Chapter Nine
1057 Words
Emma
The attic was too quiet after Jack left.
Emma stood there, dress still clutched to her chest, surrounded by photos and dust and echoes. The air felt heavy, not just with heat but with everything unspoken.
She should’ve expected the call. Should’ve changed the name in her phone. Should’ve been better at hiding the past she hadn’t even figured out how to face yet.
But Jack had seen it. And now he was gone again.
Emma sank down onto the floorboards, phone in her lap. For a long time, she just stared at it. Then, without letting herself overthink it, she tapped on Claire’s name and held the phone to her ear.
Claire answered on the second ring. “Please tell me you’re not calling me from the middle of a breakdown in some dusty attic.”
Emma exhaled a laugh, weak but real. “Too specific.”
“That’s what best friends are for. How bad is it?”
“On a scale of one to full emotional disaster?”
Claire didn’t answer—just waited.
Emma closed her eyes. “He showed up. Jack.”
“Jack Jack?”
“Yeah. We… talked. Kind of. And then Matt called.”
Claire groaned. “Oh no.”
“Yeah.”
“Did Jack see it?”
Emma pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Yup. Name, heart emoji, the whole nine yards.”
Claire whistled. “Rough.”
“I tried to explain. But I couldn’t. And then he left.”
“Well,” Claire said gently, “do you even know what you’re trying to explain? Because if you’re confused, imagine how he feels.”
Emma didn’t answer.
Claire waited a beat. “Do you like Matt?”
“I… I liked not being alone,” Emma admitted.
“Okay. That’s honest.”
“I don’t even think Matt would be surprised if I told him I still wasn’t over Jack.”
“Then maybe the problem isn’t Matt,” Claire said. “Maybe it’s that you’ve never let yourself deal with what happened here.”
Emma stared at the old prom photo lying by her feet, their younger selves frozen in time.
“You know what the worst part is?” she whispered. “When I saw Jack tonight—when I saw us—a part of me hoped.”
Claire’s voice was soft. “And the other part?”
“Reminded me I came here to finish things. Not to start them over.”
Claire was quiet, then said, “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight, Em. But don’t lie to yourself about what you want either. You’ve done enough of that.”
Emma swallowed hard.
“I’ll stay on the phone,” Claire offered. “You want to keep digging through stuff and just talk?”
Emma nodded even though Claire couldn’t see it. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
So she stayed on the line, and together, they sifted through the past—one photo, one letter, one memory at a time.
Emma held the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she reached for another box. The smell of old paper and cedar filled the air, mingling with dust and the scent of sun-warmed wood. She sneezed, and Claire chuckled on the other end of the line.
“I don’t know how you’re still up there. I’d have bailed ten minutes in,” Claire said.
“You’d be surprised what you find when you’re trying not to think about your ex-boyfriend and the phone call that nearly set the place on fire.”
Claire hummed. “Distraction therapy. Noted.”
Emma slid the lid off the box. More photos. Receipts. A ribbon from the county fair in 1987. Her grandmother had kept everything.
“I found the prom dress,” Emma said.
Claire gasped. “The dress? Emma, that dress was legendary. I remember your mom hated it.”
“She hated everything about that night,” Emma muttered, fingers brushing over the tulle.
Claire didn’t say anything, but Emma could practically hear her best friend’s silence brimming with understanding.
“She resurfaced, you know,” Emma said suddenly.
“What? When?”
“Right after I graduated. Right before I left town. She showed up, stirred everything up, made sure I was already breaking before Jack and I had our last fight.”
Claire’s voice was soft. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t want to admit she still had power over me.”
“Maybe she didn’t,” Claire said gently. “Maybe she just gave a nudge in the direction you were already headed.”
Emma bit her lip. “I hurt Jack. I never got to say I was sorry.”
Claire exhaled slowly. “Then maybe it’s time you do.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You don’t have to know how. Just… start.”
Emma looked around at the mess, at the photos and forgotten keepsakes and the ghosts of every version of herself she’d left behind. “He said I always was good at walking away.”
Claire paused. “Were you?”
Emma blinked hard. “Yeah. I think I was.”
“Then maybe this time, you stay. Just long enough to figure out if you still want to.”
Emma didn’t answer right away. The attic was silent again. Then her voice came, low and honest.
“I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s okay,” Claire said. “You’re closer to knowing than you were yesterday. That counts.”
Emma sniffed. “You always say the right thing.”
Claire smiled through the line. “That’s because I’m your best friend and I know when you’re full of crap.”
Emma laughed for the first time all day, and it cracked something in her chest. Not in a bad way. In the way that let the light in.
“Thanks for staying on the phone.”
“Always.”
They stayed on the line for a while longer, Emma sorting quietly, Claire rambling about her coworker’s failed Tinder date and the best coffee place in Pasco. Nothing monumental happened. But for the first time since coming back to Salado, Emma didn’t feel entirely alone.
- Writer
