the center of the floor in front of us. In the rat’s defense, we startled him too. I think he shrieks almost as loudly as Bernie.
“Dude, chill,” Emerson says. “It’s just a rat.”
Bernie has backed all the way into the wall behind us.
Something about Bernie’s reaction makes Emerson laugh. Actually, roar might be a better word.
“What?” Bernie asks, a little defensive.
“I think you backed into the rat’s nest.” He points.
I assumed he was kidding, but Bernie spins around so fast that he nearly breaks the window behind him with his elbow. The swear words he uses are pretty inventive. Unfortunately, when he heads the other direction, he must run right into a massive spiderweb, because he starts pinwheeling his arms and shaking like he’s been possessed.
“Here’s a question,” Emerson says, looking entirely and completely calm.
It’s especially impressive since I’ve leapt up into his arms, and my legs are now dangling several feet off the ground.
“What?” I swallow. “Is it ‘how fast can we get out of here?’”
He laughs again. “No.” He shakes his head. “How does a grown man—and a real estate agent—scare so easily? It’s not like this place is haunted or something. It’s just rats and spiders and they always move in when humans move out. Sometimes they move in before the humans move out.” Emerson looks legitimately amused, and I can tell.
My face is only a few inches away from his.
I’d have said yesterday—actually, earlier today—that rats and spiders were the anti-hot. But being held by a man who’s not afraid of them, while he mocks an even older man for being afraid. . .Emerson has never looked hotter to me.
In fact, as Emerson turns around, I can see that Bernie’s already entirely outside, narrowing missing the hole in the porch as he sprints out of the small front yard and into the street.
“It can’t be the first time one of the houses he looked at had rats or spiders.”
“Well.” I’m so close, I can see how few pores Emerson has. I can see every single micro expression on his really handsome, really manly face. “I’d have to admit that I’m also not a fan.”
“But think about it,” Emerson says. “The rats and spiders would be gone within days once you bring in your army of cats.”
Now I’m the one laughing. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Look, I’m not saying this place is an amazing deal, but you liked the spot next door. With a truckload of new wood to replace the rotten stuff, and a little bit of pest control, we could probably turn this rotting pile into what you need.”
He sets me down, now that I’ve calmed down a bit, and I hate how bereft I feel.
“You can’t be that scared of rats. You take in dogs and cats constantly.”
“They’re domesticated,” I say.
He shrugs. “Still.” He walks into the kitchen, keeping his eye out for more vermin, and he reaches for the counter. The countertops are so filthy that I’m not even sure what they’re made of. Maybe formica? He reaches for the knob and turns on the water.
And the knob snaps off, the water still running.
He fiddles with it for a minute, but when he can’t figure out how to turn it off, he shrugs. “I’d look for the water main, but I’m worried that it’ll burst wide open if I touch it.” He sets the knob on the counter and points at the door, his lip twitching a little. “Maybe Bernie’s right. This place needs a gallon of gasoline and a match.”
We’re both laughing as we walk out the door, but Emerson’s the one who tells Bernie that he’s got to call and break it to the owners that the water’s stuck running.
Bernie looks like he wants to cry, but he nods. “Can we at least see the nice place while we’re here?”
Seeing the nice place is the story of my life. From the time we walk through those doors, nothing else will ever be good enough. I shake my head. “I think that’s a bad plan.”
In fact, it occurs to me that walking into that place is probably a lot like fake-dating Emerson. Once you see the best that’s out there, you don’t want mediocre anymore.
“Are you sure?” Bernie’s eyes cut to the side. “It has two bathrooms downstairs, one with a large walk-in shower with a detachable showerhead, and one with a clawfoot tub. Both would be perfect pet bathing stations.”
I remain firm. “I saw the photos online. That was hard enough. It’s just way more expense than I’m able to afford.”
“What if we found more sponsors?” Emerson asks.
