Working It
“Even if it was too much for her to handle, and she got up and fled the room, that would have been okay, too. I’d repeatedly told her this wasn’t anything more than two people enjoying each other. But the idea of her leaving sent an ache racing through my chest. I didn’t want to watch her walk away again.I was glad she hadn’t. She’d simply grabbed my hand and squeezed.Emmy was caring and warm. She was the make-you-soup-when-you’re-sick type. She’d bring you pain reliever and palm your forehead t...o see if you had a temperature. She had natural motherly instincts. Not that I would know much about that. No, I didn’t have that type of mother. I had the party-till-4 a.m.–red-carpet–jet-setting–yacht-gracing–actor-dating type of mom who barely managed to stay out of the tabloids.Emmy’s sweet, simple lifestyle and outlook was a nice change of pace. It was shockingly normal, and I found that great. Sometimes I craved normal. Especially since my life was anything but.I’d envied those families in the sitcoms I watched growing up—with a mom and a dad who went to jobs and came home each night, threw the ball around in the yard.MoreLess
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