I grasp the edge of the sink with both hands, trying to catch my breath as Thatcher pulls out. He sinks to his knees and, looking at me in the mirror, slowly eases my panties back up my legs, then adjusts my skirt.
He stands and washes his hands while I'm still trying to breathe slowly. Once I feel ready to adjust my hair and my bra, I notice that he's all tucked in and looking perfect. "When did you cut your hair," is all I can think to say. Every single time with that man leaves me dizzy, literally seeing stars and weak in the knees.
Thatcher runs a hand up the dark stubble of his under-cut. "You like it? I only went this short for Ty's wedding, because he asked nicely." He grins. And then I'm so overcome, I just start to cry. "Hey," he says, "Chezz, don't cry." He pulls me in and holds me. And he just feels so warm and safe that I actually do stop crying, believing for a moment that things can be ok.
"Can I tell you something?" he breathes into my hair and I nod against his chest. We always seem to communicate better when we're either naked or not looking at one another. He takes a deep breath and tells me, "My dad agreed to go to rehab."
I draw back so I can see his face, feeling like I have to look into his eyes for something like this. "He did? Truly?"
Thatcher nods, and tells me that the three of them had gone to see Ted in the hospital, spewed decades of angry words, and then made to leave until a nurse flagged them down. "He's going to give it a shot. His doctor said they can prescribe an antidepressant for him…"
He drifts off, and a tear leaks from my eye, because I know what it means for him to be telling me this, for him to finally be finding some closure in this area of his life. "Thatcher," I whisper. "I'm so glad for your family." And then I bury my face in his chest again, not wanting to let him go.
He holds me, murmuring into my hair about how he and his brothers are going to sign up for a group at the hospital. They have programs there for grieving lost parents, and the Stag brothers never really worked on their feelings about losing their mom.
"Hey," I tell him, reaching up to cup his face. I smile and look into his eyes, wanting so badly for his return smile to be mine for always. "I'm really proud of you."
He shakes his head. "No, Emma. It's because of you. You led me to find him, and you pressed me to be honest with my brothers. This never would have happened without you. So thank you, Chezz." He kisses my palm. "Thank you." And then his lips are on mine and nothing else matters.
Until I hear someone pounding on the bathroom door.
"Emma Cheswick, you open that door this instant." It's my mother. "I know you're in there."
I sigh and look up at Thatcher, who adjusts his collar and runs a hand through what's left of his long hair. "You ready for this?" I ask him, and he nods.
When I open the door, my mother digs her nails into my arm and pulls me into the hall. "How. Could. You. Humiliate. Us. Like. This?" She jabs an index finger into my chest with each word.
Ordinarily I would be super stressed out to see her freaking out like this, but I'm still high on a Stag orgasm, and I'm strangely calm. So I tell her, "Excuse me, mother, but I think I am the one who should be embarrassed." She recoils. "You've been nothing but rude to Thatcher since you met him in the hospital. You treat him like garbage and make assumptions on him based on his appearance, which I love by the way, and then you don't even do your diligence to look at the fucking name of the artist in the space where Dad's having a fundraiser."
Thatcher squeezes my shoulder supportively while my mother flares her nostrils. I keep going. "And further, I should be embarrassed that you're so hung up on appearances that you kept me with a useless doctor for years of uncontrolled seizures. Thatcher has been super supportive, helping me with my new medications from Dr. Khalsa. You haven't even asked about my visit from last week."
I want to walk away. I'm feeling absolutely done with her. But I'm not expecting her to start crying.
Tears roll down her face, smearing her foundation. "Emma," she whispers as Veronica approaches. "I was so scared." She sinks into a folding chair that's been stashed in the hallway. "Do you know what it's like when your baby has something wrong? I don't mean what other people think, although I worried about that, too." She dabs at her face with a tissue. "I mean the feeling of utter helplessness. I couldn't help you. I took you to the doctor everyone talked about. I didn't know there were other ideas, newer treatments. I just thought that was going to be it for you, and I needed to keep you isolated and safe."
She looks up between me and Thatcher and Veronica, now. Everyone is silent as she pleads with us. "I thought I was doing my best by you, and then when I realized how out-dated it all was, how much better you were doing with a doctor you'd found on your own…" She drifts off and swallows. I can see her struggling to breathe in between sobs and I just stand there, my hand on Thatcher's on my shoulder. I need the warm touch of his skin to keep me grounded.
"I was dreadfully ashamed, Emma. Of the years I cost you. I'm so terribly sorry, and I don't know how to begin to make amends for that."
The hallway is silent for a long time until Veronica sniffles. I bite my lip. "I accept your apology," I whisper, and then, for the first time in a very long time, I lean forward and willingly embrace my mother.