“We’d have to find a lot more,” I say. “And so far, the only really consistent sponsor I’ve found is myself.” I try to chuckle as I say it, but it comes out more as a whine. “And after I buy something, I’ll officially be flat broke. It would be a real shame if I lost it right after buying it.”
“Okay,” Bernie says. “The last thing I’ll say is this. It has a complete living quarters on the top floor. Kitchenette, storage area, two bedrooms, and two bathrooms. It’s self contained. You could live onsite, so whatever you’re spending on rent, you wouldn’t need to spend anymore.”
And I wouldn’t be leaving the dogs and cats all alone every single night. Sometimes I wake up in a panic, sure the shelter’s on fire. Then again, the barking if they hear something would probably go on all night. “It’s not a fit for me now,” I say.
“Oh, come on,” Emerson says. “Let’s just take a quick peek at the upstairs. That apartment sounds cool.”
“It was all soundproofed,” Bernie says. “Since it was an inn.”
Gah. “Fine,” I say. “Fine.” I can’t argue with both of them.
But from the moment I step inside, I know I was right. The floors downstairs are all tile. Easy to clean. Nice on paws. They have lots of small rooms that would be easy to convert to sections for the dogs and cats, and there’s already a room with tables that were probably used for food prep or something, but it would make a great infirmary.
The sunny kitchen’s large and inviting, and it would be a perfect break room for volunteers, or an area for people to meet their possible new pet. I could totally see myself signing adoption paperwork right here.
“I hate it,” I say.
“You do?” Emerson asks. “Because it looks like you love it.”
When we get to the second floor, I finally have a reason to turn it down. “See, none of this space is necessary,” I say.
“I had an idea,” Emerson says. “Didn’t one of your brochures list friends of yours who do pet related things?”
“Huh?” I blink.
“There was a green paper,” he says. “It was close to the door.”
“Oh, you mean the new pet owner paperwork?”
“Yes,” he says. “Referrals for pet services.”
“Sure,” I say. “Yes.”
“What if. . .” He clears his throat. “What if you rented this second floor to the grooming service? You could refer them, and then the owners could bring their pets back up here for grooming. They would clearly know where the shelter was, and they’d have to walk back and forth in front of the pets each time they came—if they chose one dog, maybe they’d adopt another.”
“That’s diabolical,” Bernie says. “You’re an evil mastermind.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“Or you could offer a dog boarding service up here, on the second floor,” he says. “You already have people who are here daily. They could take care of these dogs, too.”
“But they’re volunteers. They don’t want to run a dog boarding facility.”
“They’re volunteers,” he says. “They’re volunteering to help, and if boarding pets helps pay for the shelter. . . It would be another revenue stream.”
I shake my head slowly. “I’ll think about it.”
Emerson shrugs. “Maybe it wouldn’t work, and that’s fine. I’m just saying, there are options here.”
When we finally reach the third floor, I really fall in love. Whoever ran this inn loved these rooms—it’s clear to see. The details are stunning. Tiny, hand carved birds and insects on the hand rails, and what look like unique and imported light fixtures in each room. The bathroom has a large soaking tub and a big shower.
“Did you see this?” Emerson’s in the second bedroom. The one that doesn’t have its own bathroom, which I haven’t yet seen.
When I follow him in, I’m struck by the amount of light, even with the fading sun. But when I follow his eyes, I see what he’s looking at—it’s a big, tall, running sorrel horse. And he looks so much like Hottie that my heart just stops beating. A tear rolls down my cheek.
“Oh, no,” Emerson says. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d like it.”
I shake my head. “I do like it.”
“You look like you don’t,” he whispers. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“It looks like the horse I just sold.” I swipe at my face and remind myself that it’s just an artist’s rendition, but it’s a talented artist. This isn’t someone who said they could paint a horse and slapped both eyes on the front of his face. This is someone who spent a lot of time around horses. It captures the wide nostrils, the startled look, and the illusion of movement in every line of his body.
“I do love the apartment up here,” I say.
But like I knew it would, looking at the inn makes me profoundly sad. If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been wondering whether the last six years have all been just a waste of time. I’ve been funding my entire life, my whole goal, with my own savings.
And now they’re gone.
Am I going to buy a dump somewhere, be unable to pay the mortgage, and go belly up again, but this time, without a horse to sell to pay the piper? Or you know, the bank?
Ugh.
I’m such an incompetent loser. Why did I think I could run a shelter? I can’t keep pets safe. I can’t even run my own life.
“Elizabeth,” Emerson says. “I think you should get this place. I’ll help you fundraise or whatever you have to do, but think of how great it would be.”
His happy face should cheer me up, but all I can think about is how, any day now, he’s going to convince his grandmother to accept him no matter what. . .and then he’ll dump me for Lisa. The girl he really wants. He’s a nice enough guy that I’m sure he’ll still help where he can. But any promises he makes me aren’t worth much, because we aren’t real.
“I appreciate the support,” I say. “But I need to look at my numbers and decide what’s viable. You were just saying that.”
“But now, you look so happy in here,” he says. “I just—”
Bernie chooses that moment to stomp through the doorway. “I know you didn’t love that first place,” he says, “but as you mentioned, you can set up a lot of outdoor kennels, and there aren’t close neighbors. I think the vast majority of shelters utilize predominantly outdoor kennels anyway.”
It’s terrible in New York State, where half the year is so cold that the dogs are practically freezing, but they’re much easier to clean—you just hose the kennels off into a main drain. And it was the right price point. Now that I’m not standing inside the rat infested, broken water-pipe-place, I’m not as bummed out. Maybe we could use those things to negotiate an even better price.
“I’ll think about it,” I say. “And I’ll call you.”
At that very moment, Emerson’s phone rings. I shouldn’t be worried about it. I mean, if it is Lisa, so what? I don’t actually have any right to tell him who he can and can’t talk to. My suggestions to get her interested again worked, and he has to take it from here. Even so, when he answers, I can’t help listening. Maybe a little too intently.
“Hey. I’m almost done.”
Almost done? Is he meeting someone else?
“No, it’s fine. I can come to you.”
To who?
“Who is that?” Bernie asks. Bless him.
“I mean, I’m not in the city either, but—”
“Is that your dad?” Bernie asks.
Emerson’s ignoring him, the jerk. But could it be his dad?
“No, that’s Bernie.” Emerson rolls his eyes. “I’m with a friend—she’s looking to buy a—” He sighs. “No, she doesn’t want to come to dinner.”
“Actually, I’m starving.” I hate myself for saying that so loudly, but it’s too late. I’ve already done it.
Emerson looks at me sideways. “You are.”
I nod.
He mouths, “It’s my mom. You want to eat with my mom?”
I shrug. “Why not?”
Emerson looks absolutely floored, but he cuts his eyes toward Bernie, clearly reminding me that he can’t say anything real. We have company.
“Don’t worry about having to invite me,” Bernie says. “If I’m not home on time, Nance will shred me. She’s making lasagna.”
“Alright,” Emerson finally says. “I’ll bring my friend Elizabeth.” He chuckles. “No, she’s not like us.” Then he hangs up.
“I’m not like you? What does that mean?” I’m trying not to be offended.
“Vegetarian,” he says. “Dad and Mom have been squaring off for years, and I’m the only kid they’ve taken in who gave up meat. She’s always recruiting.”
“You’d think I’d be vegetarian,” I say. “I do save animals for a living.”
“Why aren’t you?” Bernie asks.
I shrug. “Steak’s more delicious than I am strong?”
He nods. “Me, too.”
“Alright,” Emerson says. “Well, Dad was going to grill, but they wound up shopping, so we’re going to our favorite Mediterranean place instead. They have lots of vegetarian options and plenty that’s not.”
“It’s not Mediterranean,” Bernie says. “That place is an abomination.”
“Where?” I ask.
“It’s called PopoJito,” Emerson says. “It’s Mexican Mediterranean fusion, and you’ll love it.”
“Maybe I’ll try avoiding meat tonight,” I say.
“Don’t do it for me,” Emerson says. “Dad says their tacos are to die for, and I love plenty of meat-eaters.”
Love? Is he saying he’ll love me even though I eat meat?
It’s just a figure of speech. I’m being stupid.
By the time we reach PopoJito, I’m a nervous wreck. What if his parents don’t like me? What if he introduces me as his friend and tells them he’s about to get back together with Lisa? I mean, technically it’s true, and they do appear to be entirely disconnected with his grandmother.
Except for Bentley, who has now contributed to my shelter.
“You can’t tell them it’s fake,” I blurt out as Emerson’s parking.
“What?”
“Our dating,” I say. “They know Bentley, and he knows everyone else.”
Emerson blinks. “I wasn’t going to.”
“But you didn’t say I was your girlfriend on the phone,” she says.
“I just told them I broke up with Lisa,” he says. “I didn’t want to blurt it out over the phone. I figure the whiplash isn’t as bad if they meet you first.”
“Oh.”
“Is that fine?” He’s looking at me like you stare at the person on the corner who’s batting at nonexistent ghosts.
“Of course.” I climb out and bolt for the door.
“Easy there, Seabiscuit,” he says. “We’re not in a race, and I promise not to bite.”
“What if I like it when men bite?” Oh, no. That was too much. What’s wrong with me?
“Oh, please tell me Emerson doesn’t ever bite,” possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen says. She’s walking arm in arm with a pretty handsome guy. . .and I have a sinking feeling that they’re Emerson’s foster parents.
They can’t be more than ten years older than him.
“I’m Seren.” She’s smiling now, and if it wouldn’t sound like I was fangirling, I’d tell her that she’s even prettier when she smiles.
“And I’m Dave. Don’t worry. Emerson’s a pretty open-minded guy.”
Seren’s eyes widen and she slaps his arm.
“Hey guys. This is my girlfriend,” Emerson says, “Elizabeth Moorland.”
“Well, she’s lovely,” Seren says. “And I already like her more than that horrible girl who wouldn’t tell her father that you were dating, even after more than a year.”
Emerson glances my way slowly.
I think he’s hoping I’ll save Lisa’s reputation. Not a chance, buddy. I throw her under the bus so fast that I can practically hear her bones crunch. “Actually, my parents love him. They met him last night, and my mom’s checking out wedding venues today and sending them to me via text.” I actually wish that was a joke.
Seren’s laughter’s like the pealing of tiny bells. I could listen to it all day.
“I think I love your parents,” I say without thinking.
Emerson flushes bright red.
“Well, let’s go have some meat, shall we?” Dave beams at me. “I hear you’re as selfish as I am.”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking of going rogue too,” I confess.
“Wait at least one night,” Dave says. “Before you wave the white flag, try the tacos here at least once.”
I’m eating my last taco—why is pulled pork so delicious?—when Seren asks, “Did you invite us to dinner to introduce us to Elizabeth?” She smiles at me.
“Not exactly,” Emerson says, “though I’m glad you met her.”
“Oh.” Dave wipes his mouth. He ate his tacos as fast as I ate mine, and he had one more than I did.
“The thing is. . .” And Emerson fills them in on the drama. The funeral. His grandmother’s offer. Moving in with her. Meeting me—how I thought he was a caterer. . . And then found out that he really was.
“You haven’t been dating long then,” Seren says.
“But sometimes you just know.” Dave’s smug smile has her blushing. It’s so stinking cute.
Emerson clears his throat. “But here’s where things went south.”
South? I’m not sure I have any idea what he’s talking about. “Is something wrong?”
Emerson inhales and looks at his hands. “While I was trying to find a way to help Elizabeth’s shelter, I stumbled on a way to save Richmond Steel a lot of money. But when I pitched it to Grandmother last night, she got pretty upset. She was angry I talked to Uncle Bentley about it, and then she got angrier when I tried to explain my idea.” He sighs. “I mean, I get it. I know that I really know nothing compared to all of them. And maybe there’s a reason my idea’s stupid, but she didn’t even listen to it.”
“Emerson.” Seren reaches for his hand across the table, but he pulls it back.
“It’s fine.” He looks down at his plate, and I realize he’s hardly eaten anything. “I felt like a failure in school right after Mom died, you know. It’s how I felt my first year in college, too. And my first year at my new job, when I started working full time. But I felt that way because each of those times, I was behind. Everyone around me knew more than I did. I should be keeping my head down, learning, and listening like I did back then, not digging around and trying to tell Grandmother how to run her company.” He looks up then, his eyes a little haunted. “It’s fine. I guess I just wanted to tell someone about it.”
Seren looks like she has something she wants to say, but a few minutes later, she gets up and goes to the restroom. Maybe her stomach hurt or something. By the time she gets back, Dave has ordered everything on the dessert menu, and she’s laughing when she sits. “I’ve already had all of these.”
“But Elizabeth hasn’t,” Dave says. “It’s a tradition. We have to let the women decide which ones they like the best.”
“David Fansee,” she says. “You’re ridiculous.”
“We Fansee men know how to spoil our girls.”
“I’m really not that fancy,” I say.
“Ah, poor Emerson,” Seren says. “Now you have three last names.”
I’m so confused.
Emerson smiles. “My mother’s last name was Duplessis. And then I joined the Fansee family.” He spells out the letters. “F A N S E E. And now I’ve found out that my dad’s family is named Richmond.”
“It’s a lot of names,” I say. “And I think I like them all.”
“Me too,” Emerson says.
As we walk out, he takes my hand in his, and something inside of me thrills just a bit. He doesn’t have to do it, but he is. Did he. . .did he have fun? We’re almost to the car when it starts to drizzle.
And, that’s when I notice that I left my phone inside.
“Aw drat,” I say.
Emerson unlocks the car. “Hop in! It’s barely raining, but it could start really coming down.”
“I left my phone.”
“I can drive you over.”
But I need a minute to clear my head, and the rain actually feels kind of nice. I toss my purse in the car and shake my head. “I’ll run grab it. Be right back.”
“Wait.” Emerson hops in and turns the car on.
But I keep heading for the restaurant on foot. I imagine he’ll come pick me up at the front.
Luckily, I find it right away. It’s on the table, right under the basket of hummus. No wonder I didn’t see it. I’m darting back out when I hear Emerson’s name. My head snaps sideways. Seren’s standing outside the bathroom door, talking to Dave.
“I didn’t know if she’d even see my email, much less reply, but she did, and I’m going to go.”
“You should ask Emerson first,” he says. “He may not want you getting involved.”
Seren straightens, her brow furrowing, and her eyes flashing. “Well, she shouldn’t have made him feel like that, then. She may be his grandmother, but that doesn’t mean she can make him feel small.”
Dave laughs. “Uh oh. Mama Bear coming through.”
She hits his chest. “Stop. I’m being serious.”
“Then I’ll come too, just to make sure you don’t go too crazy.”
She rolls her eyes.
When Dave hugs her, I see my window and dart past, wondering on the way to the car whether I ought to mention it to Emerson. I don’t owe Seren anything at all. It’s Emerson I should be loyal to, not her.
But when I think about my own mother, when I try to imagine her emailing the great Catherine Richmond and setting up a meeting to bawl her out on my behalf, I can’t even conjure up an image. The only way I could ever see my mom behaving around Catherine Richmond is obsequious. She’d bow, compliment, and scrape.
There’s no world in which she would rant. Not a single one.
It makes me love Seren even more in that moment. Emerson may have had a bumpy start. His grandmother may be a terrifying piece of work. But having a mother like Seren and a father like Dave, it’s not nothing.
When I get into the car where Emerson was waiting for me right outside, I look him in the face and smile. “Thanks. It was right by the hummus.”
And I don’t tell him another single thing.